#brother's bsf

[delayeddrabbles]

playing house - developer!rafe x designer!sofia x barry

part 1: quarter life crisis

plot: rafe and sofia meet at a conference and get caught up in a whirlwind romance which leads sofia to unexpectedly reunite with an old friend. cw: one night stand, swearing, alcohol, drugs. rafe is a kook asshole. 5k. not proofed. ft. Barry nb: sofia still thinks rafe is perfect and good at his job. this isn't neccessarily true so just bare with her rose tinted glasses for now.

Whether he felt it or not, Rafe Cameron made it all look so easy. He was the perfect property developer. He wove smoothly through crowds of strangers, he smiled into his sip of a cocktail as if it didn’t burn, he held eyelines and shook hands with such confidence while she hid at the bar. He knew how to network. How to joke. How to drink. God, even his business cards screamed luxury.

Everyone knew he was a nepo baby, that he'd inherited a massive fortune, and was basically three children in a trench coat and yet he still seemed to be winning them all over.

While Sofia felt like an outsider, he completely belonged. Right down to the make of his watch and it drover her mad, only adding fuel to her already raging insecurities. By the end of the week-long conference on Norfolk, Sofia was ready to give up completely.

She'd quit the property scene all together and go back to slinging drinks. A hot house flower like her didn’t belong in this sea of sharp suited white men and hardened women.

She’d built her career from the ground up. Gotten every scholarship. Every good grade. Every crappy unpaid internship. She should hate everything he stood for and yet she longed for that sense of ease.

That smooth smile. That perfect skin only money could buy. That pristine white shirt that probably sat on a rack of multiples just like it and was always pressed and dry-cleaned without having to live in fear of sweat stains or hot sauce. Those hands that had never worked a day in their lives.  

Somehow she’d caught his attention. The guy who’d been slacking off the whole week seemed to lock in on the focused quiet girl with worry lines and ink stains, furiously scribbling down ever last piece of wisdom she could get.

They’d share glances in workshops when the old men accidentally made innuendos or roll their eyes when a speaker droned on and on in that stuffy auditorium. He’d linger at the edge of her peripheral vision and peek at her notes or hand back her pen when it fell. Never speaking, only flirting. A glint in his eye. A quirk of his lip. A brush of his hand.

Sofia negleted her much-needed networking to play his little game. She'd had enough small talk and trauma dumping from creepy old men to last a lifetime but flirting with her peers? That she could do.

A business card slipped in his inside pocket, deft elegant fingers mindlessly adjusting her necklace or brushing against her neck, a slightly shorter skirt, a wrap dress that would slip open. It was a welcome distraction.  

The Thursday evening cocktail party was in full swing by the time Sofia had the courage to approach him. She straightened her black maxi dress and fixed her red lip. She was two wines deep and feeling the swell of Dutch courage, when she spotted those broad shoulders in the navy-blue suit and buzzed hair in a circle of aging men with glowing cigars and drunken cackles. If she could slot in beside him, she could get her face in front of those men. She could smile and look pretty on his arm and get her foot in that door.

It was a last-ditch attempt at a crumbling dream. Nothing more.

She plucked two drinks off the counter and bee-lined through the crowd.

“H-Hey…” she breathed quietly and wrapped her arm around his free one and replaced his empty drink with a fresh one with a familiar ease, as if she did this every day. “Making friends, baby?”

His blue eyes doubled in size. “H-hi” he stammered as his face spun through a whole cycle of emotions before he finally caught on and slipped his arm from hers to rest his hand on her hip and tug her close. “Have y’all met Sofia?”

“Your girlfriend, Cameron?”

Sofia fought a gleeful beam as Rafe looked to her for confirmation, that cool façade slipping for a moment in sheer panic. “It’s still new” she stepped in and offered a handshake to each of them “It’s nice to meet you”

“That was mean” he murmured against her temple, ghosting a soft kiss against her hair, as they waved goodbye to the last of their companions. His voice was velvet soft with the slightest edge of grit that made her insides molten.

Sofia jabbed him with her elbow with a giggle as his hand remained on her hip “We had to talk eventually, and I’ve been trying to get an intro with them all week”

“Who said we had to talk eventually?”

“What?” she caught a glimpse up at him with a coy smile “You were just going to let me leave tomorrow? Let this slip through your fingers?”

“I like a good simmer." he shrugged as he stayed by her side. Her jasmine perfume had soaked into his suit now mixing with the deeper cologne notes already there and filling her senses. He felt warm and solid against her as the soft lights blurred into a golden tipsy haze. "Keep the excitement going”

The grin broke into a wide beam. “You’re unbelievable”

“Not my fault you have a little a conference crush?” he scrunched his nose and let his eyes teasingly wonder the room instead of meeting her eye but despite that nonchalant pretence she could still here that soft sprig of excitement in his voice.

“ ‘Me’?” she gaped at that audacity.

“Mhm” he held firm, the edges of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“People are thinning out…”

He lifted his hand from her hip to check his watch, but she made no move to pull away from him. “And it’s only half passed nine…Amateurs” She giggled wholeheartedly with a bright smile and crinkled eyes, and something shifted in his gaze before he suddenly suggested. “Do you want another drink?”

The next two hours disappeared in a blur. He ordered a bottle of the most expensive white wine from the bar as the crowd slowly died and the fluorescent lights came on. He took her hand and ran.

Her hotel was closer and so they sat in her room and drank crisp wine and gorged themselves on room service until the suite grew quiet and cozy and dim.

His hands lingered on her hips and his chest warm against her back as she showed him her drawings splayed out on the bed. She climbed into his lap so she could see his latest blueprints on his laptop screen. His fingers ran absent mindedly through her hair as he flicked through boring tv channels. Every touch, every soft drop of their voices, every private secret shared seemed to all be heading straight for the same destination.

"I'm not sure I want to be an architect?"

Sofia lay flat on the moss green patterned carpet and stared at the ceiling as Rafe lounged, deliciously dishevelled, like some faux therapist in the vintage armchair with a blunt propped out the cracked open window.

"What are you talking about? You're talented. You're popular-"

"Yeah, but I don't know if it's for me...Like today, I nearly fell asleep in most of the sessions-"

"So did I"

"Yeah, but you were clearly hungover"

"So was half the room!"

"Yes...but you weren't exactly subtle about it"

He shrugged off that remark and Sofia scowled enviously. Of course he shrugged. What did he have to be subtle about? He could coast through his whole career if he wanted to. Never worrying that he might set a foot out of line because everything always worked out for him. He was his own boss.

"I don't need these p-people to like me"

There was something hollow in that phrase. Something forced and evasive that seized her attention.  "Yes, you do. You know how to work a room "

Rafe went to speak but found no retort, blushing with a nod and she returned to her drunken spiral.

"What if...What my parents just wasted all that time and money putting me through college for a job I don't even want?"

"Then pivot" he pouted with a shrug, taking a drag from his blunt, as if it was the simplest thing in that world.

"What?"

"Just change "

"It's not that easy "

"Why not? What do you want to do?"

"Interior decorating" The words came blurting out before she could polish them. Deep down that had always been that part of the job she enjoyed but it was too girly, too “easy”, too inconsistent. Architecture was safe. Consistent. Well paid. Well respected.

"Really?” he slurred, and her gut dropped at that reaction. “You want to be at the bottom of the food chain?!"

"Yeah…It's the part I like! I'm sick of building offices and... and convention centres and toilet blocks. I want to create homes! Warm welcoming environments people actually want to live in. Not staging. Not faking it for real estate agents but actually making something together... with the client"

"That..." He'd never cared about anything that much in his life. He'd just gone through the motions. Creating a legacy and empire for the family company and its not even something he could feel true ownership over. It was Ward's. All Ward's. "Sounds great" he mumbled dejected.

Was he some kind of fraud that couldn't feel passion? Was everyone else walking around with this burning creative energy he could never replicate no matter how much he tried to play the part? Could she see straight through him?

"Yeah!” she downed the rest of her glass “Yeah, that's what I wanna do"

“So do it” he pinched his joint out and set it down before crossing the room to her. His heavy steps squeaking the floorboards and muffled against the carpet sending vibrations beneath her head. She closed her eyes and listened to that sound and felt his shadow fall over her. Cold excitement flashed through her stomach at the feeling of his eyes on her again.

Sofia grinned, soaking in the swirling giddiness of just enough wine and too much food, and offered her empty glass for a refill.

“We’re out” he murmured huskily.

With a childlike frown and pout, she opened her eyes to find him towering over her. So close. So intimate. His presence so large and looming that he blocked the light above her and twisted something deep in her stomach. Sofia’s mouth ran dry as he lingered close, his smile sloppy and lazy. His warm fingers brushed hers and he took the glass carefully from her and set it aside.

His eyes wandered over her, round cheeks flushed, dark eyes heavy and glazed, make-up smudged and oily, dark curls spread out in all directions, and a black strap fallen off one shoulder. She tried her best to not shrink beneath the weight of that stare as it sank lower, to the dip of her cleavage, the hand fidgeting at her hip, the lopsided hem around her ankles.

How did he still look so perfect when she felt so messy?

“Do…” his raspy low voice cracked for a second and she bit back a grin. While she tried so hard to remain stoic and strong she could see him grow quiet and scared, hopeful but tentative as he muttered his words as his feet before sneaking questioning glances up at her. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you want me to order another?”

More wine meant more talking. More skirting around what this night had become. She’d reached the end of the tales she had to tell and the things she needed to get off her chest and so there was only one thing left to do.

It was late. They were both tired and tipsy and unravelled. And he looked heaven sent with that halo of hotel lights glowing around his head. This was exactly what she needed. A mast in the storm. A stranger she could forget in the morning.  

She shook her head, and she couldn’t quite tell if he relaxed or stiffen but the air shifted around him as his eyes flickered in surprise. “Yeah?” he breathed quietly.

“Yeah…”

Sofia went to get up but Rafe quickly shook his head. She paused. Her stomach tightened and her breath shuddered slightly as she clenched her fists at her side. She held his eye and slowly lay back down. Maybe she’d bitten off more than she could chew here.

With his jacket and shoes already discarded and his shirt already half buttoned he already looked soft and crumpled and tactile. She wanted to grip that shirt in tight fists and run her palm over the smooth fabric hugging his ass. Yet, he stayed standing. He stayed halted in that spot when she wanted him down with her.

He dropped his steady eye contact to bite his lip for a moment, and she wanted to reach up and touch grip it between her finger and thumb. He stepped forward so one foot fell between her legs and the other to her side, his soft black socks brushing gently against her soft skin inside her calves and she swallowed thickly at that proximity.

Finally, he unbuckled his belt, and her fingers twitched enviously. He whipped it off quickly and tossed it away before his eyes found hers again. With a deep breath, he slowly sank to his knees and leaned for to rest his weight on his forearms either side of her head. True to his word he let things slow right down to almost a halt. He hovered just out of reach and watched her squirm with a victorious grin. He lowered his weight down onto her and Sofia's heart picked up pace. Rafe nudged her nose with his own and ran his fingers through her hair eyes studying every little reaction intently before he gently lowered his lips to hers.

One moment he was too far away the next it felt like he was everywhere at once consuming all her senses and Sofia’s shocked hum was muffled against his lips. He tasted like smoke and sweat and fruity notes that were more than her month’s wages.

His body melltedi nto hers. Warm and heavy. He was all smooth fabric and hard muscles and weed soaking into his skin.

As the kiss deepened the world faded into a dizzy heated haze of exploring tongues, rolling hips and quiet groans. When she found no hair long enough to cling to in the chaos, she clutched at his shirt, and he took that as a sign to whip it and his undershirt straight off.

“Shit!” she panted with wide eyes and eager hands that ran down his chest in awe as he pecked kisses across her cheek “you move fast…”

He breathed a laugh and slipped his lips down underneath her jaw. “I wouldn’t call four days fast…”   

Sofia awoke in a cloud of white down pillows and puffy smooth comforters, gooey and aching and stretched.

“Hey, hey Sof…” Rafe gently shook her shoulder, but she protested with a groan at the too bright light and the too loud voice. “Hey, I’m heading out…”

“What?” she croaked.

“I’m heading down to the gym. Where’s your keycard?”

Her head spun off its axis as the alcohol and dehydration set in filling her with nausea and stabbing pain and she burrowed further under the covers. “On the coffee table…” she grumbled. “What time is it?”

“5”

“Rafe…” she groaned at the disruption “…the fuck?”

“Woke up early. Gonna blow off some steam”

She couldn’t help but grin into the pillows at that notion. “You didn’t blow off enough already?” she teased enjoying the little chuffed laugh it provoked and the pecked kiss she received on the sliver of exposed head he could reach.

“Nah, but this is normal. Not ‘bout you”

 A yawn soaked into her voice slipping her back into a dreamy mumble “Are you coming back?”

“Yeah. Need anything?”

“Breakfast. You pick”

It was only ever supposed to be temporary. A nice easy fling in a random city she’d never come back to. Norfolk wasn’t exactly paradise, but Rafe had seemed to carve out a pretty nice slice it for himself at the Cavalier based on his photos.

It was insane, really, the level of expense he was willing to spend on comfort and quality. The nicest place her company would let her stay was here at the Hilton. Usually, she’d be staying at some crummy motel.

He wasn’t supposed to kiss her goodbye before going to get food. Or stare at her all the way through breakfast or sit beside her all through the final day of the conference.

They weren’t supposed to sneak back to her room instead of mingling at the luncheon and she definitely wasn’t supposed to feel a pang in her chest as the final remarks of the day ended and a sense of doom set in. She had to leave in the morning.

“I’m staying on a couple days…”

Sofia leapt out of her skin as she watched her boss disappear out to his taxi and Rafe suddenly appeared beside her.

“W-what?”

“I’m gonna stay the weekend at the Cavalier.” He lingered too close and murmured too softly Sofia couldn’t help but dart her eyes around the room to check no one was watching. His hand firm on the small of her back. His lips brushing her hair. “Then I’m off on another trip”

“Where are you going?”

“The Mediterranean”

Her professionalism shattered as she whipped around and stared him amazed “Really?!”

“Yeah. Wanna come?”

Barry Rosini had never planned to be a handy man. Like most things in his life, he’d sort of fallen into it. The army, the pawn shop, the dealing, the fishing. Now he found himself halfway between a fishing charter tour guide and a mechanics apprentice and somewhere in the mix there he’d gained a reputation for fixing things.

He had a very specific clientele. Kook old ladies who were completely oblivious to his checkered past and ex-customers stuck in a bind. Rafe Cameron was the latter.

He'd lived here long enough to know Rafe Cameron pretty well. He was the talk of the town. Most tolerated or hated him. Some feared him but Barry wasn’t among them. Barry had seen him do everything from lines off balcony railings to crying in bathroom stalls. Any illusion of him being a threat had quickly dissipated. He was chaotic, sure, but Barry was useful to him and so long as he remained useful, he remained on his good side.

Flush with cash from selling the pawn shop off to some hipster tourons, Rafe had no leverage over him now. Besides, despite his thick neck and deep scowl, Barry knew Rafe was a fragile little thing. Say just the right comment, twist just the right knife, and Barry could disarm him instantly. He knew too many of his secrets. Too many of demons. Failing that, Barry had no doubt he could put him in place if required.

Barry stayed in the cut even when his finances improved. Steadfast and stubborn to the end. He couldn’t leave the marsh behind even if he wanted to. This was home. This was where he’d rebuilt his life, and he found something to live for again.

Half the Pogues feared him and half the Kooks looked down their noses at him so where was he supposed to go? He didn’t fit in the Cut anymore but he’d be damned before he moved to Figure Eight and so he bought a small cabin on a couple acres of land and built his own sanctuary. His own empire.

It was peaceful out there among the trees and reeds and frogs. He dug a swimming hole and a built a fire pit. None of that fancy Kook shit with plush cushions around a metal brassiere or heated lanes in a pool that was tiled to perfection. He wanted it to stay rugged. He wanted it to stay wild.  He fixed up the awnings and painted the shutters and built a giant live edge slab dining table with no one to sit at it. But he was happy. This is what he wanted right? For everyone who had ever been crawling all over the trailer park desperate for his services to finally leave him the fuck alone.

It was windy Fall afternoon when Rafe Cameron blew back into town like some ghoul summoned for Halloween. Smooth and dark and sharp shining teeth. The weather was still bearable, and the leaves still clung to their colour desperately as the Cut turned barren and dull.

Rafe’s groundsmen had called him out of the blue to deal with a fallen tree on the drive. A hurricane had hit the island a few weeks before, but no one had thought to fix up Rafe’s property until right before he got home. Idiots. He’d been gone all Summer. They’d had so much time to deal with this.

So, Barry found himself covered in sweat and dirt and saw dust labouring over this tree that they’d cut into pieces and lugged to the side of the drive. He was hunched over a hunk of trunk chain sawing it into more manageable pieces when Rafe’s car pulled into. White and sleek and way too fast.

Barry flinched at the gust of sawdust that flew into his face batting against his safety glasses and white mask. The dirt and tattered leaves and flecks of wood caked his face and lodged themselves in his frizzy hair.

He cursed and glared at the passing car, paying no mind to the blur of dark pink in the passenger seat. Rafe Cameron was a lot of things both good and bad, but he was exactly the kinda guy that would return from his grand world tour with a pretty girl on his arm like she was some kind of fucking souvenir. 

That’s exactly what he did. Sweeping back into town like he deserved some kind of ticker tape parade and like everyone should ogle his new girl and embrace her without question. He was just like his dad in that way. Forcing his problems and his love life on everybody else.

So, Barry turned back to task, minding his business as Rafe peacocked and the girl gushed as expected, admiring the house, the sea, the yard before Rafe swept his new toy off her feet and carried her inside with light airy laughter and way too much PDA. Disgusting.

It wasn’t until hours later that Barry realised that something was off.

Tree surgery was hard work. Even in the cooler October temperatures Barry worked up a sweat and Javier invited him inside for a glass of lemonade and a sandwich rustled up by Rafe’s cook. He didn’t catch her name. Gloria. Sonya? Something like that. A sweet older Mexican woman who squeezed his cheeks and called him too skinny and ran and hid the second she thought Rafe was coming down the stairs.

All judgement aside, Rafe had a nice place. Barry had been around a few times to fix the old light bulb or AC unit when Rafe was alone and off his face. Barry had never stayed long enough to really take it in in the light of day.

White marble kitchen counters, coastal furniture that somehow still looked expensive, big bright windows with a beautiful view. The kid had done well for himself, and Barry would happily steal a few seconds of the high life from him as he sank into a black leather bar stool that creaked and twisted beneath his weight. Returning the Cut could wait a little longer.

For now, he was cool and satiated and comfortable. The chilled lemonade glided down his parched throat and soothed his rough palms, the ham and cheese grilled sandwich tasted like heaven to his expectant tongue and growling stomach. Any food was good food in his book. Like a street cat turned house cat Barry would inhale anything he was given.

Jaiver rattled away to him in Spanish about his kids’ sports games and Barry picked up most of it. He really needed to go back to those classes at the Y in Charleston. Probably the support group while he was at it but nah, they wouldn’t want to see him!

Between Javier and what’s-her-name, Barry was so surrounded by Spanish that he didn’t quite register the quiet younger voice that joined them. Some small shrinking girl, probably a cleaner, mumbled an apology in Spanish and sneaked past the cook to refill her water bottle from the fridge’s dispenser.

Barry didn’t really bother with her until the sudden clatter of metal on tile suddenly shook them all from the cozy afternoon. The girl’s water bottle hit the ground and spilled its contents, but the girl didn’t hurry to clean it. Instead, she stood frozen, empty hand clutched in a claw where the bottle had been and she stared at Barry with wide eyes and parted lips. The blood drained from her face.

“Bar…?”

His stomach dropped.

Sofia.

Tiny little Sofia Marquez was standing in Rafe Cameron’s kitchen and not in a uniform either in a blue and white bikini, with tiny sunglasses on her head, a towel draped over her shoulder and gold jewellery curling around every available surface. She looked like a Kook. Shit, she looked like-

“Ready to go?” Rafe appeared in the doorway in a white and black striped tee and his Ray Bans already on.

“Ah…” Sofia was still staring straight at Barry, and he willed her to snap out of it. To save face. To say something to do something! His stomach twisted in knots and his jaw clamped down tight. Come on, Peaches. This is gonna look weird. “Yeah” Finally she forced a bright smile and bent down to scoop up her bottle and slap her beach towel down over the spilled water in one fluid motion. “I just need a new towel”

“I have spares in the car.” Barry felt Rafe push off the doorframe and glide across the kitchen floor behind him and into the room towards Sofia and peck her on the cheek “You good?”

Barry saw Rafe’s lip twitch slightly and his eyebrows drop in surprise at the sight of him sitting in his kitchen and his head snapped towards him Javier her shrunk under the weight of that silent warning as Rafe stayed all sweetness and light for his girlfriend. Was she really the kinda girl that would fall for this shit?

“Mhm.” Sofia squeaked slightly and nodded a little too eagerly “Just knocked my drink over”

“Do I need to call you a cab?” Rafe teased against her hair and Barry bit back a grimace. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Bar?” There was a slight edge to his warm friendly greeting and his grip on Sofia’s shoulder tightened every so slightly.

“Danielle brought down one of y’ trees while y’ were gone. I’m just gonna load her up on the truck and be outta y’ hair. Unless you wan’ it?”

“Nah, central heating.” Rafe waved a casual hand over his mansion and knotted his fingers through Sofia’s and started to lead her out “No need for firewood. You sell it. You need the bills”

Barry grit his teeth at that slight, feeling the barb exactly where Rafe wanted him to. Maybe he wasn’t as cool with Barry getting out of the dealing game as he claimed. He’d been all “Sure, Bar” “Fine, Bar” “it’s just business. I get it” Fucking liar. What was this? Some kind of pissing contest in front of Sofia? Had his 30th birthday really fucked with his head so much that Rafe felt the need to punch down when he was already winning?

Maybe it had. Why else would someone disappear off for almost six months to “see the world” and then bring his vacation fling home to move in? That’s what she had to be right? Last he heard she was building skyscrapers in Chicago. What? Were people using LinkedIn for dating now?

Sofia. She was here. She was here in Kildare and staring at him with big brown eyes and a worried furrowed brow as Rafe dragged her away from. Pulling her away before he could speak. Before he could explain. Shit.

“Appreciate it” Rafe dropped two hundreds on the counter as he passed and slapped him on the back a little too harshly before the happy couple went off about their day, leaving Barry in a tailspin.

gradient: text color fader - aqua adapted (94dfdf 9ddbc6 8acfe2). dividers: @bbyg4rlhelps and @cafekitsune

[rafeysbunny]

brother's bsf!rafe popping your cherry

there is absolutely nothing that rafe craves more than to fuck you, his best friend's little sister. he knows it is wrong, but he can't help himself when you're so fucking pretty, always wandering around in those cute little skirts and tops you like to wear, round tits almost spilling out of the thin fabric.

god, he's so obsessed with you.

you're always in his mind, all the fucking time, the thought of you haunting him every night when he goes to bed. and every single one of those nights, he ends up jerking off at the thought of you, like a bloody perv, to be able to finally fall asleep.

he knows topper'd kill him if he ever finds out about his massive crush on his baby sister, but that fact doesn't stop him from getting you alone in your guest bathroom as soon as the alcohol knocks your brother out cold on the couch. and now he has your gorgeous body pinned against the sink, the party still in full swing outside in your house while you two sloppily make out.

he's hard as a rock inside his slacks just by kissing you, the taste of your cherry chapstick lingering in your plump lips, as if you weren't just sweet enough already. it doesn't help his case the way you're whimpering so prettily into his mouth, your body arching against his as he grips your hips tightly, which has the silky fabric of your skirt all crumpled.

he tears his lips away from yours, panting heavily as he stares down at you with pure lust in his eyes. "fuck, you're so goddamn beautiful..." he reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "listen to me, baby."

you hum dumbly in response, not really paying attention to what he's saying, you just want his lips back on yours so, so bad. your small hands fist his expensive polo, bambi eyes staring shamelessly at his mouth as you watch him talk; his words not really registering.

"hey. hey, sweetheart, eyes up here..." he taps your chin with his finger. "i need you to tell me that you want this too, a'right?"

your dazed eyes dart up to meet his blue ones while you nod obediently, your thick, long lashes fluttering in his direction. "i want it, rafe," you mutter softly, pretty voice filling in the silence of the bathroom.

his eyes darken, pupils dilating when he hears the words he's been longing to hear for months now and the intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. "that's a good girl..."

before you know it, he has you bent over the countertop, skirt pulled up 'round your waist as he fucks your pussy with his thick fingers to stretch you out. you've got the tightest cunt he's ever put his digits into, which has his cock throbbing painfully in anticipation.

despite how bad he needs to sink into you, he forces himself to give you at least one orgasm with his fingers before he yanks his pants down and slowly pushes his dick inside your sopping hole, the feeling almost too good to be real. he thrusts into you one time, two, then three, your pussy squelching lewdly around him, and his whole body feels on fire.

is this what heaven feels like? yeah, it probably is.

he'd fuck you dumb, big hand shoving your pretty face against the cool marble as he pounds your pussy into oblivion until you're creaming all over his dick, flushed cheeks stained with tears.

"such a good girl f’me," he praises as he pulls out to finish on your plush ass, thick ropes of cum painting your smooth flesh.

more.

[dearmisshoney]

pitch a (his) tent

synopsis. when your brother mattheo brings his new girlfriend on the annual boys-only camping trip, you're invited along to balance out the dynamic. everything’s fine... until your old tent gives out, forcing you to share one with the only person staying alone — theo nott. insufferable yet maddeningly hot theo nott. let’s just say… they should be making warning signs of him too, not just of bears.

pairing. brother's bsf! theo x reader

content/mdni. fem! reader, brother’s bsf! theo, very mean! theo, switch! theo energy (he's losing it), pent-up! theo, pussy-drunk! theo, messy-eater! theo, enemies-to-lovers tension,  allusions to male masturbation, handjob (assisted), clit stimulation, oral (f receiving), dry-humping, cum play, allusions to overstimulation, allusions to edging (m receiving), dirty talk, pet names (amore, good girl), p in v implied but doesn’t happen, smut with ton of plot, one freddy fazbear joke

word count. 4k

a/n. hello, honeybuns! as promised, i came back to theo, specifically brother’s best friend! theo. this fic is also part of the first week of @acourtofchaos ’s event (although i am late oopsi). let me know what you think about this theo piece! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

the harmonious sounds of the crickets were the only hums spilling over the camping grounds. the joyous laughter and the ongoing chatter of daylight toned down little by little, falling prey to nighttime, vanishing entirely.

four tents were pitched around a put-out campfire, all jet black and covered by a thick layer of drowsiness. one lonely tent was perched farther from the cluster, partially hidden behind a sturdy tree.

a glowing beam of light emerged from one of the four tents, hauntingly hovering — fast yet quiet — towards the isolated one.

some might say that was a forest spirit, making its appearance at midnight to prowl around the mortal word.

some, against such meager fairytales, would suggest the yellowish orb to be but a tiny firefly, aimlessly flying around the camping grounds.

you would confirm that it was actually the light of your portable lamp, dangling from your hand and swinging according to the whim of the forest’s chilly wind. and the trajectory was not arbitrary — even before you’ve emerged from your tent, you decided to stick to the quickest route towards nott and his secluded shelter.

your feet, clad in simple flip-flops, crushed the dry dirt of the pathway, stepping with swiftness through the cold air of the night. the distance between the tents was not that far, yet your pajamas and your almost bare feet were not enough to protect your body from the temperature change.

hurrying your pace, you finally arrived before nott’s enclosure.

no inside light pierced through the thick material of the tent, a clear signal that theodore may be asleep. soft murmurs could be heard here and there, but you were not sure those came from inside.

you stretched out your arm by reflex, pushing the lamp forward, closer to the tent, trying somehow to see what theodore was up to. however, the additional light did little to nothing, making only the dirty green colour of the tent more vibrant; the inside was still a mystery.

“n–nott?” you whisper-yelled his name, testing the waters, still hoping he was awake.

it would make your life so much easier.

your call and the silence following it made the entire moment feel eerie. you were suddenly more aware of your singular existence in the middle of a sleeping forest.

the air felt harsher, cutting into your lungs. the light of your lantern was suddenly too bright, blindingly so. urgency spiked throughout your body, making goosebumps appear all over your skin.

fuck it, you will wake him up.

reaching out your free hand, you tightly gripped the outside slider of the zipper. and, with a final intake of air, you dragged it in the opposite direction, slowly revealing the entrance.

but it immediately flew away from between your fingers, fastly separating half the length of the zipper’s teeth.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

theodore's voice boomed in your ear, hitting you before his dishevelled appearance did. his voice sounded exhausted, although he did not seem to have been sleeping before your intrusion. yet, his visible grimace and his hand shooting upwards to shelter his eyes from your stupid lantern gave away the fact that he has been staying with the light off for a while.

“umm, i-”

“put that shit away, will ya’?”

his words were harsh and rude, thrown at you with no second thought. that's usually how he is when it comes to you; your brother’s best friend barely holds back, and if he must restrict his vocabulary, he colours his speech through intonation.

intonation showcasing annoyance and displeasure.

“yeah, yeah, my bad.”

you mumbled a half-hearted apology as you flipped off the switch of the lamp, the light slowly dimming in your hand until there was no more.

your surroundings were yet again swimming in darkness, and your eyes — not yet accustomed to the lack of brightness — seem to betray your disadvantage in the face of nott.

“what do you want?”

you could barely distinguish his silhouette, the contour of his body slightly blending in with the shadowy insides of the tent. you could see, however, the way his tent was partly open, a sign you were unwelcome in his vicinity.

that and his venomous words. he clearly wanted you gone.

you sucked in a breath, hammering down your ego, and carefully answered theodore.

“my tent’s ripped. didn’t notice until now–”

“and? the fuck do you take me for? bob the builder?”

oh, his patience was wearing thin. with your vision slowly adapting to the darkness, you registered the way his hand dragged the slider back down by a quarter of the length, wishing to separate the two of you for good.

“wait, wait.” panic surged into you and your hands jumped out instinctively, clutching theo’s fingers, stopping his movement altogether. your lantern long forgotten, dropped somewhere on the dirt path. “i can’t sleep there.”

“oh, please. you think a ghost will eat you?”

theo bit back at your reasoning, poking fun at the silly horror stories the group told right before bed and mocking your childish fear.

you can insist all you want, he doesn’t care.

his other hand ushered yours away to prove his stance, pulling the slider further down.

“you’re so ugh–” you were using all your power to stop yourself from kicking the supports of his tent and have it collapse over him.

“BEARS. i am scared of bears. actual animals that are in this forest.”

“just har har back at–”

“can i please stay in your tent?”

please. you never say please to him. please, thanks, and sorry are three words you’d never redirect at him unless you were extremely desperate.

and, shit, you seem to be needing to share his tent by the way you’ve swallowed up your pride and begged.

“fine. hop in.”

he does it for mattheo, he convinced himself as he pulled back the slider, revealing the full width of the entrance for you. he does it so your brother won’t rip his skin off if something does happen to you in your ripped tent.

yeah, that’s the only reason.

you slowly crawled into the tent, careful not to touch anything in your wake; theo seems to be in a bad mood, and you did not want to aggravate the situation further. so you propped yourself at the opposite side of him, sitting with your legs crossed one over the other, observing how he zipped back up the entrance.

you were now irrefutably stuck in a small tent with theodore nott.

after securing the slider, theo turned around to locate you. and when his eyes landed on you, all stiff and unmoving, he just sighed and slapped his forehead with his own palm.

“i hope you won’t stay like that all night.”

“like what?”

“like a creep, watching me sleep.”

“a creep? what do–”

“just lay down and sleep.”

theo issued his command and moved away from the topic at once, crawling back to his sleeping bag and sliding right in. ignoring you. even if you tried to continue the discussion, him turning his back towards you was enough evidence he did not want to interact with you more than necessary.

“okay, okay.”

you still answered him, sighing with exasperation at his bitchy attitude.

why was he so irritated tonight? indeed, theodore nott was not a big fan of yours, but his patience was never this fragile. maybe you angered him during the day? you don’t really remember talking to him at all though, more interested in spending time with mattheo’s girlfriend away from the boys.

the reasons behind his shitty behaviour will remain a mystery, as theo seemed to be adamant to go to sleep. you conceded too, finally laying down, closer to the edge of the tent, taking a similar sideway position as him.

the tent was warmer than yours, no rupture disturbing the temperature of the insides, yet the lack of covers did make your body curl into itself and seek more warmth. you did so for a few minutes, twisting and turning from side to side, searching for the optimal position.

theodore seems to be aware of it all as a long exhale emerged from his side of the tent. all loud — exaggeratedly so — and purposeful, acting as a warning, as a replacement for a verbal complaint.

you bit down on your bottom lip, hoping you were just reading too much into it, and shifted the position of your legs again. the loud whoosh sound of your pants across the tent material resonated around the entire shelter.

“move one more time and i am kicking you out.”

he spat the threat at you in a heavy tone, seriousness latched onto every word of his. he even betrayed his initial position and turned around to prove it, facing you for a third time that night.

“i am not doing it on purpose.” you hissed back at him, encircling your arms around your torso and pushing your knees further into your stomach, hoping he will realise cold was making you so restless.

“oh, so your body moves on its own?”

sassiness. mockery. rage.

“i am cold.” you blatantly stated, more of a whisper than a fully articulated sentence.

this will soften his resolve, right?

“not my problem.”

no.

you huffed out a shaky breath, curling tighter into yourself. your body was visibly shivering against the cool air, air that was sneaking underneath your pajama and pinching at your skin. you did not dare to spoke another word to him, certain his coldness will only worsen your situation; so, trembling into yourself deeper and deeper, you hoped your body will just heat up on its own.

silence stretched between the two of you, heavy and palpable. you paid theo no mind, completely averting your gaze from his emotionless face and closing them with an unspoken wish for sleep.

“­fuck, fine. c’mere.”

your head snapped immediately at his words, your eyes locked in on theodore in an instant. “what?”

“you won’t sleep otherwise, right?” he muttered, reaching for the edge of his sleeping bag and pulling at the zipper just enough so you could slip in. “just– get in.”

your heart stuttered, nerves, confusion, and something else colliding inside you. carefully, you inched closer to him, joining him into the sleeping bag as instructed.

it was cramped. too cramped.

it was obvious the sleeping bag was made for one person only. yet you couldn’t complain. wouldn’t complain.

your thighs shifted against his, pajama pants brushing against pajama pants, and your chest pressed against his arm. the space between you two was almost non-existent, your bodies mushed under the too-small sleeping covers.

it was so strange, but it felt so good.

a sigh of pleasure slipped past your lips as your body soaked in the warmth of the sleeping bag and of theodore’s body. unconsciously, you even drew closer into him, dipping your head towards his clothed chest and–

“back off, weirdo.”

his hand emerged from underneath, pressing against your forehead and regaining some distance between the two of you. your upper body might have been pushed away towards the edge, but your lower body was strongly opposing theo by latching your legs to his own and keeping your ground.

“but you’re warm.”

“i don’t offer cuddles, so stop– ugh”

his complaints were interrupted by a deep loud groan. you would have said you hit a nerve with your forwardness, and that was his reaction.

but no.

you hit something else, something in the nether regions — your knee aimlessly nudged between his thighs in your attempts at trapping him, brushing against his cock.

his hard cock, if you were to be specific.

“oh my god, is that–”

“i told you to back–”

“is that why you’re so bitchy?”

you suddenly had a moment of epiphany: theodore nott was so irritated by your arrival because you ruined his jack-off session.

“you’re so weird, geez– ah.”

you kneed him again, this time applying more pressure to his cock. you did it to stop his mindless ramble, but also to see that raw reaction again. to see how his lips parted, quivering in pleasure, to see his annoyed eyes roll back at the slightest touch.

to feel how his shaft twitched against your leg.

“were you mid-stroke?”

oh, you were so taking advantage of his weakness, taunting and humiliating theodore for his previous actions. yet, your knee never stopped its ministration, shifting around his cock and applying just enough pressure to take theo’s breath away.

“and because of me, you didn’t finish?”

“f–fuck.”

his hand dropped completely from your head, slipping down your body and sliding right over your problematic knee. and with a harsh thug, he removed your leg altogether, forcing it in the opposite direction.

any sort of control you had over him disappeared.

“i really hate you, y’ know?”

he was angry. really angry. his hand on your knee was strong, pushing at your leg hard enough to hurt. the muscle stretch indeed burned, but so did his eyes. they were focused on your face, part of his gaze wishing to light you on fire and turn you to ashes, part of it to ignite a similar flame within you.

“give me one good reason why i shouldn’t throw you out, hm?”

his beautiful orbs betrayed him, but his tongue still spoke in lies.

he managed to captivate you fully, and for a moment you did not register his question. you only stared back into his eyes, forming a link with the hidden yet burning desire in them. that blazing lust was pouring out of his gaze straight into yours, only to slowly expand all throughout your entire body.

you were submerging in undeniable arousal, and his big hand pressing into your knee was keeping you underneath it all.

“i can help you out.”

so charmed by your own unwavering stare, theo did not registered the movement of your own hand, slowly creeping down his pajama top and sliding downwards to the band of his pants. your fingertips, still cold from theo’s negligence, dipped underneath the waistband in no time, only stopping their trail when reaching his cock.

“s–shit, fuck.”

his cock was heavy and hot in your palm, trembling at the mere contact with your cold fingers. his hips jerked upwards instinctively, his cock slotting deeper in your grip. it was all wet and sticky, covered in precum and what you assumed was theo’s own spit from before, so his shaft glided along your palm nicely.

“so cold, damn.”

a shaky exhale joined his remark, puffed against the crown of your head, as you slowly started to stroke him.

“told you so.”

you merely retorted, smirking against his clothed chest, allowing your hand to pick up a lazy, teasing rhythm. now it was the perfect time to torture him, carefully twisting your wrist and applying more pressure to the underside of his cock, or shamelessly thumbing at his weeping slit.

theodore couldn’t even complain, his tongue caged by a plethora of grunted moans and nonsensical babbles. his incoherence betrayed him, and so did his hand, leaving your poor knee alone and slapping itself on your ass.

with fingers spread out across your pants, he grabbed with vigour your left buttcheek.

“shut it.”

he growled low in his throat, all his pent-up frustration and need vibrating through both of your bodies. his hand was becoming greedier and greedier, groping and squeezing your ass at every harsh tug on his cock. and you had no mercy, sliding your hand up and down his shaft, with so much dexterity.

but when you dipped your other hand lower to his balls, fondling them at with a gentle touch, he too dipped his fingers into your pajama pants.

“oho, what do we have here?”

his warm fingers dragged downwards along your skin, smacking your ass one last time and, finally, dipping lower to your cunt. the tip of his digits pushed underneath your thong, all slutty and wet against your pussy, parting your sloppy fold with a single calculated stroke.

“dirty fucking girl.”

you moaned against his chest loud, unrestricted, taken by surprise by theo’s lack of hesitation at exploring your messy cunt. you could feel his fingers brushing up and down your slit, swimming in your arousal and collecting as much of your wetness as possible.

“all this just from jerking me off?”

he was taunting you, grinning like a little devil into your hair, somehow forgetting how needy and touch-starved he behaved just minutes ago.

you would have reminded him, really, but you couldn’t form one single coherent word as his fingers pressed down harshly on your clit.

“so so needy.”

tight little circles followed soon, his fingers toying with your little bundle of nerves to his heart’s content. theo finally found your irrefutable weakness — as long as he played with your quivering pussy, you were less annoying.

“i kind of like you like this.” theo mused, humming against your head as he peered down at your face. “look at me.”

you were less annoying and more obedient. you immediately listened to his command, raising your gaze up to his eyes, looking at him with your glassy orbs, so full of lust and desperation. your lips were caught between your teeth, already bruised and bullied in the process of quieting down.

but your tiny whines were loud enough for his ears to pick up.

you were so fucking cute.

“is that what it takes, huh? all i have to do is toy with your cunt to keep you in check?

his hand sped up, flicking your clit with the pad of his fingers. your hand on his cock stilled a while back, so overwhelmed by your own pleasure, but theo seems to not care about his release right now.

“what if i eat you out, hm? will you be a good girl for me?”

“theo! good god, yes.”

and here it was, your beautiful cracking voice, finally making its appearance after a good period of only moans and whimpers, accepting theodore’s proposal in a heartbeat. your pleading eyes were a nice touch to it all, making theo conform to your wishes without additional fuss.

“no takebacks.”

it’s all he says, like a warning, before retracting his palm from between your legs. and what he does next makes another glob of arousal gush out of you.

theodore nott removed his hand and directed it towards his mouth to lick it clean.

to lick it clean.

your wetness was all over his lips and tongue as he diligently lapped up all the stickiness from his hand.

“please, god. pleaseplease–”

“yeah, amore, i got you.”

pulling his fingers away from his mouth with a squelching pop, theo then completely discarded the covers of the sleeping bag, throwing the piece somewhere to the side.

“on your back, let me see that pretty pussy.”

you conformed to his words immediately, plopping yourself on your back and even discarding your pants and panties in the process. the garments joined the forgotten covers, the ones you’ve craved since the beginning of your intrusion.

but warmth was no longer important now, as you were practically burning with lust underneath theo’s predatory gaze.

his hands joined your knees again, applying enough pressure to part them away and create a passage for him and his hungry mouth. and no great effort was needed, your legs complying and allowing theo to finally see the mess between them.

“fuck, you’re soaking wet.”

his voice was gritty, disbelief laced with something darker, something feral. he was no longer mocking you — his gaze was locked between your thighs like a starved man, as if the gates of heaven have opened at the same time as your legs.

theo pushed your knees a bit more, just enough for him to slot himself between them. and you gasped as you felt his warm breath fanning over your pussy, your hole twitching in anticipation.

“spread wider for me, amore.”

you didn’t hesitate — again. your thighs stretched further apart for him, your muscles burning yet again from the pressure. but this was something you could handle for the sake of ultimate pleasure.

“fuckin’ perfect.” he muttered briefly and then–

his mouth was on your cunt.

his slippery tongue licked a long stripe from your pulsing entrance to your hard clit, savoring every drop of your arousal just like he did with his hand. your hips jerked upwards into his face, chasing his mouth — yet his arms immediately snaked around the upper part of your thighs, locking you in place and making you take every single flick of his tongue, every single kiss to your swollen pussy.

and when he sucked your clit in his mouth, between his plush wet lips? you sobbed.

“theo– that feels so good, fuck.”

your fingers clutched at his hair, tugging at his messed-up curls, needing something to hold onto as pleasure washed all over you. and that only made him delve into your cunt more, groaning in between your folds and making such vibrations travel straight to your clit.

your enjoyment was clear from miles away, but so was his. if you got extremely wet from fisting his cock, theo also got excruciatingly horny from licking your pussy. his hips were grounded into the sleeping mat, humping the surface in desperation as he lapped at your core.

he has been edged for quite some time now, and he was no longer patient.

he too needed to cum.

“always wanted to eat this pussy.”

theo was so pussy-drunk, god. you would have never in a million years expected theodore nott to announce between slurps and kisses how much he’s dreamed about your cunt.

“y–yeah?”

“yeah. i knew you’d have the tastiest fuckin’ cunt.”

his clothed cock was moving faster against the mat, the wet squelches of theo messily making out with your pussy being joined by the swish-ing sounds of the two materials colliding.

he was definitely close, and so were you.

“this” and he placed a kiss right against your clit. “haunted me all day.”

“shiiit… w–why?”

“your dress was so goddamn see-through, and fuck–”

theo was already picking up the pace, his tongue working harder to make you cum at the same time as him. his fingers even joined in, pulling your pussy lips apart for him to feast better on you, while his nose continued to poke and prod at your bundle of nerves.

“had a boner all fuckin’ day.”

and there it was. the full story on why theodore nott was jacking off before bed and why he was so irritated by your mere presence in his tent: he was affected by you all day and you had no idea.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m so– ughh.”

you had no time to give him a warning, retorting to weak apologies as you creamed all over his face and tongue. thighs clamming around his head and convulsing from the immense pleasure.

theo, your brother’s best friend, just made you cum in his tent, on a camping trip with all of your close friends.

and that wasn't all.

“ah, shit, wait, wait.”

he didn’t stop.

no, no, no.

theodore continued to lap at your pussy, slurping up all of your release as he continued to jut his hips into the sleeping mat. and, finally, after a couple more seconds, with a guttural moan, he too came, spilling his release inside his boxers.

filthy, pathetic, and so so hot.

he pulled away from your pussy only after his own hips stabilized, moving up from the ground and away from between your legs. his face was wet, incredibly so, yet he was smiling bigger than ever.

with glistering lips and blown-out eyes, you expected theo to say something meaningful about the entire ordeal.

but alas, he was still the idiot friend of your brother.

“someone did eat you. but it wasn’t a bear.”

“oh, shut up.”

you were so done with him and his idiocy. if it weren’t for your shaky legs, you would have kicked him in the shins by now.

“what? you make a tasty meal.”

“nott, stop! you–”

“come tomorrow too.”

oh?

“i will steal condoms from mattheo and fuck you all night, amore.”

your breath hitched.

“… and the next night.”

your legs instinctively parted.

“… and the next night.”

your cunt was already pulsing with need.

 “… but only if you want to.”

“how could i refuse such an offer, nott?”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove

[itneverendshere]

wake up in the mornin' and to your smell - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: SMUT. request: Can we pls get more parts for brothers bsf!rafe where it’s the morning after ans they did it GOOD and she’s all shy n stuff bcz duh she might act all tough but w him it’s different and he’s enjoying it sm

It was the first time you woke up with him.

The first thing you noticed wasn’t the soreness between your thighs or the warmth of the sheets twisted around your torso.

Not even the ache between your hips, which was almost overshadowed by the memory of how it got there. Just the quiet movement of his chest beside you, the peaceful rhythm of Rafe Cameron sleeping soundly in your bed.

You should’ve slipped out, wrapped yourself in the hoodie you left draped over your desk chair, and padded to the bathroom before he stirred. Maybe taken a second to fix your hair—because, of course, you’d passed out without twisting your hair up, without so much as reaching for your bonnet. 

But instead, you stayed in place, blinking up at the ceiling, hoping it would offer some kind of answer as to what you’re supposed to do next.

Because, technically, this wasn’t new.

The sneaking around, it had been happening for weeks, months, maybe. You’d had sex everywhere except a bed. His car, your car, the locker room after practice, the laundry room at a party, once against a tree at some bonfire neither of them even remembers the reason for.

But never, never in a bed, never in your dorms, never somewhere where you had to face the aftermath. Usually, once you were done, you went back to class, or to a party, or Rafe went back to practice. 

No lingering.

The first time you “slept” with him, the bench had been hard against your back, his hands bruising against your skin, the faint sound of his teammates approaching outside the door making the whole thing feel forbidden.You’d been half-dressed, your skirt rucked up, and he’d dropped his towel on the floor.

But this—waking up next to him, in sheets that still smell like him, watching the curve of his mouth as he breathed deeply in his sleep—this was new. And you didn’t know what to do with it.

You shifted slightly, meaning to turn away, and get some distance between yourself and his overheating body, but the movement made him stir.

You winced as his arm tightened around your waist instinctively, tugging you back against his chest. “Mmm, don’t do that,” his lips brushed against your shoulder.

“Do what?” you whispered back.

His palm pressed against your hip, thumb stroking over your skin in a slow ticklish pattern. “Move away from me like you’re tryna escape.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes even as your heart pounded like you were twelve all over again. “I’m not trying to escape.”

“Good,” he murmured, lips pressing softly against your shoulder again before he nuzzled into the crook of your neck like it was his second nature.

Rafe was acting like you two woke up like this all the time as if this wasn’t something you were going to overthink the second you got out of bed.

That was the thing about him, he’d always been good at making you feel like you didn’t have to think so much. 

Always knew how to tease you out of your head, and used it against you every chance he got.

Like when his hand skimmed lower, fingers grazing beneath the curve of your waist.  “How are you so pretty in the morning?”

You blinked at him. Then blinked again.

“Shut the hell up.”

Rafe laughed, unbothered, he knew how much you hated that kind of shit. Which, of course, he did. This was Rafe, and he loved saying things he knew would make you flustered.

“I’m serious. Look at you.”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “My hair looks crazy.”

“So?” He didn’t agree or pretend to entertain the idea.

“So?” you scoffed, shifting to finally turn and face him properly. “I look like I got…”

“Fucked?” Rafe grinned wider. “Yeah, ‘cause I did that.”

Your jaw dropped. 

“You sore?” he asked teasing, his voice dipping in that lazy amusement that always made you want to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

Sore was an understatement; it was all his fault.

“I can’t stand you,” you muttered childishly, nudging your elbow back against his ribs, but he just laughed.

All you wanted was to groan at how much you loved the sound.

As if he wasn’t already too much—too pretty, too talented, he just had to be the best you’d ever had. He knew what he was doing and dared to be hung like that too. God had favorites, and clearly, you were one of them.

“That’s a yes,” he drawled, sounding too pleased with himself.

You let out an exasperated sigh, fighting against the warmth creeping up your back. “You’re so fuckin’ annoying.”

“And yet, here I am,” he pointed out, smug as ever, and when you don’t have a comeback fast enough for the first time in your life, he chuckled again.

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, burying your face in your pillow to hide the involuntary grin taking over your expression.

“Yeah?” His hand moved again, fingers slipping beneath the covers to pinch at your thigh, making you jolt slightly. “That why you were moanin’ my name last night?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh right, that was screamin’.”

You groaned, reaching back to swat at him blindly, but he just laughed again, catching your wrist before you could do any real damage.

Rafe always made it impossible. You huffed against the pillow, stubbornly avoiding his gaze even as he tugged at your wrist, pulling you back into him with that ridiculous grin you hated to love.

“Shut up,” you muttered, voice muffled against the fabric.

He pressed a third kiss to your shoulder, a little less teasing, and you hated how much you wanted to turn and kiss him back. 

“A little higher pitched, but you’re almost there.”

“Get out.”

His hand brushed up your thigh, his palm rough against your skin. “But I’m so comfortable here.”

“That makes one of us.”

Rafe just scoffed, his mouth trailing lazily up your neck until his nose nudged behind your ear. “Yeah? You debatin’ it right now?”

You hated the way he sounded, all amused like he already knew the answer. Mostly because he did. You sucked in a breath, willing your body to behave, but it was useless when his fingers kept moving, grazing over your hip in a way that made you want to melt.

You exhaled sharply, finally turning your head to glare at him. It didn’t have the effect you wanted. He was looking at you like that, all sleepy-eyed, hair sticking up at odd angles, as if he belonged in your bed. 

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets, tempted to reach up, run through his hair. But that wasn’t part of the deal. There were rules to this. No overthinking. 

Rafe’s thumb skimmed up your ribs, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. His eyes flickered over your face. Then, his lips curled into that shit-eating grin that made you want to strangle him.

“Didn’t know you could bend like that.”

Nevermind, you were going to knock him out with a hockey stick.

 “Rafe.”

He just grinned wider, “How come you never told me you had that in you?"

You shoved at his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“What? Just sayin'. Damn. You been hidin' that from me?” His fingers slid lazily up your arm.“If I had known you were that flexible, I woulda put you in a headlock weeks ago.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You like it enough,” he shot back, smirking “You just mad ‘cause now I know you can do all that, and I’m gonna be expectin’ it every time.”

You smacked his arm, but that only made him chuckle, burying his face in your neck as his teeth scraped playfully over your skin.

“You’re so annoying,” you repeated the insult, trying to scoot away, but he pulled you back in, his arm locking around your waist.

“Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your jaw. “That why you were beggin’yesterday?”

You scoffed, horrified, but he was already laughing, ducking out of the way before you could slap him again, “If anyone was begging, it was you.”

His eyes lit up as he looked down at you. “Shit, you got me there. Matter of fact... might beg now too.”

“I have class in thirty,” you reminded him.

He pouted, brows furrowing like a kicked puppy. “I just need ten minutes.”

“No.”

His lips brushed against yours, voice dropping into that dangerous, coaxing drawl. “Five?”

“Rafe.”

He was already nudging your thighs apart with his, hard as rock, sliding in between—not putting in, just coating himself in your arousal and rocking a little back and forth, luring you in. Both of you moaned, loud and shameless, like sluts, and you would’ve been embarrassed if he didn’t sound just as needy as you felt.

Your brain turned to mush the second you felt him. 

“Rafe,” you warned again, but it was weak.

He groaned against your neck. “Two?”

He didn't wait for an answer—he never did. Just kept teasing, gliding his cock through your slick folds, the weight of him pressing and sliding just enough to make you squirm.

"C’mon, lemme make you feel good before class. Promise I’ll be quick."

Liar.

Rafe’s fingers dug into your hip, holding you in place while he moved, then, he hiked your leg up, throwing it over his hip like he had all the time in the world, spreading you wider so he could slide even messier, wetter, the thick head of him catching at your clit in a way that made your stomach drop to the bottom of the ocean.

You shuddered, nails digging into his bulky forearm. "You're such a fucking—"

"Yeah?" He cut you off with a lazy grin, pressing harder this time, drawing out the friction just to watch your face twist. "Finish that sentence."

You couldn't. 

“Not fair,” you murmured against his mouth, as he rolled his hips. His other hand was already trailing up, palm greedy as he squeezed a handful of your tit, thumb brushing over your nipple just to watch it pebble up. You arched into his touch, biting back a moan as he saw right through it.

He always did.

"That's what I thought," Rafe hummed, smug, dipping his head to bite at your jaw. His grip tightened, keeping you right where he wanted you, even if he knew you wouldn’t try to move away now. He nudged forward again, getting himself soaked. "So fuckin’ wet for me and I haven’t even put it in yet."

It was humiliating how easily he could wreck you, turn you into a desperate, panting mess with nothing but his cock sliding over you and that voice dripping in amusement.

He knew it, too. The smirk was still plastered on his face when he reached up, cradling your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Look at you," he murmured, lips hovering over yours, close enough to steal your breath but refusing to kiss you. 

You swallowed hard, but before you could bite back, he crashed his mouth against yours, all tongue, swallowing your moan as he rutted against you, grinding dirty, making sure you felt every inch of him.

Then he pulled back, enough to pant against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours as he grinned. "Still got that class in thirty?"

You shifted, meaning to push him away, to sit up—anything that wasn’t this. But the way you arched, the way your hips tilted just right—

“Oh, shit—”

He slipped inside, easy, smooth, like your body was made for him, exactly where he was meant to be. You both froze, inhaling sharply at the sudden stretch, the obscene wetness letting him sink all the way in, with no resistance.

Rafe swore under his breath, hands gripping your hips, physically restraining himself, if he so much as twitched, it’d be over.

“The way you just—fuck.”

Your nails dug into his biceps, body pulsing around him, stomach twisting at the way he sounded, completely blindsided. He let out a shuddering breath, swallowing hard.

“You’re fuckin’ unreal.”

Your lips curled. “Might be.”

Rafe exhaled sharply, then laughed, hoarsely. “Dream girl.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

He didn’t say things like that. He flirted a shit ton, he teased, he riled you up until you were too frustrated to do anything but fall into him, but he didn’t say things that stuck. You’d overthink about it later, the words already buried deep into your brain like a splinter. 

You whimpered into his mouth, fingers flying to his hair, twisting, nails scraping against his scalp, and he groaned.

You felt everything. 

Lazy, filthy, perfect.

His lips found your jaw, then your throat, hands slipping up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples as he rocked into you again. He had you right where he wanted you, and he fucking knew it. Rafe moved his hips a little faster, testing, and you both gasped at the way you clenched down around him.

He groaned, rough against your throat. "You gotta stop doin' that."

You fluttered around him on purpose.

He cursed, pulling back just enough to thrust shallowly, teasing himself through your hole. Your nails raked down his back, and he fucking shuddered, breath hot against your jaw.

His hand trailed up your side, skimming over your ribs before wrapping around your throat—not squeezing, only reminding you that he had you, that you let him have you.

"You keep clenchin' up like that, I'm gonna think you don’t really wanna go to class." His thumb brushed your pulse, feeling how it skipped beneath his touch.

You swallowed hard, heat curling in your stomach. "I don’t."

"Fuckin' knew it."

His other hand slipped under your thigh, gripping hard as he tilted your hips up, changing the angle until you chocked on your own breath, making sure you felt the thick, heady sweep of him, filling you up in a way that made your toes curl, your head falling back against the pillow.

"Right there?" Rafe teased, breathless.

You nodded, barely able to do anything but take it. "Rafe—"

"Fuck," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You feel so good. So warm."

He hummed, a soft, knowing sound, skimming his lips along your jawline, open-mouthed kisses, drawn-out, until his teeth scraped over your pulse.

“More," you pleaded, voice soft, almost shy. "Kiss me."

His lips parted, but instead, he exhaled sharply.

"You ask so sweet," his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. "How’m I supposed to say no to that?"

He rocked into you again, lazy and deep, kissing you like he had nowhere else to be, every inch of him pressed against you, surrounding you, smothering you in the best way. His fingers slipped between yours, tangling your hands together over your head. 

You shivered. It was too much—the way he sounded, the way he touched you, the way he was looking at you. He your shoulder, biting down gently, sucking another mark into your skin. 

"You’re gonna be late," he murmured, amused.

You let out a breathless laugh, tilting your head back, giving him more room. "Don’t care."

"Yeah?" He nudged his nose against your cheek, "That why you’re fuckin' dripping all over my cock?"

Rafe fucking ruined you.

There was no other way to put it.

You weren’t thinking, weren’t even capable of forming a single coherent thought, just a mess beneath him—babbling, body pliant as he rocked into you. You were taking every inch, stretched around him perfectly, your cunt gripping him like you never wanted to let go. And at this point, you didn’t.

“Ohhh, fuck,” you gasped, nails scraping over his broad shoulders. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Rafe watched you with blown, lazy eyes. “That all you got for me?”

He dragged himself out unhurriedly, just to push back in deeper, and your back arched, head spinning at the obscene wet sounds between your bodies, at the way you could feel every ridge, every thick vein.

“Rafe,” you whined, voice breaking. Your brain was gone, absolutely fucking fried, your mouth running on autopilot. “S’too much—feels so—”

 “Yeah?”

You nodded weakly, breath hitching as he tilted his hips, hitting that devastating spot inside you that made your thighs shake. Rafe swore under his breath, his grip bruising as he pushed your knee up to your chest, forcing himself even deeper. 

“That why you’re all quiet, huh?”

You let out a broken moan, fingers digging into his biceps. “Can’t think—fuck, can’t think when you fuck me like this.”

And fuck—fuck—you’d be embarrassed if every time he sank in, his pelvis wasn’t pressed flush against your clit, pushing against the swollen little bud right, sending shocks of pleasure straight through your body. He pushed his hips deeper, grinding against you just to watch your mouth drop open.

“That right?” he cooed, “More?”

“Yes,” you huffed, so brainless, completely under his spell. “Yes, yes, just—just wanna, please—”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe choked out, his rhythm stuttering. “You tryin’ to make me come?”

You’d never begged before, never once—not with anyone else. Sex had always been good, sure. You liked it, and enjoyed it, but you’d never been desperate for it.

Until him.

You let out the filthiest whimper, hands fisting the sheets, breath stuttering as your hips jerked up, chasing that friction, that perfect, devastating pressure. He moaned at the way you writhed against him, at the way your cunt clenched around him, pulsing, sucking him in like you never wanted him to leave. 

His head dropped into your shoulder, gripping your hips tight to keep you still as he slammed into you again, making sure to press down, his pubic bone tickling against your clit in slow, filthy circles. You cried out, nails biting into his back, desperate, mindless, your hips lifting to meet every taunting thrust.

This wasn’t fucking, it was something else entirely.

“Say it again.”

Your brows furrowed. “Say what?”

He licked your lips, smirking against your skin. “Say please.”

Heat flushed through you, an embarrassing, all-consuming need curling in your stomach. You panted, licking your swollen lips, barely able to keep your eyes open as his hands never stopped moving. Sliding up your body, tracing the dip of your waist, rolling your nipple between his fingers just to hear you whimper. 

You swallowed hard, your pride already flushed down the toilet, which never mattered when he was looking at you like that.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his tone all sweet. “You can do better than that.”

“Please,” you choked out, every ounce of shame dissolving into nothing, “Please, Rafe, don’t stop.”

He groaned, long and guttural, pulling his cock out leisurely before slamming back in, punching a moan from your throat.

“Can’t stop,” he murmured against your throat, lips worshiping your skin, tongue flicking out to taste. “Fuckin’ impossible.”

His thrusts never picked up, it was excruciating. His forehead was pressed against yours now, breath hot and heavy between you, both of you panting into the same space.

You whimpered, fingers twisting into his hair, pulling hard enough to make his eyes flutter shut for a second, jaw going slack, but then they snapped open again—blue and blown out, locked onto yours, because you knew he needed to watch you fall apart beneath him.

He tilted his head then, licking his lips as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a painfully wet kiss. His tongue swept along yours, lazily. You whined into his mouth, and he swallowed it, groaning in his throat.

He wasn’t fucking you—he was pressing into you, as deep as humanly possible.

His tongue curled around yours, sucking, licking, all spit and heat, but neither of you cared. His lips lingered against yours, before he pulled back just an inch—just enough to let a thin string of saliva stretch between your mouths.

Your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips, but Rafe didn’t let you escape. His hand was on your jaw instantly, forcing you to look at him.

"Nuh-uh," he murmured, his nose brushing yours, "Stay with me. Keep lookin’ at me."

His tongue flicked out, running over your swollen bottom lip, tasting the wet heat of your breath before he skimmed his teeth along it, teasing. His lips wrapped around your tongue, pulling it into his mouth, sucking. He groaned deep in his throat at the taste of you, at the way you let him, at how fucking eager you were, melting into him with a desperate little cry. Your lips were slick, your chins wet, when he finally pulled back, panting, but you were already chasing his again.

“More."

Rafe groaned, tipping your chin up with his thumb, eyes heavy-lidded as he dragged his tongue up the side of yours, before sucking it back into his mouth. He fucked into you deep, making sure you felt everything as he swallowed your whole fucking soul.

"Mmmm,” rasped against your lips, voice shaking. "You’re so fuckin’ sweet. Could do this forever."

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breathing ragged as he rocked into you, as if his only purpose in life was to keep you filled.

“God,” he murmured, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe “You feel that?”

You could only garble in response, your fingers digging into his back, pretty nails leaving crescent moons in his skin. Of course, you felt it—how could you not? Every thick inch of him dragged against that devastating spot inside you, over and over, stretching you enough to make you tremble but never giving you enough to push you over the edge. He was torturing you with how good it felt.

He hummed, his lips curling as he brushed his nose against yours. “Can’t even talk, huh?”

You tried—you really did. But all that came out was a soft, breathless squeak, your head tilting back against the pillow. Rafe caught your cheeks before you could look away again.

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, his voice deep, “Wanna hear you.” He punctuated his words with another sluggish thrust, and your entire body shuddered. A high, needy sound slipped from your lips, and his pupils blew wide. “Shit, there it is.”

His hand slipped down your body, before his palm settled low on your stomach, pressing down—light at first, then firmer, right where he was inside you. Your breath hitched, the pressure making your walls flutter around him. His cock twitched in response, and he swore under his breath, hips stuttering for the first time since he started.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shaking his head. “You feel me?”

You nodded weakly, breath catching in your throat.

“That’s me,” he rasped. “Deep as I can go.”

Your entire body clenched around him, and Rafe let out a ragged moan, dropping his forehead on your chest.

“You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he panted.

You barely had the strength to smirk, but you managed. “M-Maybe that’s the plan.”

His mouth was right there, so close, and then—his breath fanned over the swell of your breast before he latched on, tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking hard, deep. A shaky sound escaped you, fingers flying to his neck, pulling, making him groan against your skin.

"Rafe—"

He hummed, satisfied, sucking again, harder this time, his hips rolling forward in tandem with the wet pull of his mouth. You pressed yourself further into his mouth, and he could only sigh at the way you offered yourself up so easily, so desperate for more, his tongue laving over your sensitive skin before moving to the other, giving it the same attention. He licked and sucked, as he murmured against you.

“Could stay right here all fucking day,” he whispered, kissing over your breast between words, his hand slipping up to squeeze the other. "Right here—fuck—just like this."

Your thighs tightened around him, your whole body buzzing, over-sensitive, overstimulated, yet still somehow desperate for more. His tongue flicked over your nipple again before he pulled away to watch the way it pebbled under his breath.

Rafe’s hands never stopped moving or touching—tracing yearning circles over your arms, cupping your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your pebbled nipples, just because he knew how much it made you shudder. He smeared open-mouthed kisses over your chest, up your throat, tasting the sweat on your skin. His lips ghosted over yours, teasing, never fully kissing you, and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Your hands slid up his arms, over his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers until they found their way into his hair.

You tugged for the millionth time that morning, making him grunt.

His lips feathered against your jaw, “Keep pulling like that and I won’t last.”

You couldn’t get enough, couldn’t feel enough, no matter how close he was, it still wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Let me,” you panted against his lips, licking into his mouth between words. “Wanna be on top.”

Rafe’s eyes fluttered open, lips slick and pink from sucking at your skin. His fingers flexed against your waist, jaw clenching at the need in your voice, you were already trying to move, to take control.

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, a little desperate. His hands slid down, gripping your ass as he rolled onto his back, bringing you with him.

The second you were straddling him, you let out a shaky breath, feeling how deep he was like this, how he stretched you just right, the angle hitting something devastating.

Rafe smirked, hands already running up your thighs, gripping, kneading the flesh, watching the way you trembled above him. He let his head drop back against the headboard as you ground down experimentally, testing. 

You pressed both hands against his broad chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering against your palm. His body was burning beneath yours, and god, the way he looked—his hair disheveled from your fingers, his lips swollen, it was making you delirious.

You needed more.

You started moving, deep rolls of your hips, letting him stroke against every aching, sensitive spot inside you, making you both shudder. Rafe swore under his breath, his grip tightening as his head tipped back, jaw clenched.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groaned, his hands sliding up, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest. “Look so fuckin’ pretty riding me like this.”

You leaned down, grazing your lips over his throat, tasting his skin, feeling the way he shook as you pressed kisses down to his collarbone, licking, biting, marking him up the way he did you.

Rafe’s hands flew to your ass, gripping, rolling you deeper onto his cock, making you gasp against his skin. "You tryin' to fuckin’ ruin me?" He couldn't decide what he wanted more—your hips, your tits, your face. "’Cause it's working."

You whimpered, lifting your hips before sinking down again, making you both gasp. His eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch, shudder, every whimper.

"You feel so good," you whispered, rubbing your hands down his chest, over his abs, feeling them tense beneath your palms. "So deep, Rafe."

His breath stuttered, his hands sliding back to your waist, guiding you into a slow, lewd grind, helping you glide him against that spot that made you tremble.

"You wanna feel me in your fuckin’ stomach, huh?" His voice was a rasp, a tease, but his eyes were half-lidded, his mouth parted in awe, watching the way you moved. "Gotta have me so deep you feel me for days?"

You gasped, nails digging into his skin. "Shit—yes, yes, please—”

Rafe growled, sitting up so fast you squealed, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in, your chests flush as his mouth crashed against yours. He kissed you matching the lazy intoxicating drag of his cock inside you, his hands everywhere—your back, your thighs, your face. He traced over your cheek, his thumb swiping just beneath your lip, pressing, feeling the way your mouth parted even more for him, giving him everything, his fingers slid into your hair, gripping at the roots, angling your head just right so he could dive in deeper.

He pulled back, painting against your lips, forehead pressed to yours, eyes hazy. Your thighs trembled where they were wrapped around his hips, his fingers slipping between you, pressing against your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent white-hot pleasure curling up your spine.

“That’s it,” he murmured, “Know you’re close—feel you squeezin’ me.” His forehead pressed harder against yours, his breath uneven, restraint hanging by a thread. “Come on, pretty girl, wanna feel it.”

You whimpered, gasping as the tension inside you coiled impossibly tight. Every drag of his cock, every flick of his fingers, every breathy moan against your lips—it was too much. Your nails scraped down his chest, dragging red lines, but Rafe barely felt it, wholeheartedly focused on the way you were shaking, how your walls clenched around him like you were made to take him.

Your head dropped back, mouth falling open as you moaned, "Y-Yeah—oh my God—Rafe—"

Rafe groaned as he slammed up into you, chasing his own high, his movements frantic now. “Fuck—fuck—” 

Your thighs shook, your back arching as your orgasm slammed into you, your cunt tightening around his cock like you never wanted to let go.

"Shit—oh shit, fuckkk—" You gasped, babbling, the words barely forming as your body convulsed around him, muscles tensing and releasing with every wave of pleasure.

He felt it—the way you gushed around him, drenching him, the obscene, slick sounds making his jaw clench.

"Baby," he rasped, voice tight, "You're fuckin’ coming all over me—makin’ such a goddamn mess—”

You whined, helpless, your hips still rolling, chasing every last drop of pleasure. Your thighs were sticky, coating him all over, dripping down, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Rafe’s hands were shaking as he held you, watching the way you quivered, breathless, ruined. He thrust up once, twice—grinding deep into your overstimulated cunt, making you wail. His jaw clenched, a ragged groan ripping from his throat.

Your mouth was open, little gasps spilling out as he kept fucking up into you, chasing his own high. His thrusts were hungry, his fingers digging into your ass, keeping you exactly where he wanted you

Your body was completely overstimulated, but you didn’t stop, or couldn’t stop. You were too dizzy off the way Rafe was ruining you, how he was holding you down, forcing you to take every inch that had your mind blanking.

Your lips brushed against his ear, as you pouted, "Rafe—baby, you’re so deep—’s so much, so fucking big—" Your words slurred, just a string of filthy, broken sounds, no shame left. "You f-feel that? How I’m dripping down your cock? So messy, all over you—your fuckin’ cum, all yours—"

Rafe let out a wrecked groan, his whole body tensing, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack, completely lost in it.

"Fuck," he choked, his abs flexing under your touch, "Shit, you’re—" He cut himself off with a whimper, actually fucking whimpering, because you were still talking, still feeding him filth, still pulling him deeper into that haze.

"Need you to cum—need to feel it, wanna feel you inside me—" Your voice was high, needy, almost delirious. You pressed sloppy kisses along his jaw, panting against his skin, shoving your hand into his hair, tugging. "You’re so good, fuck me so good—please, please give it to me—wanna feel you break inside me—"

Rafe cursed, the sound strangled, his hips stuttering as his whole body locked up. His eyes rolled back, his lips parting in a silent moan, almost crying from how hard he came. His cock twitched violently, pulse after pulse of hot cum spilling inside you, so much, too much, his whole body shaking, his chest heaving as he tried—and failed—to catch his breath.

His hands were still trying to hold you still, but he was weak, twitching, shaking.

You were both past the point of reason or past the point of stopping.

You kept milking him through it, dragging out every shudder, every pulse of pleasure, every last wrecked noise from his throat.

Rafe’s hands flew to your waist, trying to still you, to slow you down—but he was already spent, his face twisted in agony, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. You were just as fucked out, but you couldn’t stop, not when it felt this good

You shuddered when your body finally stopped, his hands smoothing up your back, grounding you. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, breathing hard, chest still rising and falling against yours. His lips found your skin, his thumb brushing along your cheek, soothing, even though neither of you could form words yet.

His cock twitched inside you one last time, overstimulated, and a broken sigh slipped past his lips as he moved, rolling onto his side with you still wrapped around him, his cock slipping free, and you both hissed at the loss.

You felt the remnants of him between your thighs, the sticky evidence of everything you'd just done, but you didn’t care when Rafe was already tilting your head up, capturing your lips in another kiss.

"Gimme a minute," he hummed against your mouth, smirking as he kissed you again, slower this time, fingers skimming lazily down your back. "Then we're doing that again."

You exhaled a breathless laugh, already melting against him. "Yeah?"

He nipped at your bottom lip, voice thick with promise. "Yeah."

You’d worry about the pet names later.

[redeemingvillains]

fears & fantasies - mattheo riddle

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ summary - mattheo is your brother's best friend and your biggest crush so surely when he offers you comfort it's purely platonic...right?

word count: 3k

soundtrack: peace - taylor swift

a/n: requested by the lovely @darlingshecried - thank you love for this fun and adorable concept ♡ and special shoutout to @cipheress-to-k-pop's mattheo fic beauty and the beast which inspired theo's gf's name (#thevangeline forever).

Your bare feet padded quickly against the cold flagstone of the dungeon floor.

You held your arms around yourself, shivering as you tried to avert your eyes from the long shadows in the corners that looked like ghosts, like dementors, like your nightmare.

You focused on putting one foot in front of the other as you swiped the tears out of your eyes. It was just a dream, it wasn't real, it was just a dream you repeated in your head, a mantra. But what you knew to be true in your mind and how it made you feel were two completely different things, and you weren't able to shake the cold terror from your bones. No, at this point you knew there was only one solution, one thing that could make you feel better, your brother, Theo.

Your entire childhood he'd watched out for you and tried to shield you from the darkness that had swarmed your family. But he was barely a year older than you, he was just as much a child as you were, and he couldn't defend you from everything all by himself; you were left riddled with nightmares, something he consistently blamed himself for.

He could hear them come in the thin walls between your rooms, the way you'd mumble quietly and then louder, panicked and fearful and you lost count of the number of times you'd woken up, just before the very worst of them to his gentle whispers, as he held you.

"Stellina" he'd whisper quietly. Little star. "You're okay, it's okay." And it would be, instantly. As long as he was there.

You pushed open the door to his dormitory and padded quietly past the other four poster beds, careful not to wake the boys that dozed beside him.

But when you got to his bed, your stomach dropped in dread as you realized it was empty.

No, no, no you thought as you looked around like the shadows would reveal him instead of closing in on you as you tried unsuccessfully to catch your breath, your panic rising.

"YN?" a voice whispered and you turned quickly, nearly tripping over yourself in fear.

"Whoa, hey, hey you're alright."

Through the narrow slice of moonlight coming in through the window you could see Mattheo leaning out from under his covers, curls askew, eyes barely open as he peered at you.

And your heart continued to race for an entirely different reason.

You'd known Mattheo since first year, since he and Theo became inseparable, because in many ways you'd become inseparable too. But growing up alongside him as he went from a reckless boy to a troublesome teenager to the unbearably hot guy in front of you was it's own sort of torture, because you knew he never looked at you as anything more than his own little sister.

"T-Teddy?" you asked shakily.

"He's with Evangeline."

His girlfriend. You nodded quickly, understandingly, even as your heart sank and you wound your hands together nervously.

"Right, yeah" you said shaking your head as you tried to calm yourself.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked patiently.

You met his eyes and nodded slowly as you gnawed your bottom lip, trying to bite back your emotions, even as you realized he might be the only other person to really understand you, knowing he had terrible nightmares too.

"C'mere" he offered, waving you over to him before making room in his bed.

You hesitated.

He had never once intimated anything with you. But then you realized that while your mind was running rampant at the vision of him shirtless in his rumpled sheets inviting you to sleep with him, he was only doing what any good friend, any older brother would do. Surely he didn't see you any other way.

So you moved to his bedside and crawled beneath the thick, warm covers.

It's the right thing to do.

It's the friendly, brotherly thing to do.

Theo would have asked me to do it Mattheo thought.

But Theo would not have asked him to stare at the dips and curves of your figure in your barely-there pajama set nor to selfishly revel at the idea of you in his bed.

No, for as careful and intentional as Mattheo was around you, if Theo knew half the things Mattheo thought, he'd push him straight off the astronomy tower.

He knew he was tempting fate, tempting himself to have you next to him like this, but you were scared, you were vulnerable and there was no way he was going to leave you like that, shivering, teary eyed, and alone.

She just wants her brother. And I'm the next best thing.

You met Mattheo's dark brown eyes that glimmered in the dim light.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.

You shook your head, gnawing at your lip again in a way that drew his attention there, that made him want to run his finger, his lips over it to get you to stop worrying.

"Do you want a hug?"

You paused only a moment before nodding.

He reached for you and gently pulled you into his arms as you wound yours around him, your head falling to his bare chest.

He held you gently but in a way that made you feel like nothing could touch you and it was like all of your shadows melted away as you let out a wobbly sigh.

He could feel you melt against him, could feel the way you physically relaxed in his arms, and he held his breath, overcome with the scent of your shampoo, at knowing that he was able to bring you peace.

His mind raced as he tried to think about anything other than the way he could distinctly feel every place your bodies touched, the way you always smiled at him big and wide and carefree, how you knew him better than nearly anyone else and still loved him unconditionally, the way you said his name with just the slightest hint of your Italian accent, the way the vowels rolled off your tongue in a way that let you taste every letter.

And subconsciously he squeezed you a little tighter as he reconciled those thoughts with the fact that even though he'd spent years pining for you, you were the only girl he could never have.

You were asleep instantly, exhausted by your emotions, and the way your fear was followed so quickly by the feeling of Mattheo's strong arms, the scent of his sheets, of him, evergreen and cedar, the smell so familiar and enticing it felt like home.

You dreamt of him, in shades of your own memories, of swimming together in the lake, of watching the stars on a summer night, of him giving you a piggyback ride, and handing you a messy bundle of wildflowers for your birthday. Theo was there too, of course, but he was blurry, faded in the background in a way that left just the two of you in focus.

Warm you thought, and smiled.

You were so warm and cozy and peacefully rested as you came to in a space tinged in shades of green from the curtains of the four poster bed around you.

And then you felt the pressure of a weighted blanket that you slowly realized was actually a very large arm around you and memories of the night before came flooding back.

You were tucked firmly in Mattheo's grasp, your back to his chest that you could feel rising and falling in time with his warm breath at your neck.

This is heaven you thought as you sighed, your eyelids fluttering, until you were surrounded by mumbled voices of the other boys waking up which in turn caused Mattheo to stir next to you. He slowly unwound his arm from you and you could have groaned at the loss of his touch as you turned to face him to see his cheeks pink.

"You alright?" he asked sleepily as he rubbed at his eye and yawned widely.

No, I think I am hopelessly in love with you you thought.

"Yeah" you mumbled. "Sorry about last night, I just–"

"–Don't apologize. I get it, trust me. The shit we've seen? Fucks with our heads" he said as he stared at the top of his four-poster before looking back at you with a resigned smile.

You smiled back as you heard the others shuffle out of the room, taking that as your window of opportunity to follow suit.

"Sooo, maybe we don't tell Theo about..." you started, gesturing between the two of you as you sat up to leave.

Mattheo's brow furrowed. You never kept anything from your brother... Unless...there was something more here than he'd thought?

"Wouldn't want him to worry!" you clarified quickly. "You know how he gets."

"Right, right, yeah no, understood" Mattheo agreed.

But he saw the blush on your cheeks, the way you averted your eyes as the covers moved to reveal his bare chest, his boxers and he couldn't stop himself as he leaned forward after you as you stepped out of his bed.

"M'always here if you need me" he said, smiling at you in a way that was both boyish and devastating and you were at a complete loss for words as you nodded and shuffled out of his room.

It happened three more times that week.

You wanted to be angry at Theo, but you couldn't deny that you craved Mattheo's comfort and were getting all too used to sliding into his bed, to fitting yourself in his arms like they were meant for you. Each time got easier, each time got more familiar, each time your defenses dropped a little more and each time Mattheo was convinced he was right, that maybe maybe his forbidden crush was reciprocated.

He knew he couldn't ask you outright, you'd deny it out of principle. But he was determined to find another way to confirm his theory.

It started small.

When you crawled into bed last night he'd reached and tucked your hair behind your ear and let his fingers linger at your cheek and he'd felt the way you squeezed him just a little tighter.

Then it was drawing lazy circles on your back, languid and slow against the soft cotton fabric of your pajamas that tortured him and he felt you hum in appreciation, the soft sound enough to make him strain against his boxers in a way that was about to make his efforts not-so-subtle. And he smirked, because he was certain he knew exactly how you felt, now he just needed to figure out what to do about it.

But then the unexpected happened.

You had drifted off to sleep in his arms, your weight heavy against him, your soft breaths a melody that caused his own eyelids to flutter shut.

And then he had a nightmare.

Of you, scared, screaming for him, but he couldn't reach you despite how hard he tried, his strides stuck in quicksand. He called for you over and over but he couldn't get to you, couldn't have you.

A soft voice responded, calling his name, pulling him out of the vision to see you, awake and whole, leaning over him, your hair curtaining your face which was fixed in tender concern for him.

His heart raced and he struggled to catch his breath as you cupped his face. 'Hey, hey, bello, Mattheo, you're okay' you murmured sweetly and he reached to place his hand over yours, holding it there as he breathed heavily and met your gaze.

"You're okay" he repeated after a second, as much to himself as to you.

"I'm okay" you replied slowly, smiling in confusion.

He scrunched his face and swallowed, eyes closing as he tried to gather himself. "Sorry, you–you were in my dream. S'stupid" he muttered as he wiped a hand over his face. A pause. "I guess I was just...worried about you."

"So you're looking out for me even in your dreams now, huh?" you asked teasingly.

He smiled before letting out a breathy laugh, the sound reassuring you enough to lay back down next to him as he turned to face you.

At this distance you were close enough to see every detail of his face highlighted in the sapphire blue of the night, the smallest freckles on his nose, the curve of his lips and the twinkle in his eye as he reached and brushed his thumb over your cheek in a touch so delicate you sighed and leaned into it.

He just wanted to feel you, to know you were real, that this wasn't part of a dream where you'd disappear in his grasp but then your eyes fluttered to his lips, lingering there, like you were lost in thought as you rolled your bottom lip into your mouth, and that was his breaking point.

He leaned in slowly, closing the distance between you and pulled you towards him as he pressed his lips to yours.

And thank Merlin you didn't pull back or hesitate, no, you reached for him, pulling yourself further into his arms as you kissed him fervently in a way that had him muffling a groan against your lips as his hands wound into your hair.

He pulled himself on top of you as your legs and limbs tangled and you grasped for each other, submitting to every temptation you'd had for days, for years as you immersed yourself in him, rolling your tongue against his as he squeezed your side, his fingers finding the warm skin at your ribs under your shirt and his hips rolling against yours until you let out the quietest, sweetest sound that had him pulling back in panic.

"Fuck" he sighed, slamming his eyes closed and turning his head at the sight of you beneath him, breathless and flushed.

"Don't say it" you cautioned. "Don’t you dare say it."

He paused.

"Theo's going to fucking kill me."

"UGH!" you replied, moving to cover your face with your hands. "Why did you have to bring him up!?"

Mattheo pried one of your hands away as he peered at you and you frowned up at him.

"He's going to kill me either way" he said as he laughed, "at least let me make the most of it."

You pushed his chest playfully.

"I'm serious!" he said. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?"

You moved your other hand from your face as you looked at him.

"Fuck YN" he sighed, shaking his head.

And just the idea that Mattheo wanted you perhaps a fraction as badly as you'd wanted him made the thought of Theo's wrath fade into the background as you strained to press your lips to his. That will be a problem for tomorrow you thought as you lost yourself in him again.

Tomorrow came far too quickly for either of your liking.

You'd agreed that you needed to tell Theo; you didn't keep anything from him and Mattheo didn't either, so when Theo plopped into his seat beside you at breakfast Mattheo caught your eye nervously across the table.

"Stellina" Theo said by way of greeting, as he reached for his food.

"Ciao orsacchiotto" Big bear you said, falling into your childhood nicknames for each other.

But regardless of how many times Mattheo nodded encouragingly towards Theo and tangled his foot with yours under the table you simply couldn't find the words to tell him what you'd done.

"Hey, I made out...and then some… with Mattheo for over an hour last night three feet from your bed." "Hey, I want to date your best friend who you've blindly trusted with me for seven years." "Hey, let me give you a mental image you can never unsee."

Yeah...

There was no good way to say it.

And before long, breakfast was over and you and Mattheo were trailing after Theo on the way to class.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he whispered nervously.

"I wanted to, I'm just ... scared."

"YOU'RE scared?!" he hissed.

"You're his best friend, you tell him!"

"You're his sister!"

"What's up with you two?" Theo asked as he turned to look at you.

You looked up at Theo and then back to Mattheo and cleared your throat.

"Teddy... Orsacchiotto" you said sweetly, smiling at him as his eyes narrowed, knowing far too well when you were trying to butter him up.

"I-I've been sleeping with Mattheo—"

And the moment the words left your mouth, you knew they were the wrong ones.

"—Wait! I mean!—"

"—WHAT?!" His eyes flashed to Mattheo. "What the fuck is the matter with you!" he asked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him into the wall.

"No! Teddy! That's not what I—"

Crack.

Blood splattered as his fist connected with Mattheo's nose and you continued to shout, grabbing for Theo as Mattheo howled in pain, grabbing his nose.

"Teddy, stop!!!—"

"—She's my fucking sister!!—"

"—I didn't!! That's not!!—"

Theo tackled him to the ground.

Merda you thought. Shit.

You sat outside the infirmary between the two of them, one holding an icepack to his nose, the other to his knuckles, refusing to look at each other as you sighed and rubbed your temple.

"There wasn't any other phrase you could have used?" Mattheo asked, his voice muffled behind the bloodied ice pack as he looked down at you. He looked awful but he was smirking.

"I'm sorry, I just—"

He reached for your hand and winked at you, clearly teasing you as he wound his fingers in yours.

"I'm sitting right here" Theo mumbled in response to the gesture.

You moved to pull your hand away but Mattheo held onto it.

A few people walked by and you all quieted for a moment.

"My fucking sister, dude. Really?" Theo sighed as he carded his hand through his hair, still refusing to make eye contact with either of you.

Two minutes passed. Three.

"Look. If you hurt her—" he threatened.

And your face broke into a smile, giddy, knowing that that warning was the closest thing to a blessing either of you could hope for.

"—I would never" Mattheo said quickly, matter-of-factly, in a way you knew was true even before he'd said it as he pulled your hand to his lips and kissed it.

You glowed up at him, your cheeks pink with the anticipation of exactly what this would mean for the two of you before you turned and wrapped your arms around Theo's stiff shoulders.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @itznotsophia @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts

[st7rnioioss]

TEXTS BETWEEN BBSF!MATT x SWEETHEART!READER

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... fluffy:3, flirting, mentions of kissing, masturbation (reader), mentions of drinking

more brothers bsf!matt and sweetheart!reader here!

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: finally getting started on these twooooo!! yippeee, i love the sneaking around.

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[greengoblinswifey]

𝕹𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖆𝖘 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖟 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

➳ Key: fluff=❤️, angst=💔, smut=💦, sexual themes=🍒

‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Fratboy!Nicholas AU

Breaking Innocence 💦❤️

Deprived ❤️💦

Rude Boy ❤️💦

Only Yours 💦❤️

All Mine 💦❤️

Jealous!Reader 💔💦❤️

Going Down on Fratboy!Nicholas 💦❤️

Hit My Line 💔❤️💦

Movie Geek ❤️💦

New Year’s Gift ❤️💦

Lenses and Lust ❤️💦

Possession 💔💦❤️

‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Bimbo!Nanny!Reader X Dilf!Nicholas

Introduction 🍒

Nanny Knows Best ❤️🍒💦

Nanny Knows Best II 💔❤️💦

Entangled 💦❤️

‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Series

Fame’s Edge 💔❤️💦🍒

‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Charlie Mayhew

You're my Religion 💦

Dr. Charlie Mayhew/Dr. Chavez💦❤️

Sins of the Flesh 💦

Blessed Are The Tempted 💦

Routine 💦

Night Shift 💦

‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Brothers!Bsf Nicholas

Silent Desires 💦❤️

Secret Lovers 💦🍒

More Than Friends 💔💦❤️

‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

White Boy of the Month ❤️💦

Love Story for the New Age ❤️

Moth to a Flame 💔💦❤️

When I Met you in that Hotel Room 💦❤️

Between Takes 💔💦❤️

Torn ft. Drew Starkey 💦❤️

Sisters!Bsf Nicholas 💔❤️

Shattered 💔🍒

Shattered- Alternative Ending 💔🍒

Temple 💦

Hope 💔🍒

Dark!Nicholas 💔💦

Just Friends 💦❤️

Super Eater 💦

Porno 💦

Punishment 💦❤️

Punishing your man 💦

Break Up With Your Girlfriend 💦

Dom At The Hotel 💦

Betrayed by Blood 💔🍒

Steamy Nights 💦❤️

Break Up With Your Girlfriend II 💔❤️💦

Or Nah 💦❤️

Safe Space ❤️💦

Dress Obsessed 💦

One Bed ft. Cooper Koch 💦

Fool Me Once 💔🍒

Unraveling 💦

Better Brother 💔💦

A Christmas To Remember 💔❤️💦

A Real Sex Scene 💦

Takes Three ft. Cooper Koch 💦❤️

Revenge 💦

Teacher’s Pet 💦

Forbidden Flame 💦

Forbidden Flame II 💦💔❤️

Day Of Love ❤️

[cherrixpie]

TO DIE IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT

PART TWO -> part one

-> after the eventful night at the party you hesitate to tell your brother about your relationship with his best mate, fearing his reaction- but theo doesn't seem to know what's good for him.

-> brother's bsf!theodore nott x riddle!reader; wc: 8.8k; cw: violence, smoking, alcohol, blood, suggestive; sfw; sadly there was some error with the tags and I couldn't tag some people, but I still hope you all found your way here!

( masterlist )

Taboos were a funny thing. Unspoken, implied, and yet, it seemed impossible to break them- making it all the more thrilling to throw them into the wind. Once broken, they settled in the depths of your heart as secrets, blossoming uncontrollable until your whole stomach was a resting whirlwind of pink rose petals, ready to be triggered at any minute. The memories of last night were like hidden-away treasures, replaying in your mind as you walked up the dungeon steps on your way to breakfast. It was as if you could still feel his hands on your skin, his velvety voice in your ears and see the look of hunger and adoration in his cerulean eyes.

Almost subconsciously, you ran your index finger along your thigh below the school skirt you were wearing and felt your stomach flutter at the reemerging memories of last night. Half an hour ago, you'd woken up, feeling more gleeful than ever and only after a few seconds realizing why. But now, it clouded your mind and projected a silly little smile onto your face. Theo was your boyfriend.

You could barely believe it, which didn't make it easier to sort out the conflicting feelings fistfighting each other in the back of your mind. The risk of going out with Theo, the betrayal Mattheo would feel, and the overpowering delight ignited by the mere thought of him, the image of his face, the whisper of his name. God could not have crafted a more perfect man- or a more unreachable one. Because you didn't dare picture what Mattheo might do to the both of you if he found out.

The corridor was quiet, the distant chattering from the Great Hall above growing ever more clear as you approached it. No one crossed your way, you were quite late. The cool stone beneath your fingertips as you trailed your hand along the wall was grounding, steady, until suddenly, it wasn’t. A firm grip caught your wrist, gentle yet insistent, and before you could react, you were being pulled- not harshly, but with a certainty that sent a spark of electricity through your veins.

You barely had time to gasp before your back met the cool stone, and when you looked up, Theo was there, his body caging you in with effortless ease. His breath was warm against your cheek, his hands meeting the wall on either side of your head. An easy smirk danced around your lips and the glinting in his eyes stirred other, more sinful memories in you. Though it was a much different setting than back then, the hunger in them was the same he'd stared at you with when he'd eaten out as if you were his last meal. “Caught you,” he said, under his breath, looking so damn irresistible with the teasing look in his eyes. He seemed much more casual than usual, as well as in a much better mood, and you could understand why.

“I wasn't running,” you replied in an unconvincing effort to keep your voice steady. You swallowed when he leaned in even further and tilted his head, eyes boring into yours as if he knew exactly what was going on in your mind- how you longed for him, for every bit of him, from his blue eyes to the sharp edge of his voice.

His fingers traced up your arm lazily, leaving you struggling to suppress a shudder, and if the flicker of his eyes was any indication, he was perfectly aware of how he made you feel. “No?” he asked with a knowing smile. “Then why do you look so nervous?” Your breath hitched in your throat when his lips hovered over yours, stilling in silent anticipation. You knew he was making you squirm, was getting you all hot and bothered for him so he would have the upper hand. And you were ashamed to admit that it worked.

In an attempt to divert him and avoid suffocating on the heavy tension lingering in the minimal space between you, you said, “I was just on the way to breakfast,” but it came out like a question and you bit down on your tongue when he raised an amused brow.

The intensity of his gaze made you swallow and blink, but you refused to avert your eyes from his pools of blue, refused to give him the satisfaction. “Oh, were you know?” he asked, voice low and laced with sarcastic humour.

Sarcasm. His defining feature. Sometimes you felt like he walked through life, disregarding all worry and bother with a sarcastic smile on his face. But you knew he could be genuine. His gaze would always be understanding when you sought out consolation with him, his smile gentle when you would tell him about your day. Last night, when Campbell had cornered you at the party, there had not been a trace of humor in his cold demeanor. When he’d eaten you out on that desk, he had looked up at you with such sincerity.

You instinctively leaned into the touch of his hand when it came up to rest against your neck, thumb running over your throat with featherlight precision. “You keep walking the halls in that skirt of yours and someone’s going to snatch you up.”

Unconvincingly, you rolled your eyes at him and his protectiveness. Your skirt was perfectly fine. Maybe it was the one from last year. Maybe it rode just a little higher on your thigh. Maybe you’d wanted him to notice and strain himself all day to not let Mattheo catch him looking at you. Maybe all you’d dreamed about that night was the feeling of his hands working on your cunt, producing the most mind-blowing orgasm you’d ever felt.

“And let me guess,” you said, challengily, and ignored the pounding of your heart against your ribs, “you’re just the right person to keep that from happening?”

Theo dipped down even more, making your eyes flutter shut in the expectancy of a kiss. It came, but it was a mere gentle peck to the corner of your mouth. “No,” he disagreed smoothly, “I’m the only person who is allowed to.”

You had enough. Enough of the tingling teasing of his fleeting touches, enough of the light touch of his lips. Taking initiative, you stood on your tiptoes to meet his lips, but he pulled away, smirking down at your frown. Just a shame you’d discovered how to make him snap last night. Theo smiled as your hand came up to his neck, pulling him down with pleading eyes, and made not the slightest attempt to assist your struggles. So, you had to get out the full arsenals. “Theo,” you whispered, gaze firmly locked on his cerulean eyes. “Theo, baciami.” (Kiss me)

“Maledizione,” cursed Theo through gritted teeth and you knew you’d won. In one fluid motion, both his hands came up to cup your face and his lips clashed onto yours with unknown ferocity. They moved vehemently against yours, eliciting a high-pitched little gasp from you. It made him chuckle into your mouth as his tongue slipped between your lips, taking charge of the kiss.

Though passionate, the kiss was still controlled, no matter how wildly, he still consumed you with meticulous mastery. Every movement of his soft lips, every brush of his fingers, every wandering of his hands was expertly staged to get you riled up. Kisses with Theo were not satisfaction, they were carefully controlled build up. And once you gave into his push, he guided you more and more to a point where you almost moaned against his lips.

One of his hands had wandered down to your hip, then your thigh. Unexpectedly, he gripped the underside of your upper thigh and lifted it, squeezing the flesh between his long fingers. Departing from yours, his lips latched onto your neck, and you pushed wildy against his chest. He broke away, brows furrowed with a hint of irritation, still pressing you against the wall with his whole body and massaging the flesh of your thigh as he held it, lifted up to his waist. “Wh-”

“Mattheo will kill you!” you whispered, voice shaking slightly. Instinctively, you looked up and down the hall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Anyone could walk by. Even if they were another student, they would spread the news around the whole castle and you wouldn’t be spared Mattheo's wrath. You weren’t sure whether he’d be angrier at his best friend for stealing his sister, or at his sister for stealing his best friend, but you did know you weren’t eager to find out.

Theo only laughed lightly at your grim prediction, and the sound was so entrancing that you forgot to be angry at him. Though they spared your neck, his lips traced your jaw with featherlight kisses. “Worth it.”

You felt your breath grow unsteady, not just because of his wandering hands. Hastily, you looked in both directions, up and down the corridor, listening for footsteps, however distant they may be. “It’s not,” you disagreed, biting down on your lip as his fingers slipped beneath your shirt and the calloused tips ran along your bare skin. “Theo, seriously. What if he hurts you? Remember what he did to Dylan Walker?”

Walker had taken you out on a date once, and for that alone, Mattheo had landed him in the hospital wing with second degree burns and a lung full of lake water. When you’d confronted him about it, he had refused to tell you why and Walker had never exchanged another word with you. “Vividly,” said Theo in a dry voice, not even bothering to glance up at you. “I was there.”

“Wha-,” you gasped in indignation, but a sharp pinch of your stomach between his fingers got the words stuck in your throat.

“He talked trash about you,” he explained in an indifferent voice, as if it didn’t matter at all.

You let out a frustrated huff of breath and dug your fingers harshly into his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. Just because you beat up people and chop at your life expectancy together doesn't mean he won't do the same to you.” There was now actual panic in your voice as you nervously anticipated the steps, the people. Eyes widening, nudging friends, running off to tell the whole school, maybe even Mattheo himself.

But Theo seemed completely unfazed as he trailed kisses up your jaw. “Aren’t you just irresistible, all worried about your boyfriend, carina.”

The use of the word ‘boyfriend’ almost made your thoughts stutter and a tender bloom blossomed in the pit of your stomach. Right. He was your boyfriend. You couldn't suppress the small smile forming on your lips, and by the look he gave you, he knew exactly what he was doing. Theodore Nott was your boyfriend. Not anyone else’s.

All the girls you’d secretly envied when you saw them walk off with him to his dorm in the midst of a rowdy Slytherin party, his arm around their waists, knowing from the stories they told they had to be in for a good time. The following day, you’d visit him at his dorm to do coursework together and try to shut out the fact that on the very bed you sat on, he’d kissed and fucked a girl that wasn’t you. Your gaze would linger on the crumpled up sheets, picturing it, how he would be towards them. Would he be rough, or gentle? Would he be mean, or sweet? Where would his hands wander, where would his lips caress, what would they whisper into the space between the heated bodies?

And then, his voice would pull you out of your sinful thoughts, as he leaned against the headboard and studied your expression, teasing you for your lack of concentration. You wondered whether he had known how it would seize your heart, the way he smiled at you, the way he looked at you. The mere act of regarding you. It was embarrassing, pathetic even, but you felt no greater love and adoration for anyone.

Theo’s thoughts seemed to have wandered off to similar pölaces. As he guided your lips back onto his, he whispered words in between the kisses that made your cheeks burn. “I want everyone to know,” he whispered, and despite your reluctance, you sighed contently against his lips. “I want everyone to know you belong to me,” he said in a murmur, his front pressing against yours.

You nearly choked on your own spit when his thigh slotted neatly into the space between yours, and you were glad your embarrassing little mewl was swallowed up by his hungry lips. “I want them to know,” he repeated, as if it was a mantra, as he devoured your lips over and over again. “I want them to know who they will have to answer to if they ever mess with you again.”

“But who do you answer to?” you asked, voice barely audible in between the hungry ministrations of his lips.

But he understood, you knew he did, somehow he always did. Because he scoffed lightly and tilted your head to give himself better access to your lips. “Not your brother.”

It was hard to concentrate on his words when his hand squeezed your thigh so deliciously and his hips moved teasingly against yours, driving all thoughts about getting caught right out of the forefront of your mind, leaving only thoughts of him, him, him. “He may be my best mate, but he has no damn say in this,” Theo said firmly, voice barely above a whisper but rich with his baritone. “And he’ll have to accept that you are your own person, and you can make decisions for yourself that are right. Not because he approves of them but because you made them.”

All this was whispered hurriedly against your lips and you barely registered half of it, but still, a certain warmth spread in your chest- and not only in your chest. Theo’s lips departed from yours and he looked down at you, noticing your still worried expression as you returned his heavy gaze. Gentle fingers brushed over your face, over the frown, smoothing it out with a smile. Letting out a long sigh, you contemplated his words.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, suddenly with such disarming tenderness that you swallowed.

“Alright,” you breathed out, voice still full of doubt. You weren’t at all convinced that Mattheo would accept the fact that you were your own person, and even less convinced that he would resolve the issue without violence. The last thing you wanted was for Theo to get hurt. But then again, they were best mates. Maybe Theo would finally be the one he would accept, he would deem worthy of you. How ridiculous that notion was. The more Mattheo kept you away from boys, the more desperate you got- hence Terry Campbell. But maybe he would see how misguided his previous overprotectiveness was if Theo talked him out of it. After all, Theo was a master of words.

“If you want to risk it,” you finally said, meeting Theo’s gaze steadily, “I won’t stop you. But not now. Not at breakfast. I’m actually hungry and I want to enjoy it without you getting your head torn off.”

“Qualsiasi cosa per la mia principessa,” he said, smiling. (Anything for my princess)

Because it would look suspicious if Theo and you just so happened to arrive at the same time, you let him go first and waited for a few minutes before making your way to the Great Hall as well. It was relatively late when you arrived, many students were already on their way back up to their common room as it was a Saturday and they had no classes to attend.

When you walked into the hall, you spotted your friends as one of the last groups at the Slytherin table. Walking over to them, you were first spotted by Pansy, who lifted her head from Blaise’s shoulder to wave you over with an eager grin. Suspicion curled in your stomach when you saw the excitement in her expression, the eager smile could mean nothing good.

As you approached them, you avoided looking at Theo, who had perched himself on the bench in between Pansy and Draco. You went for the seat opposite him, Enzo and Mattheo making room for you in between them. Theo lounged far more casual than usual, smirking slightly as you sat down next to your brother, his eyes flickering over you shortly. “Took your time getting here, tesoro.”

Your eyes flickered over to Mattheo in alarm- in his presence, Theo usually made use of less romantic nicknames. But Mattheo didn’t seem to have picked up on it, seeing as he didn’t pause in his scribbling on a torn piece of parchment. Somewhat calmer, you picked a piece of toast from a plate, avoiding his piercing eyes to not give anything away. “Shut up, Theo. I need my rest,” you said as casually as possible. “Not all of us survive on caffeine, nicotine and no sleep at all.”

On the opposite side of the table, Theo rested his chin on his palm, propped up on the polished wood. His eyes were dark with amusement as he watched you spread butter on your toast. “Hm,” he made vaguely, voice dripping with insinuation, “Thought maybe you got held up.”

Stiffening mid marmalade application, you looked up from your toast to glared at him. But he had already averted his eyes, as if they had been resting on you by mere chance. Instead, you met Pansy’s gaze, who narrowed her eyes slightly, a suspicious look on her face. Pansy had known of your feelings for Theo for even longer as you yourself had, she had a certain instinct for romantic intricacies. One that now came to your inconvenience, as her attentive eyes, eager to pick up on any further signs, flickered between you and Theo. Then, she turned to you, a misleading smile spread across her features. “How was the party yesterday, darling?” she asked, wiggling her brows, “How was your date?”

Mattheo, who had barely been paying attention up until now, froze next to you, eyes snapping up from the parchment and to you with scrutinizing estimation. Trying your best to look indifferent at the memory of Campbell, one that you had already half suppressed, you shrugged, not meeting Theo’s eye. “It was pretty uneventful. He was a bit of a bore.”

Mattheo seemed agitated. He leaned back on the bench, fingers tapping on the wood restlessly, knee rocking under the table. “You missed the briefing,” he said to you, in a not so subtle attempt to change the topic of conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Pansy’s face fall. No doubt would she have asked about the details of the evening, but you weren’t that good at lying- especially not to her.

“The what?” you asked, before she could bring Campbell up again, and raised your brows at your brother. Mattheo grinned at your scepticism and draped an arm over your backrest. Years and years living with him had taught you when his smiles could mean no good, and your brows drew together in a frown as he leaned towards you with a smirk.

“The party briefing. We’re throwing one tonight. No, you don’t get a say. Yes, you’re going. No, you’re not bringing some random guy.”

Deadpanning, you took a bite out of your toast. “Didn’t ask for your permission, actually,” you said sharply when you’d swallowed.

With a mock gasp, your brother clutched his hand over his chest. “You wound my pride as your older brother.” You sighed a long sigh. It was pointless reminding Mattheo that he wasn’t even the oldest and him acting like he was most likely stemmed from some deep-rooted control issues- he would never hear it. You exchanged a short look with Theo, who seemed amused at your frustration and quirked his lips at you. It was hard not to smile back.

“Do we really need another party?” asked Draco, frowning, as he cut his toast into neat pieces for consumption. “Didn’t we just have one?”

Pansy, leaning against Blaise, took her eyes off you to roll them at him. “You say that every time.”

“And you always show up,” Mattheo grinned triumphantly, seemingly very content with himself ever since you’d shown so little enthusiasm regarding your date of last night. If only he knew…

“You've got scratches on your neck, Nott,” Pansy said suddenly, making your meandering thoughts snap back to the present. A present in which Theo had frozen mid-stretch. His shirt seemed to have ridden up when he’d strained his arms over his head and indeed, with horror, you noticed the marks your nails must’ve left on him. You felt heat rush up into your cheeks at the memory, but Theo seemed completely unfazed and smirked at her. “Do I?”

Enzo chuckled into his tea next to you, turning a page in his newspaper and glancing up at Theo shortly, a knowing smile on his face. “Rough morning, mate?” A lazy, unbothered smile spread across his face, and you were momentarily awestruck by the glinting in his blue eyes as they reflected the morning sun, forgetting all about Pansy’s watchful gaze. Looking from you to Theo, she narrowed her eyes once more as Theo idly spun his spoon between his fingers.

“You’ve been in a suspiciously good mood all morning.” Blaise grinned at Theo, who didn’t seem unsettled by the attention at all- other than you. “Must’ve been a real good fuck,” Blaise laughed, making the corners of Theo’s lip twitch. Quickly, you looked away from him. If he looked at you with those damn eyes of his now, your reaction would for sure give you away.

But Theo merely raised an eyebrow at Blaise, readjusting his collar. “Why do you care so much about my sex life, Zabini? It’s disturbing.”

Even Draco now joined into the conversation, and you could only pray your silence would be interpreted as tiredness, rather than nerves and utter embarrassment. He leaned back and frowned slightly at Theo, who was pouring himself another cup of coffee. “It’s just weird when you smile, Nott.”

That seemed to finally take Mattheo’s mind off the party- though you’d rather have them all occupied with something else. He pointed his fork at Theo, suddenly interested. “Actually, yeah. What’s with you?”

Theo deadpanned, sipping his coffee and scanning them all over the rim. “Maybe I’m just happy.”

Next to you, Mattheo snorted disbelievingly. “You’re never happy.” The sarcastic look on Theo’s face made everyone, including you, laugh. Even Theo’s lips twitched humorously and once again, his eyes found yours for the split of a second, brow raising.

“Alright,” groaned Mattheo, matter of factly, once the laughter had subsided, and rose from his seat. “I have some orphans to cannibalize before noon.” his gaze landed on you, voice casual but suddenly firm. “No bullshit tonight, yeah? I don’t want to have to drag some idiot off of you.”

“How about you don’t do that?” you suggested dryly, knowing he would never even consider the possibility. He considered your business his business and justified it by spewing stuff about protecting you, shielding you from the world. But he had to know he would not be able to forever. And you, for your part, were perfectly content with pushing more boundaries, especially when it had felt so damn good yesterday.

As you had suspected, all you got from Mattheo was an unbothered grin. “Not up to you,” he said, simply.

Even Pansy rolled her eyes now. She had always been your advocate, the one who got you talking to boys at parties and smuggled you drinks, lended you her unholy book collection and gave you makeup tips. Now, she gave Mattheo a pointed glare. “You act like she’s a kid, but she’s an adult just like you, you big idiot,” she snapped.

Indignant, Mattheo crossed his arms over his chest. “No, I act like she has terrible taste in men.”

“He does have a point, darling,” Enzo chimed in from your other side, and you gave him a look, conveying just how unhelpful he was being.

“She’s going to end up with someone eventually,” Pansy pressed on, making Mattheo’s expression shift into one of irritation. “And you’ll have to face it.”

Mattheo scoffed, returning her glare. “Not if I have a say in it.”

“You don’t!” you reminded him, voice more heated than before. The stress of keeping a secret from him paired with the worry this conversation sparked off inside you.

The smile on Mattheo’s face was forced, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard and unyielding. “It’'ll be a cold day in hell before I let some idiot get near you." And unfortunately, you believed him.

The Slytherin common room was buzzing with restless, pent up energy of countless students of all houses. The air thick with cigarette smoke and the sickly-sweet smell of smuggled firewhiskey. The emerald glow of the fires cast wildly dancing shadows against the walls, where the portraits had left their frames to spent the night somewhere less in risk of being splashed with alcoholic substance. A large mass of people was swaying to the deafeningly loud music in the center of the room, and in the corners, intertwined bodies engaged in far riskier affairs.

Theo stood against the far wall, posture deceptively relaxed, grip tight round the bottle of some alcohol he was holding. When Blaise had pushed it into his hands an hour prior with a promising smirk, guaranteeing him it was “good stuff”, he had been too distracted to question it, but he didn’t recognize the taste. Normally, that would have been enough of a reason to discard the bottle- Slytherin parties were notorious for the impending risk of being poisoned- but tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to care, needed the deliciously burning trickle down his throat and distract him from this. From you.

His jaw clenched every time he caught sight of you- twirling absentmindedly to the music, smile shining beneath the lights as you let Pansy drag you all over the dance floor in search of Blaise. Unaware of the way his gaze followed you like a magnet, like a tether he couldn’t sever. Every now and again, his eyes flickered over to the opposite end of the room and he took another sip of the unknown drink. Your brother was as loud and reckless as ever, downing shots and laughing with Enzo about something while Draco stood stiffly beside him, eying the dancers critically.

He had been working them out all afternoon. The words, that now sat heavy on his tongue, burning hotter than the liquor. Theo exhaled slowly, set his bottle down with a muted clink, and pushed himself off the wall. The crowd of dancers shifted around him, bodies moving in a drunken haze, some girls clinging to him, but he barely registered it. He slipped through the chaos like a shadow until he came to a stop behind Mattheo and Enzo, still caught up in their conversation.

When they took notice of his presence, Mattheo turned to him with a crude grin. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Plenty,” said Theo dryly, hiding his twitching fingers in the pockets of his trousers. Mattheo seemed to take notice of his restlessness, an impressive feat, taking into account how many shots he’d already downed. His brows lifted in vague confusion. “Need something?” he asked, voice rough from smoke, head tilting as he noticed the tension in his best mate’s stance.

Theo swallowed, throat tight, pulse a heavy drum in his ears- or was it the music? “Yeah,” he finally said, voice low and steady, masking the way his heart rattled against his chest like it wanted to break from its cage. He tipped his chin toward the stairs, toward the shadows of the quieter corner. “Need a word.”

Though he looked surprised, Mattheo gave a small nod and placed his drink on a couch table. He followed his best mate along the cold stone walls that seemed to swallow the loud thumping of the music. When they reached the stairs and immersed themselves in the shadows, the music seemed to grow slightly fainter, though still a prominent beat mirroring the one of Theo’s pulse. “I’ve got to talk to you about something,” he said, seriously, leaning against the wall and scanning Mattheo, gauging his mood, how quick he would be to snap.

Mattheo had had a great evening so far. He’d dunked one guy's head in the punch bowl, made out with both of the Patil twins and the firewhiskey from their new supplier was way better than the one they usually got from the hogshead. He sniggered at Theo’s grave expression. “What are you so serious for, Nott?” he drawled easily, already tipsy from the few rounds of firewhiskey. “Could we have one night where you don’t look like your nonna was just run over?”

Theo made no effort to conceal his scoff. Usually, he had his fun at these parties. Even if he didn’t present the most cheerful face, his needs would remain somewhat satisfied by the end of the night. He highly doubted that tonight would be the same. “It’s about your sister,” he said steadily, watching Mattheo’s grin change into a frown.

“Ah,” he said, sounding somewhat sobered up. “Heard you sorted out Campbell pretty bad this morning. What did he do?”

Vivid images of your wide, teary eyes flashed in Theo’s eyes, of the way that tramp Campbell had grabbed you, how pathetic he had looked this morning as a bloody, crumpled mess at his feet, begging for mercy. “No matter,” he said, remembering his promise to you. “It’s something else.”

“Merlin, Nott, you ‘re acting like she caught a deadly disease,” groaned Mattheo in exasperation, but Theo could see how his vague wording unnerved him. If there was one person Mattheo would burn down the world for, it was his sister. Theo understood the sentiment, but he didn’t like his practices. “Spit it out,” growled Mattheo, pushing himself off the wall to come closer. “Can’t be too bad, can it?”

“It can,” Theo said with pursed lips, knowing that the news he was about to share would bother Mattheo more than a natural disaster could- after all, he was one himself. Mattheo's face fell with the words, and his frown only deepend. “Why do I feel like I’m about to hate whatever comes next?”

It was the way Theo stood so still that caught your attention- a statue carved from tension, jaw locked, shoulders taught beneath his shirt. You almost missed it, lost in the relentless pull of the music and Pansy's hand tugging yours as you spun, but something inside you twisted, as if instinct was dragging your gaze to the far side of the room. and there they were. Theo and Mattheo, cornered in the shadows, their heads inclined towards each other. It was hard to read their body language through the sea of dancing people and flashing light, but you could make out the way Theo’s lips moved, wrapped around words that seemed to struggle their way past his lips.

In reaction to them, Mattheo leaned in, gaze dark and sharp, while Theo's fingers curled into fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearm twitching like live wire. The room around you seemed to blur at the edges, the pulse of the music fading into a distant hum. You couldn’t hear the words exchanged, but you didn’t need to to know that something was very, very wrong.

With a tug at her arm, you caught Pansy’s attention and inclined your head toward their tense figures. Pansy, who had lived through her fair share of dragging Mattheo away from fights, like all of his close friends, frowned, nudging you away from the thick knot of bodies that was the center of the room. Suddenly, your eyes caught the way Theo said something to Mattheo that made his jaw fall slack. Dread pooled in your stomach, your legs uncoordinated with the conflicting wishes to run or to get in between them. You decided upon the latter, slowly walking towards their corner as Mattheo’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Mattheo laughed in Theo’s face, but it was devoid of any humour, no more than the promise of something darker, of impending doom. “You're joking,” he said, almost commanded.

Theo’s voice was steady, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not.”

But Mattheo seemed unwilling to accept the truth of his words. Shaking his head with a wild smile, he paced around the very limited space, knuckles turning white around the bottle he was holding. “No, no, no. You’re not.” But the hard look on Theo’s face made his face fall. The color seemed to vanish from his cheeks. Without a warning, his hands reached out and suddenly got a hold of the taller boy’s collar, the bottle meeting the ground with a soft thud that was drowned out by the music. Theo looked unfalteringly into Mattheo’s eyes that flickered between, desperately in search of a lie, a bad joke. But it didn’t come, and his group tightened on Theo’s shirt.

“Tell me you’ll end it,” he said, voice low and furious. “Right now.”

Theo didn’t flinch, though his eyes flickered to the side, where some partygoers had taken notice of the unfolding scene. Somewhere in the crowd, he made out your face, eyes widened in worry, as you approached them. “I won’t,” he said harshly to the other.

Mattheo’s face twisted into something sinister, a storm of fury darkening his features, cackling tension ready to break and unleash its fury. His knuckles whitened around Theo’s collar as he dragged him down until their foreheads almost touched. The dancing light of the common room danced around the sharp, clenched line of his jaw, the cold fury brimming in his eyes, and something else- betrayal. “What did you just say?” he breathed, voice dripping with quiet, lethal rage.

But Theo didn’t flinch, his jaw set, eyes steady. “I won’t,” he repeated, voice like iron. Mattheo’s fingers flexed, and it was all it took for his restraint to snap.

The first punch landed like a gunshot. Theo’s head snapped to the side, a sharp crack echoing through the corner of the room as Mattheo’s fist connected with his cheekbone. The force of it staggered him, but he didn’t fall- just wiped the blood from his split lip and squared his shoulders like he’d been waiting for this. Mattheo lunged, grabbing him by the shirt again and shoving him into the storm wall with enough force to rattle the torches. “You absolute piece of shit!” he spat, words laced with venom. “You fucking knew she was off limits!” His voice had risen to a loud snarl, sharp enough to cut through the party noises.

Theo shoved back, and the people broke apart when Mattheo and he faced each other, panting. Slipping from their haze, many of the party-goers turned in search of the origin of the shouting, and a crowd formed around them. And still, Theo didn’t back down. Didn’t say a word. He just stood there, blood smeared across his jaw, staring back at Mattheo like he’d let him tear him apart before he even thought of walking away from you.

But before Mattheo could deliver another punch, a familiar voice made the both of them whip around. “Mattheo, stop!” you shouted, out of breath, and stumbled in between them, into the no man’s land between their heaving bodies. When you looked at Mattheo, you saw the betrayal deeply etched into his features. They were twisted with hate and anger, every nerve tense, like a predator ready to pounce. When you turned to Theo, his heart clenched with a sharp pain far surpassing the one pulsing in his busted lip. Your eyes were full of worry and fear, clinging to the smear of blood on his chin.

But you turned to Mattheo sharply, likely sensing that he was just about ready to do everything- anything. His dark eyes were locked on Theo, he barely acknowledged you, his voice laced with disgust. “You had every girl in the castle, and you chose her?”

“I didn't choose,” replied Theo, suppressing the urge to pull your shaky figure into him, wrap his arms around you. “It just happened.”

“Yeah?” asked Mattheo, chest heaving with barely contained fury. “Well, it’s about to un-happen.”

“This isn’t just some fling, Mattheo,” you tried, taking a hesitant step towards your brother. But not even your pleading eyes could calm the storm raging inside him.

A bitter laugh left his throat, mocking you. “Right. Because you’re so special, huh? Always desperate to be wanted by someone.”

You knew he didn't mean it. That fury and shock twisted his words into something ugly and hurtful, meant to attack your weak points, meant to hurt. To disarm. And it was disarming. His words were like poison, seeping into your flesh, curling up in your stomach and echoing in your mind. Defensively, you squared your shoulders, but tears stung in your eyes.

For a moment, Mattheo almost seemed to falter, until Theo brushed past you in one fluid motion, gripped the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked sharply, shaking him by his shirt. Instead of an answer, Mattheo shook him off and threw a punch that Theo dodged. The next, however, met him square across the face as Mattheo lunged at him, absolutely livid.

The crowd gasped and screamed as they fell to the ground in a huddle of arms and legs, spitting insults at each other. When Theo rolled him over and got the upper hand for a second, he brought his fist down upon mattheo’s face and the following crack resounded against the stone walls. Spitting out blood, Mattheo shoved him off and tackled him with new fury.

Suddenly, you felt a strong tug at your arm, and before you knew it, Pansy had pulled you a few feet distance from the fight.

Meanwhile, both Mattheo and Theo got onto their feet again and Mattheo, face and shirt bloody, stumbled back a step, steadying himself against the wall. Theo stood upright, but his lip was dripping with blood and his shirt was ripped slightly. Mattheo’s eyes wandered from you to Theo, still ablaze with rage. but instead of attacking him again, he spat at Theo’s feet, turned on his heel and approached the exit, the crowd bursting apart where he walked.

When the entrance sealed itself behind him, stunned silence filled the room, thick as the previous heavy beat of the music. But someone had stopped the record player. The room seemed weirdly small without the thundering bass. Still rooted to the spot, Theo ran a bloody hand over his busted lip. Then, he slowly turned. When you looked into his eyes, you released a shaky breath. Slowly putting the pieces together, a round of whispers overtook the bystanders. And in one singular motion, all heads turned to your heaving figure.

The sad remains of some of the stargazing instruments lay scattered across the floor, unfortunate witnesses to Mattheo's wrath. Ripped parchment fluttered like the wings of trapped birds in the wind and the black board exhibited a large gash where he’d punched it in a fit of overflowing rage. They all were signs of the destrcutive storm that had rushed through, left nothing untouched. Now, it leaned against the stone railing, the remains of several cigarettes at his feet. But no smoke curled in the air above. Mattheo had smoked his lungs out until the pack was empty, and now, his leg rocked unsteadily, his fingers twitched and he glowered into the dark of the night.

He didn’t bother looking up when he heard Theo’s footsteps scuff against the stone floor, the creak of the door. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon like the stars might calm the fury blistering under his skin. But as the other neared the railing with slow but sure steps, he tracked every movement: the stiff set of Theo’s shoulders, the way he flexed his fingers like he was still shaking off the urge to hit something. His jaw was tight, a faint bruise blooming along his cheekbone, but he stood tall, steady, like he wasn’t the least bit sorry for what he’d done. It pissed him off, almost as much as the fact that he was in the wrong.

His eyes wandered down to his best mates hands once more, gaze flickering over the knuckles Theo hadn’t bothered to heal. “You look like shit,” Mattheo muttered, voice low and sharp, though the words carried less venom than they should have.

Theo rested his forearms against the railing next to him, though keeping a certain distance. His hands wrung, more blood seeping from his bashed in knuckles. Then, with a long sigh, one of them disappeared into his pocket and he glanced over at Mattheo, sizing him up. “Smoke?”

Mattheo gritted his teeth in frustration, hands curling into fists as he stared onto the lake. “Fuck yeah. I’ve run out.”

A rustling of clothing, a crackle of carton and then, Theo handed Mattheo a cigarette. The latter took it without comment, lighting it with a flick of his fingers and taking a slow drag. Smoke billowed out of his mouth as Theo next to him balanced another smoke between his bleeding lips and clicked a lighter to ignite it. He, too, took a languid drag of it, watching the smoke curl up into curious shapes before dissipating into the cool night air. As the calming effect made him able to stop the bouncing of his leg, Mattheo let out a scoff and blew smoke from his nose. “You really are a fucking bastard.”

For a few seconds, only the faint whisper of the wind around the castle walls filled the air. Then- “I can only promise you that I’ll be whatever she needs me to be,” Theo replied, carefully choosing his words.

A disbelieving, ironic chuckle stumbled past Mattheo’s lip, hanging in the tense air between them like the puff of smoke that accompanied it. “Well, aren’t you all righteous all of the sudden?”

Theo didn’t answer, but the lack of a response sounded as loud as a yell could have. Agitated, Mattheo tightened his grip on the cigarette, making sparks of embers gush from it and shine brightly until they were swallowed up by the dark. A frustrated growl left his lips. “Why did you have to fuck this up for me?”

“Fuck what up?” asked Theo, a sudden and unmistakable sharpness in his voice that made Mattheo turn his head to him. His brow was raised as he breathed out a string of smoke and eyed the other critically. “Your carefully crafted plan to validate yourself by keeping her close? Whether she's protected or not doesn't change who you are. But I don't think you really care about protection, do you? You only want to be her highest priority, because you’re no one else’s.”

Theo’s voice had grown more heated and he had inched closer. With a frustrated frown, Mattheo averted his eyes from him, angrier than ever at the fact that he knew there was truth to his words. But theo didn’t let up as he leaned in, forced Mattheo to hear the words. “You cling to her like it's her job to soothe your self-loathing. But she's not your mother, she's not your therapist, she's not your tool. I know you love her, so do I, but that means separating your protectiveness from your self-protection.”

There was another short silence, a silence thick with tension, brimming with their heated tempers. Finally, Mattheo scowled frustratedly and took another, long drag of his cigarette. His leg had started bouncing again. “You really are an asshole, Nott.” He waited for an answer, but Theo seemed to have said all he intended.

Agitated, Mattheo ran a hand through his dark curls, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Fuck, maybe you’re right. You know… in my whole damn life, the only people who ever accepted me- ever really accepted me- were you and her. You two saw the whole, stinking pile of shit that I am and you chose to stay. And now, you’re going behind my back.” He refused to meet Theo’s measuring stare, knowing he was too disconcerted to put up any sort of facade- especially around him. He’d never really fooled Theo, and it showed when he raised his voice.

“You’re scared,” he said calmly, throwing him a firm look when he scoffed, “Don’t be stupid, you can’t deny it. Just listen to yourself, mate. But being with me doesn’t mean she’ll leave you.”

A frustrated groan left Mattheo’s throat, his eyes fixed to the glint of moonlight, reflected on the steady waves of the lake. They rippled softly with each breeze. “Feels like you’re both turning your backs on me, just like the whole fucking world did,” he said, voice raw, fingers tightening around the railing until his knuckles stood out white.

“They turned on her too,” Theo argued sensibly, voice calmer and somehow softer as the topic turned to you. Mattheo noticed it with great dissatisfaction. “You only see your pain, Mattheo, but you didn’t soothe hers when you made her unapproachable to everyone but us.” Everything inside Mattheo denied the truth his words carried. After all he’d sworn himself he’d do for you, it hit him like another punch. But he was forced to admit that there was some sense in his words.

He’d always thought he alone could protect you properly- and Merlin, it stung that he might be wrong. Who was he kidding, he was wrong. “Shut the fuck up,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

Theo simply stomped out his cigarette, tone turning matter-of-fact. “I have nothing more to say. And you don't, either.”

Mattheo released a frustrated breath of air, scowling at the smoldering cigarette between his fingers. “How did it happen anyway?” he finally asked.

Theo dragged a hand through his curls. He leaned against the cold stone railing, jaw tight, voice low but steady. “It only started last night. At Slughorn's stupid party,” he admitted, glancing at Mattheo through the haze of smoke.

“I thought she went with Campbell?” asked Mattheo, quickly, and Theo narrowed his eyes at him. “I was getting there.” Averting his eyes to his hands, his expression darkened at the memory of the night. “Campbell cornered her. He had his filthy hands on her, saying things I won’t repeat. I got there just in time.” His voice sharpened, every word laced with venom. “Ripped him off her. This morning I made sure he wouldn’t forget why he shouldn’t try again.” Theo rubbed his thumb over his knuckles that were becoming scabby against the cool air. “She was shaken, mate. And you weren’t there. But I was. And I couldn’t- couldn’t leave her after that.”

Mattheo didn’t speak. The only sound was the distant crackle of the dying embers in his cigarette, the quiet rustle of wind tugging at their robes. He stood rigid, fingers curled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked beneath his skin. Theo stayed still, letting the weight of his words linger, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch under Mattheo’s glare- just waited. And when Mattheo finally exhaled, the sound was sharp, almost guttural, like he was trying to breathe out the ache that had settled in his bones. “What did you do to Campbell?” he finally asked in a business-like manner, though his glare was withering.

“Broke his nose. His jaw. Split his brow. Might've kicked a couple ribs in,” Theo said, deadpanning.

Mattheo paused, nodding slowly. “Good.”

“I don’t just care about her,” Theo pressed, seizing the moment as Mattheo looked somewhat appeased. “I protect her. I have and I will.”

Mattheo scoffed, but when he glanced back at Theo, his glare had turned into a frown, fury replaced by irritation. “You broke my nose, by the way,” he said gruffly, pointing to his blood-smeared face.

“You split my lip first,” countered Theo with a smirk, rubbing over his knuckles.

The reply earned a dark chuckle from Mattheo. “Fair trade for wrecking Campbell’s face, I guess.” With a sigh, he turned to lean against the railing with his side, his front turned towards Theo. With a flick of his wrists, he flicked ash into the night and studied Theo’s expression. “I get it, you know. Why she… why you.”

Theo glanced over, catching Mattheo looking almost pained at the admission. “Do you?”

Another groan left Mattheo’s lips as he flicked the burnt-out smoke off into the dark grounds of the castle, following the glowing embers with his eyes until they had merged with the dark. “I hate it,” he said lowly, “But yeah. i get it.” His eyes seemed to darken. “If she’s gonna be with someone, I’d rather it be the guy who fought me for her without flinching.”

The agitation was visible with the way his knee bounced, his fingers twitched and he averted his face from Theo’s piercing gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Take care of her, man. Please.”

When Theo opened his mouth to speak and reassure him, however, he cut him off quickly, voice wavering slightly with the struggle to hide how affected he was. “You won’t have sex of course.” His face twisted with disgust at the idea. “Not until she’s at least twenty-five. Thirty. Never, actually,” he clarified, nodding to himself and giving Theo a very firm glare, pointing at him. “Don’t you lay hands on my little sister!”

“She’s not your little sister, mate,” said Theo, completely unfazed. “And it may already be too late for that.”

“You fucker!”

Theo descended the stone steps from the Owlery, hands stuffed into his pockets, the early morning chill clinging to his skin. A few students he passed nudged their friends and broke out into whispers, but he ignored them. It had only been a few hours, but the news of his and Mattheo’s showdown at the Slytherin party had already made its rounds. Not that he would have minded. The more people knew you were his, the better. It was as if his whole terrifying reputation had been crafted only to protect you now.

As Theo stepped into the nearly empty Great Hall, he spotted you sitting alone with Mattheo at the Slytherin table. The sight seemed to unravel something inside him. You were curled into the bench, hands wrapped around a mug, face lit with cautious disbelief. Mattheo sat back, arms slung over the back of the chair, looking exhausted but...relaxed. Like the weight of the world had shifted off his shoulders, even if he wasn’t quite sure where to put it yet.

Theo hesitated only for a second, then he walked over, passing all other house tables and walking up the Slytherin one. When you noticed him, your eyes widened, your lips parting as if you couldn’t quite believe he was still breathing, still standing. “So Mattheo wasn’t lying,” you said, breathlessly, looking up at him. “You actually survived.”

Theo’s lips twitched into a crooked grin as he dropped onto the bench beside you, thigh brushing against yours like it belonged there. "Told you I could be convincing," he muttered, voice low enough that Mattheo rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

Glancing shortly at Mattheo, you leaned over to place a quick peck on his lips- unaware how hungry it made him for more. With a sheepish smile, you parted from him, and he had to seriously restrain himself in order to not grab your face and clash his lips onto yours, making your breath hitch so deliciously in your throat.

Mattheo tossed a piece of toast onto his plate glaring at Theo like he still might throttle him for sport, but his voice lacked venom. “I told her if you break her heart, I'll break your legs,” he said, like he was commenting on the weather.

Theo just smirked, stretching his arm across the back of the bench, fingers ghosting over your shoulder. “Fair trade,” he murmured, turning to you with a glint in his eye. “Guess you’re stuck with me now, huh?”

And the way you smiled back- hesitant, relieved, a little in awe- made every bruise worth it.

a/n: the writing process of this was kind of cursed (deleted documents, unsaved changes etc) so I'm just so glad I managed to get it out. I hope you like it!

taglist: @lady-peiskos @hazeldunst @juliet-017 @furioussharkcat @onlytenkos @jannie-belaerys @blueflowerpots @whosyourgnomie @revesephemeres @longpondlibrary @aespaslut @hopeless--romamtic @s00ty-feet @iamheretoread1234 @devilsadvcte @jolly4holly

[rafeysbangs]

lachesism , rafe cameron ( series ) 01

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 001. 002. 003.

ONE ; i'm there, you're there, everybody's there.

THE DREADED MIDSUMMERS.

you always hated the annual celebration. to you, it's a maddening mix of triviality and discomfort, a tradition that felt more like a chore than a festivity. sure, there were fleeting moments of fun, but they were rare, overshadowed by the unbearable awkwardness that always seemed to define the event for you.

every year, you found yourself trapped in the same suffocating routine; forced smiles, polite small talk, and the endless chatter of people pretending they cared about each other more than they actually did. it wasn't that you hated people, well not all of them, but the sheer superficiality of it all made your skin crawl. and yet, despite your disdain, you still show up. but only at your parent's request, year after year, like clockwork. 

this year was no different, though you had to admit it wasn't entirely terrible. you stood at the drinks bar with your best friend, cora, both of you stifling laughter as you subtly chucked back glasses of champagne. cora had a knack for making the unbearable tolerable, reason being why she's your best friend. only friend. the way she mimicked the exaggerated niceties of the other guests and never faltered from your side not only at kook events but also any other day of the week proved her to be the only person worth hanging out with. 

but even as you enjoy messing around with cora, your gaze kept drifting across the grass to your older brother, carter, and his best friend, rafe. the two of them were already several drinks in, their loud obnoxious laughter carrying over the murmurs of polite conversation. rafe, in particular, was teetering dangerously close to the edge of decorum, gesturing wildly with a mostly-empty beer bottle as carter egged him on with his laughter. 

"they're going to embarrass themselves before the sun's even down," you scoffed, narrowing your eyes at the two of them. 

cora followed your gaze and snorted, "oh absolutely. rafe's probably one cocky remark away from falling face-first into a table." 

you rolled your eyes. "i wouldn't even stop him." 

"i know you secretly love seeing him make a fool out of himself."

"i really don't." you said, though your lips twitched at the thought of rafe actually toppling into the table of bucketed beers behind him. it wouldn't be the first time he'd turned a formal gathering into a spectacle. 

cora gave her a knowing smirk, "yeah, okay"

you took a long sip of her drink, still watching carter and rafe with growing annoyance. they were now talking far too loudly and swaying just enough to make their intoxication obvious. rafe had ditched his blazer and was gesturing animatedly, spilling a few drops of beer onto the grass as carter doubled over in laughter. 

"okay, this is officially getting out of hand," you pointed out, setting your empty glass down. 

cora raised an eyebrow, "what, worried your legendary football player brother is gonna make a fool of himself now? or just can't stand the sight of rafe being... well, rafe?" 

"both," you snapped, beginning to trudge over to them, your heels periodically sinking into the grass and dirt. "come on, let's get them inside before they draw anymore attention to themselves." 

cora followed along with a sigh, "fine, but if carter pukes on me, you're cleaning it up." 

you weaved through the mingling guests, your tipsiness making the task slightly more challenging that it should've been. unlike carter and rafe, though, you hadn't had enough to make yourselves look like idiots, and you could hold your own. when you reached the boys, you immediately folded your arms in front of them. 

you grabbed a beer bottle out of carter's hand and set it down with a loud clink, "both of you, inside. now." 

rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk lazy and insolent. "excuse me? who made you the party police?"

"you've been drunk for an hour, and the sun's not even set yet," you snapped, turning to carter. "and you're letting him make an ass of himself, and by extension, yourself. you two need water, get inside." 

carter sighed, "okay okay fine. cmon rafe."

you didn't wait for the taller boy to agree, spinning on your heel and marching toward the country club doors. carter followed, muttering something under his breath while rafe trailed behind, his stifling a laugh sending a fresh wave of irritation through you. 

once inside, the quiet of the club was a welcome relief from the chaotic hum of the event. you turned on your heel, arms crossed, as the boys finally stopped in front of you.

"you're unbelievable," Rafe scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "dragging us in here like we're children who need a time-out. you just love playing the hero, don't you?"

you narrowed your eyes. "and you just love being a reckless asshole who can't handle midsummers without turning it into a scene. you do this every time rafe, aren't you tired of being a fuckup?"

"woow," rafe said, his smirk widening. "you really are as uptight as you look."

"oh, i'm sorry. did i interrupt your drunken performance? please, go back out there and embarrass yourself in front of everyone. i'm sure ward would love that."

before Rafe could retort, carter stepped between you two, raising his hands in surrender. "okay, enough. del, we'll cool it. no more drinking for a while, all right?"

you shot rafe one last glare before nodding. "good.." rafe turned away and chuckled darkly.

you ignored him, turning on your heel. cora, who had followed silently up until now, rolled her eyes at the boys with a grin.

as the two of you then stepped into the cool evening air, you exhaled sharply.

"well, that was fun," cora said, her voice light with amusement. "you and rafe really know how to liven up a room."

you rolled her eyes. "he's insufferable."

"and you're so not affected by it," cora teased, earning a glare.

you two rejoined the party, you were determined to salvage what was left of the night, even if rafe's smug grin lingered annoyingly in the back of her mind.

the crowd had thinned out hours ago, leaving only the stragglers and the hum of distant music. you sat on a worn wooden bench tucked away in the shadows, the cool night air nipping at your bare shoulders and open backed dress. your drink was empty, but you still held the glass in your lap, staring out at the faint glow over the remaining guests, though their laughter and chatter had dulled into a murmur. 

you exhaled slowly letting the faint buzz in your head settle as you leaned back, glossy eyes staring up at the twinkling stars. it was quiet, peaceful even, until a familiar voice broke through your disheveled thoughts. 

"wow, look at you. little miss perfect all alone. didn't think you'd let yourself get drunk enough to sit alone here sulking." 

you rolled her eyes, tilting your head to see rafe cameron stumbling toward you, a crooked grin on his face and an empty bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. his shirt was untucked, his tie was undone and his usually greasy bangs were messier than usual, falling over his eyes. 

"don't you have my brother to annoy?" you mumbled through gritted teeth, sitting up straighter. 

"not anymore," he said, slumping onto the bench beside you, far too close for comfort, not that he could notice that this was probably the closest in proximity you'd been in a long time. he smelled like whiskey and faintly of smoke, though you didn't remember anyone smoking at the party. "everyone's gone home. except you, apparently. what's wrong? finally too perfect for anyone else?" 

you rolled her eyes again. "you're drunk." 

"and you're not?" he gestured vaguely at your empty glass. "don't think i didn't see you sneaking more of those vodka sodas earlier." 

you sighed, turning to glare into his baby blues, "what do you want rafe." 

he looked away and shrugged, his grin softening slightly as he stared out at the glowing lights in the distance. "i dunno, a ride maybe? or maybe i jus' wanted to see if you're as miserable as you looked all night." 

"you're impossible," you said, standing up abruptly. "fine. where's ward and rose?" 

he blinked at you, his smirk faltering. "gone, they left a while ago."

you blinked at him, suddenly aware of how late it had gotten. the faint music from the dance floor was slower now, the kind that signalled the end of the night. most of the decorative lanterns had burned low, leaving along shadows stretching across the grass. 

"of course they're gone." you muttered, grabbing your keys from out of your clutch. "let's go. i'm not being the reason you stumble around here all night just to get detained for trespassing or something equally stupid." 

rafe grinned lazily as he pushed himself to his feet. "always the hero."

"always the idiot." you shot back sternly, marching toward the parking lot with him trailing behind you.

the drive to tannyhill was wordless, other than for the low hum of the engine and rafe's occasional muttered remarks, which you ignored by turning on some low music. when you pulled up to the sprawling estate, you didn't bother to say anything, simply unlocking the doors and waiting.

rafe gave you a drunk, crooked smile as he climbed out, leaning down slightly to peer at her through the open window. "you're not as boring as you think you are, you know."

"go to bed, rafe," you said flatly, ignoring the slight heat rising to your cheeks.

he laughed, a low, rumbling sound, before stumbling up the path to the front door. you waited just long enough to see him disappear inside before driving off.

the trip back to your house was dark and mostly quiet, the empty streets a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of the party. as you gripped the steering wheel, your mind wandered back to rafe.

you hated him. you reminded herself of that firmly, repeating the thought like a mantra. you hated his smug grin, his reckless behaviour, the way he seemed to get away with everything. he was destructive, cold, and violent when he wanted to be, the kind of person who left chaos in his wake.

and yet, you couldn't shake the thought of him sitting beside you on that bench, quieter than usual, something almost vulnerable lurking beneath his usual bravado. it was infuriating. the way he intrigued you, despite everything you knew about him, everything you disliked about him, made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

by the time you pulled into the driveway, you'd convinced yourself it didn't matter. rafe cameron was a mess, a storm you had no intention of stepping into. you hated him. you had to. anything else would be far too dangerous.

the house was dark and silent when you slipped inside, the huge wooden front door creaking softly as you closed it behind you. you kicked off your shoes in the entryway, your heels clattering against the tile, and winced. with careful steps, you crept through the dimply lit hall and up the stairs, grateful your parents were likely fast asleep.

your room was as you'd left it, a little messy from getting ready but mostly untouched, with soft orange light from her salt-lamp spilling across the room. you flicked on another lamp on your dresser, letting out a long breath as you began unzipping your dress. the fabric pooled at your feet, and you exchanged it for a worn, oversized t-shirt before heading to the bathroom to wash your face. 

as you brushed your teeth, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to rafe. he'd probably stumbled through the doors of tannyhill, loud and unapologetic, before collapsing onto some couch... or, if he made it that far, into his bed. you imagined him leaving his shoes kicked off in random corners, his tie flung somewhere on the floor, with no regard for the mess he made.

but then another image crept in, one you hadn't meant to summon. you thought of the times you'd caught ward speaking to rafe in clipped, cutting tones when he thought no one was paying attention. you remembered the hard set of ward's jaw, the way his voice was sharp enough to cut, even if you couldn't make out the words. and you remembered the way rafe would stand there, his usual bravado stripped away, his fists clenched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to hit something - or someone.

a faint pang of guilt surfaced as you rinsed her mouth and dried your hands. it wasn't as though rafe didn't deserve to get told off every now and then, he brought most of it on himself, after all. he was reckless and selfish, always chasing parties and cheap thrills, always pushing buttons and crossing lines. responsibility wasn't even in his vocabulary, and it was hard to pity someone who so often seemed to invite their own problems.

still, as you climbed into bed, the thought lingered. beneath all the arrogance and chaos, there was something deeply broken about rafe cameron. you didn't want to feel bad for him - not really. but sometimes, you couldn't help it.

you pulled the cover up over your shoulders and shut your eyes, determined to push the thought away. it didn't matter how ward talked to him or how messy his life might be. rafe had made his choices, and you were determined to keep hating him. anything less would be dangerous. anything more would be impossible.

or so you told herself, as your mind drifted and sleep slowly crept in.

notes ; THANK YOU FOR READINGG.. im so excited to post this. wattpad is so dead so this fic has just been sitting there rotting. anyway leave me feedback please !! ps i promise you're less of a pushover, this is just a one off to annoy rafe lol.

taglist ;  @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic @i2rapunzel @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafestoothbrush ( lachesism taglist )

[bluntzah]

brother's bsf!hamzah sneaking into your room during family vacation (reader's brother sees him as a family friend so brought bro along not knowing when he's asleep hamzah is making his way over to your bedroom)

・❥・brother's bsf!hamzah sneaking into your room on vacation while your brother is fast asleep in the other room.

Hamzah stayed as quiet as possible when he lifted the blanket off of himself and swung his feet over the edge of the couch. He and your brother had been watching a painfully boring ass movie — so boring, in fact, that your brother had knocked out almost immediately. However, it worked out perfectly for Hamzah in the end, since he’d been waiting for the right moment to slip away and make his way over to your room in the beach house. Every summer followed the same routine: you, your brother, and Hamzah. Usually, it was Hamzah and your brother who headed to the beach while you hung out with your friends from the neighboring beach house. But this time, you didn’t invite anyone, just to avoid the risk of someone catching on to what was happening between the two of you.

Hamzah slowly turned the doorknob, holding his breath as the hinges creaked. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, barely louder than a whisper. His brown eyes moved nervously toward your brother, still sprawled out on the couch. They’d gotten high beforehand, and Hamzah was more wrecked than ever; eyes low and watery, sooo needy for you.

He couldn’t stop imagining touching you, fingers flexing with the urge to feel your creamy skin beneath his palms. His mind spiraled with images: you straddling him, wearing nothing but his hoodie. The thought alone made him grunt under his breath. The thought of the fabric bunched around your thighs, his smell all over you, and the hood pulled up over your head, his hands gripping the drawstrings. Every time you rocked your hips, he’d give the strings a little tug for more. Faster. Soooooo much faster.

He shut the door behind him, the ‘click’ swallowed by the silence of the hallway. With a quick swipe, he turned on his phone’s flashlight as he quietly made his way toward your room. Which sat toward the very back of the beach house. You had claimed that room for as longggg as Hamzah could remember. He also remembered all the ex boyfriends you used to bring around, back before things changed between you and him.

Reaching your door, hamzah gripped the knob, turning it before nudging it open just enough to slip inside. His eyes immediately landed on you, lying on the bed, your computer resting in front of you. You had looked up the moment the door creaked open, a smile spreading across your gorgeous face the instant you saw Hamzah. You slid your MacBook to the side, the rustle of sheets following as you sat up quickly. Hamzah stepped inside, and with a click, he shut the door behind him and turned the lock.

You crossed the room in a few steps, your hands sliding up around his neck as you gently pulled him down to meet your height. Your lips found his in a kiss. His hands moved to the small of your back, guiding you closer until your body was pressed fully against his. When you quickly pulled away, the mcht sound came soon after. "You took so fuckin’ long... was starting to miss you," you murmured, slipping your hand into his. With a tug, you led him toward the bed.

“I had to wait until your brother was asleep,” he said, relaxing himself onto the bed and lying back. His hand reached out to pat his lap invitingly as he propped himself up on his elbows, urging you to climb up and settle against him. You climbed onto him with an eager smile as you straddled his lap, your hair spilling over your shoulder to the right. You dipped your head, catching his eye just long enough to make his lips part — then your lips met his again, teeth grazing his bottom lip, giving it a small bite before letting go, watching it plump back up.

Hamzah turned his head just a little, still lying on his back with you hovering above him. He reached for your laptop and opened the ‘Photo Booth’ app. He scrolled through the colorful filters before settling on the simple, unfiltered camera. Switching to video mode, he hit record. “What’re you doi—” he cut you off, rolling you both over so he was now on top. The MacBook caught everything in video, catching the way his hand reached out and gently tugged at the end of your spaghetti strap shirt. You caught on to what he meant almost instantly. Without any sort of hesitation, you lifted your shirt, bunching the fabric just beneath your collarbones. No bra, of course — you always ditched it when the weather turned warm.

However, due to new air kissing your skin, your nipples reacted immediately, hardening your pebbles, all sensitive under his gaze. Hamzah rolled each thumb gently over the peaks of your breasts. “Y’like that?” your brown nipples hardened even more under his touch, responding to the warmth of his fingers. He applied just enough force to make them tingle pleasantly without causing discomfort. "Mhm," you responded.

Suddenly, he pinched your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, causing a slight flinch from you. "Hurts?" you gave a small nod, letting your bottom lip fall between your teeth, “My bad.” He let his hands fall away, only to dip his head instead, pressing his mouth lower, as if to apologize with touch rather than words.

His breath ghosted over your nipple, sending a tickle down your spine. The photobooth camera on your MacBook captured the exact moment Hamzah closed his mouth around you: lips parting to draw your nipple in, sucking with pressure. Your own lips parted in response, bottom one falling slack as a whiny sound slipped through the small space. A sound you hadn’t even realized you were making.

A weak “mmm” escaped through your nose. Hamzah moved to the other hardened pebble. He teased it at first with a lick of his pink tongue before wrapping his lips around it, drawing it into the hotness of his mouth. He began to suck harder, pulling a gasp from your mouth. Your back arched off the bed in response, body chasing the good fuckin’ feeling. The movement had worked perfectly in his favor, since, you ended up pressing your breast deeper into his mouth, offering more, and he took it as greedily as he is when it comes to you.

When he finally pulled away with a wet pop, both of your breasts were marked, fat hickeys blossoming around each nipple, the proof of his mouth very noticeable against your creamy skin. The sight made him all giddy and shit. He brought his hands up, squeezing your breasts together until the meat fat spilled between his fingers, closing the valley between your tits. They pressed against each other, bouncy and beautiful, before he let go with an exhale.

Reaching for the MacBook, he turned the screen so you both could see. The camera catching everything: the hickeys over your skin, blending into the curves of your nipples like art that could be placed in a fuckin’ museum. “Send this to me later,” he murmured, still watching the screen as he ended the recording.

nav ; m.list.

ꪆৎ ˚⋅ requests are open! was very late to this ask but thankful you were patient!! xo, jaden.

[nottsangel]

brother’s bsf!theodore nott .ᐟ.ᐟ …more

[delayeddrabbles]

playing house - rafe x sofia x brother's bsf!barry

part 2: treading lightly

MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

plot: sofia's struggling to adjust to kook life and rafe is clueless. barry and sofia almost have a proper conversation. contains: 3.5k slightly proofread. HALLOWEEEEENNNNN, very slow burn barry/sofia, an exploration of sofia and rafe if they met as adults, all three povs. FINALLY GET RAFE's POV, cozy fall vibes, mention of cultural appropriation, mental load, swearing, negligent boyfriend, makeup sex, jealousy, dismissiveness, and invalidation. I'm trying to keep this as SFW as possible, but oral (fem receiving) is mentioned.

Barry had spent a lazy Saturday morning running errands with a drink in hand like some soccer mom with her Stanley Cup. The air was colder, and the leaves were finally starting to fall, and for once, he didn't dread the off-season. He had his house. He had his payout from selling the shop. His head was above water this time.

It was nice to feel unhurried. Usually, that mellow languid hum in his limbs only came in the privacy of his own backyard two beers deep, but as he got older and as that financial strain finally lifted, something had shifted.

He could walk down the street unbothered, he could let judging Kook stares roll off his back, and he could take girls' rejections on the chin. Yes, that snappy, impulsive temper still lingered, but with dealing on pause, there were far fewer opportunities for people to get on his last nerve.

The hardware store was quiet and cold and soothing. The polished concrete floor was cool beneath his scuffing slides and the smell of paint and wood hung in the air as he wandered half awake up and down aisles aimlessly, playing with the end of his straw on his tongue.

A couple Karen's no-so-subtly turned and fled. Redneck dads avoided his eye. Contractors lifted their chins and grunted greetings. Ward didn't even look up from the pile of 2 by 4s at his feet. It was a relatively uneventuful excursion until the muffled cracklings of someone's headphones caught his attention.

Sofia stood at the other end of the aisle in a tight pink long sleeved top and denim skirt, one arm overflowing with shopping, the other raised up so she could naw on her thumb nail and frown at the hooks in her hand. That furrowed brow and squinted gaze was caught somewhere between confused and determined. Same as always.

In his singlet and shorts, he was significantly underdressed for the occasion, but he decided to take his chances. If she wanted to yell at him then it was best to get it over with now. "You look lost"

She didn't hear him.

"Sofia...Fi?" he tried again "Peaches..."

Nothing. Nada. until she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and nearly jumped six feet in the air, cursing him out in Spanish. "Barry! What the fuck..."

"Hey!" he raised his hands in surrender fighting back a laugh "I just walked up to you all nice and polite. You're the one who's deaf!"

"I..." she blushed with a sigh as she finally caught her breath and slid her headphones out. "Sorry..."

"Last-minute party?" he nodded to the pumpkin fairy lights spilling out of the top of her bag.

"A well-planned party thank you very much!" he grinned as she feigned offence " I just thought these were cute," she smiled politely, but her eyes wandered back to the row of hooks before her again.

"Right so...." He took his cue and turned to examine the shelf with her. "So what do you need?"

"Adhesive hooks. Rafe'll kill me if I chip the paint."

"You're decorating yourselves? Doesn't he have people for that?"

"I want to do it. Besides, these are just the last finishing touches."

"Isn't this like your job or something....?"

"Yeah! But everything here is like...off-brand. I dont know where to start. Do you know they don't even have a Spirit of Halloween?"

"Shocking!" he mocked a fake gasp, enjoying the giggle it produced. "Yeah, they're all about the locally owned shit here" he murmured turning back to flick through the options on the shelf.

"Gotta line their own pockets..." Sofia sighed. " I guess."

"Those pockets are the ones that feed you now...?"

"Yeah....I know..."

What? Was there trouble in paradise already?

After a long, heavy silence, she plastered on a bright smile again. "What are you drinking?"

"You won't like it," he shrugged as he nibbled absent-mindedly on his straw.

"It's a fucking Suicide, isn't it?!" Sofia shoved his shoulder a little harder than he'd expected. "You're disgusting!"

"Language, mija!"

He flinched at the sudden thwack as she scuffed him around the back of the head at that name. A laugh bubbled out of his chest as he struggled against her playful thrashing. "You little shit!"

Her laughter slowly faded to something softer and warmer. He could see the moment in her eyes where she felt that wave of memories that was washing over him hit her too and it felt like no time had passed at all.

Only it had. So much had changed. So much was still left to be said and he could see that flicker of grief corrupting her smile the longer they stood in silence.

Her lips parted to speak and he leapt back to the task at hand.

"You ah..." He plucked a hook from the shelf. "You should use this one. Strong enough but not as noticeable."

"A-ah...." it took her a moment to adjust back to such a mundane conversation with everything else hanging over them, and he knew it was selfish of him to press on and not give her that release, but now really wasn't the time in place. He didn't want to be responsible for a breakdown on aisle 7. "Ah, thanks, um...Do..."

"Yeah?"

His stomach twisted in a tight knot at the furrowed brow above her narrowed eyes and the way she toyed with her bottom lip. Something serious and tense pulled her skin tight and taut, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what it was that was pressing down this much weight on her shoulders and tongue. "Do you wanna come?"

"Oh!" His brows shot up at that innocent request after the long, silent battle he'd witnessed. "What? At Rafe's?"

"Yeah...I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but...I hardly know anybody and I...I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Oh, he definitely would.

"Yeah, ok. Is it just free for all, or is there a theme?"

"Wear whatever you like, but you have to dress up!"

"Yes, ma'am"

The first six months had been nothing short of a dream. The perfect start to an otherwise imperfect relationship. Rafe had swept her off to far-flung countries and Michelin Star restaraunts and endless open crystal blue waters.

He'd been the perfect host, telling tales, pouring drinks, and filleting fish. Sunglasses low and shirt open. Fun, easy, and smooth. Water droplets running over smooth tan skin and perfect white teeth pulled into a flash of a grin.

Yes, he drank too much and hollered too loud and filled the boat with people. Yes they were in such tight confines with each other for so long that they started snip and snarl. But it was vacation. That was expected.

What she hadn't expected was the nonchalance and grumbling and the drinking to follow them home.

"You're not dressed?" She found him buried deep at the back of the house as workers and servers hurried about the building. Still hunched over his laptop at 6:45, even though he knew people would show up early.

"I am!" he tugged on the tight, muted, stylish cotton without looking up. A half-hearted shrug and a pout graced his lips as if that shirt bared any resemblance to the Hotel Transylvania ensemble they'd picked out together. "It's yellow?"

"Yeah but..."

"Please, Sof," he sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, seeimngly already on his last nerve when the evening hadn't even begun "I already let you decorate the house and hire the actors and-"

She flinched, immediately echoing his words back to him, "Let me?"

"You know what I mean..."

"No i don't. Sorry, do I not live here too?"

"You do..."

You asked me come here."

"I know but-"

"You practically begged me!" The apology in his eyes vanished at that exclamation, replaced by something hard and impenetrable "You didn't want to do long distance and I respected that. I came. I'm here."

"You're making a big thing outta nothing"

"I asked you to wear it. I want this party to go well and you just brushed me off"

He snapped his laptop shut with a little too much force and rose to get ready, brushing past her as he went."The party will be fine."

"There it is again."

"The-"

"This is not about the party!" her voice cracked and her hands grasped at empty air, desperate for him to understand, but he whipped around on her in the doorway with the full force of a tidal wave.

"Then what the hell are you yapping about!"

"Yo-ou!"

The tears in her eyes garnered no sympathy. His head rolled back to the sky with a quiet scoff. "Right, Cause I'm always the bad guy!"

"I never said that! but I need you to listen to me . This was important to me...At least put on the wig.."

"No," her attempt at a compromise with trampled right over, "I'm not gonna invite everyone around to just watch me look like an idiot...."

"Right...An idiot..."

Only then, when she grew soft and quiet and small, did the penny finally drop for him. "Fine... I'll put it on"

"No," she wiped the tears from her cheeks and crossed her arms roughly across her chest, an ache growing deep within her ribs, the harder he became. "I don't want you to do it now."

"For fuck's sake...then what do you want?"

"For you to give a shit..."

Her words sent Rafe into a tailspin. Any joy he was hoping to suck out of this party was lost the moment those words left her lips, and yet they had to smile and chat and pretend for the next five hours.

What did she mean he didn't give a shit? Of course he fucking did? Wasn't he putting a roof over her head? Hadn't he invited her here into the most private parts of his life and home? Hadn't he shown her his history and his town and his work? Wasn't he sharing private jokes and favourite movies and childhood moments with her that he'd never told anybody else? He'd opened himself up to her potential rejection and ridicule, and she didn't even realise how rare that was.

Of course she didn't. He'd met her in a stupid vacuum when he'd been a completely different person. The flashy developer. The relaxed sailor. Miles away from all his friends and family. Miles away from his father.

So he did his best to knuckle down and suck it up. He wore the costume until the wig got too hot and itchy. He patched on a smile and kept her glass always filled. He checked in on her social battery, brought snacks to her from the kitchen, and took the rowdier guests outside to chat. He did everything he was supposed to do...and yet she vanished from his side with a bright and loud "Hey, you came!" the second Barry stepped in. Hours late, and his costume obviously thrown together at the last minute. Who had even invited him? The warmth of the small of her back disappeared, leaving his fingers restless and cold. As if his night couldn't get any worse.

She stuck to Barry's side like glue the rest of the night, and Rafe's dark eyes followed them. They whispered and giggled like school children. Barry Rossini actually giggled! They side-eyed the Coco costumes and the Day of the Dead rip-offs and the sexy knock-offs of every profession under the sun. They acted as if they were above it all, and it made his blood boil.

Hadn't she planned this? Hadn't he tried to dress up and do what she wanted? Now she was sticking to walls and dark corners and sofas and people watching as if the Kooks were in the wrong for their polos and short skirts and only her head-to-toe vampire makeup was appropriate. Was Sofia secretly a city girl snob?

Rafe pushed himself off the wall, glowering and fuming, and joined Topper and Kelce outside for a drink.

When the party was finally over and the worst of the mess cleaned away, an odd cold dread swam through his gut as his foot hit the bottom step of the staircase. Her footsteps creaked softly against the floorboards, and her drawers rolled open and closed with gentle thuds that held no malice, and yet his fingers shook against his will.

Fuck

Rafe swallowed hard on that wave of panic and pressed his head to the banister with a shaky exhale. There were too many substances still racing through his system for this conversation, but it felt inevitable. He'd brought her here. Into his home. Into his bed. She was inescapable.

He crept sheepishly into the warm glow of the lamp light and across the plush carpet of his bedroom as she sat up in bed now, tucking herself in and about to reach for her book on the nightstand when he came in.

Her smile seemed strained.

"Good night?" he muttered, hurrying through the motions of getting undressed so he didn't have to stand under the microscope of her gaze.

"Yeah...In the end,"

He felt like he was burning under heavy, hot rays of sunlight through a magnifying glass. "Yeah," he mumbled with a thoughtful nod. "Good"

He crawled into bed and aimlessly scrolled as she read. The silence stretched out for forever, climbing up with sticky, oozing tentacles and wrapping tightly around his throat.

Her book suddenly snapped closed. "What's up with you?"

"You spent the whole night with stupid Barry."

"Oh my God..." she sighed.

"Not like-...Fuck." He couldn't get the words to come out right. Not like that. Not like he was sulking and throwing a pity party. But it was more like he had this unnerving feeling like he'd fucked up and she was punishing him for it. Like Barry had just been a tool for her revenge. Her way to ice him out and prove him wrong or something.

"You're being an asshole."

"I'm not jealous!"

"Really?! You sound it"

"Well, wasn't that the plan!?" he found himself biting back before he had the foresight to stop himself.

"No! He's an old friend!"

"What?" he scoffed "From Chicago?"

"No. From before. In Charlotte"

"You're telling me you, of all people, knew Barry Rossini as a little kid?!" he jeered again in spite of himself. The image of Barry as anything younger than 21 felt wrong. He was permanently this gruff and grizzly dangerous Pogue in his head. Nothing else. She was sweetness and light and glamour, and Barry was trailer parks and narcotics and pipe burns.

"Teo did," she finally declared, bottom lip wobbling, and her brown eyes firm and blazing.

The fire burning in his chest immediately snuffed out. All the air left the room, and if he hadn't fucked up before. He definitely had now. "Fuck..." he exhaled and let his forehead fall against her shoulder as he crumpled, squeezing his eyes tightly closed as his cheeks burned. "Babe, I'm sorry..."

His stomach twisted sharply as she pulled herself away from him. The bedsheets rustled and the thick comforter crinkled as she fled to the ensuite.

He quickly followed.

His brows furrowed with a crinkle as he found her pacing slightly on the white marble floors, blotting away frustrating tears. "Oh baby..." he sighed, "I'm a fucking idiot..." he pulled her into his arms and dotted her hair with kisses. "I didn't think."

"You never do..." she muffled a joke against his chest, and he let it slide for the sake of lifting her mood. His lip curled into a smile against her hair as he cradled her to him, one hand tangled in her hair, the other rubbing circles on her back.

"Did you chat?"

"No, he didn't want to."

"You seemed pretty chummy to me."

Thankfully, she glazed right over his petty grumble and instead let out a heavy, aching sigh that cracked a jagged line through his heart. "I don't know what I expected..."

"Hey....Hey?" he lifted her head up from her hiding place and cradled it in his hands. "He's a piece of shit."

"You have to say that," she reminded with a pointed finger to his chest, but he caught the hint of a grin forming on the corners of her mouth. "He made your girlfriend cry."

Girlfriend.

He lowered his forehead to press it gently to hers. "I'll kick his ass."

That beam he'd been searching for finally broke through her pouting lips, and a bright laugh rippled through her cheeks and down her throat. Fuck whispers and giggles in dark corners! He had this! He had this closeness. This softness. That bright, beautiful smile.

She tugged him down into a slow, warm kiss, her fingers brushing up over his cheeks and clinging onto his neck. "Thank you..." she whispered breathlessly, and he beamed.

He'd happily offer to kick Barry's ass on a daily basis if she thought it would help.

"Any time" he pulled her into a tight hug again.

After a long, comfortable silence, she lifted her head to rest her chin on his chest and stare up at him with a teasing pout and big brown eyes, and his dick twitched at that sight and the sickly sweet voice. "I'm sorry I made you dress up."

"Nah..." she took her chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her lips. "Don't be. You looked hot as a lil baby vampire."

"I was going for cute," her nose crinkled as she protested but she pulled him again, letting her tongue slip between his lips.

"Rule number one of Kook parties, Sofia." he paused, breathless and groggy as he raised a dramatic finger in the air, but his words were still slightly slurred and dreamy from the evening's events and the heat beginning to swirl around them. " The underlying motivation..." he scooped her up, as she squealed in surprise, and carried her back through the door and plopped her down on the bed "...to any situation..." with a glint in his eyes, as he held her gaze, he began to trail kisses up from her ankle to her thigh "...is always to look hot."

"I know! " she took his question way too seriously, suddenly bolting up to sit and disrupting his work. With a soft laugh, he pushed her back down with a forbidding open palm spread out on the center of her chest. "Today was so weird!" she ranted and rambled as she settled back down against the comforter, and he tugged her body closer. "Like no one dressed up! Or if they did, it was like Barbie or Ken or something!"

"Yeah...." he placed a kiss just above the waistband of her panties and began to tug them down. "I tried to warn you..."

"You just didn't want to wear your costume," she lifted her head just enough to swat playfully at his head, and he hooked her legs over his shoulders in response.

"I mean, yeah." he shrugged with a pout and licked a long, smooth line up her folds, reveling in how she immediately fell back with a gasp. "I was being a little bitch."

"You were." She met his eye, and he grinned bright and wide. He had every intention of making it up to her. " Oh God!" she covered her face in her hands. "We must have looked ridiculous!"

"Fuck that." He dipped his head between her thighs again, and her hands fell to grip the back of his head. "I wanted to drag you back up here and peel those thigh highs right off you myself..." his breath was hot, and his voice was low and quiet against her folds.

"So why didn't you?" she murmured.

"Fucking Barry...." and with that grumble, the rest of the evening fell away and all that mattered was this moment. And it was the perfect mix of liquid courage, tired and aching post-party limbs, and the urgent need to make amends. They hadn't fucked like that in forever, and God, they'd clearly needed it.

Therefore, satisified and santicified, Rafe rose before her the next morning feeling rejuvinated and rectified. With a light in his eye, he practically glided down the stairs and flicked on the coffee machine, and grabbed the big black garbage bags without complaint.

Things had finally turned a new corner for them. Maybe this rut they'd been in was finally over. The squabbling would stop, and they could recapture that honeymoon phase again. Rafe smiled softly to himself as he slipped out into the crisp morning air and spotted the bins already out on the street.

He took that long walk up the drive without a hurry, welcoming the eerie quiet of the morning for once. The party had been a hit. Sofia was by his side. Everything was falling into place.

He opened the gate the lifted the lid on the bin and a flicker of orange caught his eye. He and Sofia never put loose trash in the bin, and yet, discarded inside it on the pile of bags from the night before was a fresh and perfectly crisp bouquet of marigolds. Not creased or ruined in tatters. Simply tossed in the bin at an awkward angle and left to their demise.

Rafe's narrowed eyes scanned the street.

[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been naughty, you get…

───────────── 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐫. ─

summary: it only takes one right wrong person and one right door to realize why you should stop the habit of changing in your brother’s dorm.

pairing: brother’s bsf!lorenzo berkshire x nott!reader

cw: 18+ smut, brother’s bsf, voyerism, rough p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, choking with a belt, restraining, degrading, cursing

wc: 2.4k

a/n: enzo lovers unite for the filth including the cheekiest shit in the entirety of hogwarts <3

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; enzo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

────────────────────────

Over the years of studying at Hogwarts, your older brother’s dorm virtually became your own. At first, Theo was more than simply irritated about you shamelessly occupying his space, because scrunchies and feminine perfume happened to be a major turn-off for the countless girls he usually brought to his bed. But over time, he made peace with the fact that your clothes always ended up mixed with his in the wardrobe, your makeup cluttered his bedside table and your textbooks were shamelessly laid out on his desk. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, anyway.

There was another person, however, who wasn’t against your presence in the dorm at all – Lorenzo Berkshire, one of Theo’s best friends, his roommate, and the biggest asshole Hogwarts had ever seen.

It was pretty damn hard, knowing what was on his mind most of the time. One day, he would smirk at you and let his eyes shamelessly roam all over your body in a way that made his gaze feel like flaming hot iron. And the next day, he would completely ignore you, not even turning his head to look when you walked into the room, making you question your own sanity – did you offend him? Did you do something that made him deem you unworthy of his attention all of a sudden? The cycle continued, hot, cold, then hot again, very rarely pulling you out, but mostly – in. You knew full well that Theo would obliterate both of you if something ever happened, but this knowledge only made Lorenzo more desirable in your eyes. The more of a dickhead he became, the more you felt drawn to him, as fucked up as you realized it was.

The guys were all out to get some drinks at Three Broomsticks when you decided to use Theo’s dorm as your personal walk-in closet, knowing that it would be free for at least a couple of hours. You were planning to take a look at your Christmas party outfit that you had just bought last weekend – you wanted it to remain a surprise for your roommates, which was why you decided to go to Theo’s in the first place. Standing in front of the mirror, you took off your top first, then you skirt, letting yourself have a little show for your own amusement before putting on anything else.

Lorenzo was confused as to why the door to the dorm was open. He left his wallet on his bedside table and was just about to mutter an ‘Alohomora’ when he noticed the handle slightly turned – it was loose already, so it was pretty easy to see when it wasn’t in the right position. He peeked inside and nearly choked on his own spit – the last thing he expected to see was you in front of the mirror, only your panties barely covering anything on your body, leaving every single inch of exposed skin for his eyes to feast on. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t lie – it was something he imagined plenty of nights, behind the closed curtains of his bed, with his aching dick in his hand.

His eyes followed the bounce of your tits as you twirled around, checking yourself out in the reflection. Immediately, Lorenzo felt his cock twitch in his trousers; it was ridiculous how quickly you could get him harder than a rock even dressed – of course, now that you were almost fully naked, he felt his barely existing self-control fly out of the window. You squeezed your breasts, pushing them together, and it took Lorenzo everything he had in him not to audibly groan and announce his presence earlier than planned.

Unaware of someone’s gaze intently fixed on your body, you finally grabbed the dress you had in mind for the upcoming Christmas party. It was a tiny little Santa’s elf dress, green and so short it was bordering on inappropriate. As you pulled it over your head, you knew Theo would not be pleased when he’d see it – but you didn’t care, you weren’t a child, after all. The sight of the hem of the dress hugging your ass sent Lorenzo’s mind into places he didn’t even know were there yet, and his cock started painfully throbbing, begging to be released from the suddenly tight confines of his clothes. When you bent over, your panties peeking from underneath the dress, he snapped – the sight was too arousing, clouding his mind and better judgment (that he never possessed in the first place).

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I wonder what Nott’s gonna say about that.”

The squeal you let out at the unexpected familiar voice behind your back could rival horror movies. You quickly turned around, covering your cleavage with your hand – a pretty pointless move, because he’d have seen you at the party anyway.

“Enzo!” you exclaimed, looking him up and down with a frown. Your eyes lingered on his crotch, the dark fabric of his pants visibly strained, and swallowed – just how big– “Wait.”

Realization dawned upon you like a wave of boiling water. He had a very obvious boner, which meant… It couldn’t have, right? You hesitantly looked up at his face, and his widening smirk told you everything you dreaded – or were excited – to know.

“Wait what?” Lorenzo teased, taking a few slow, lazy steps towards you. It was completely intentional – no matter how much he craved your closeness at the moment, he couldn’t have let you have the upper hand in this situation.

“You know what I mean,” you grumbled, trying to ignore the heat in your belly that his shameless arousal was starting to elicit. “Have you…?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, not a hint of embarrassment in his voice. His eyes traveled up and down, as if he was trying to mentally undress you with the power of his mind. “A slutty little thing you are. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“Oh, piss off.” You scowled at him, one of your hands desperately trying to pull down the hem of your dress; there was no way you could do it due to its length being so damn short. “You have ten seconds to leave,” you added, raising an eyebrow in an attempt at defiance. You didn’t want him to, but there was no way you could let him know that – he was getting too cocky already, if that was even possible – his arrogance knew no bounds at the best of times, and now was definitely not one of those.

Lorenzo just chuckled, taking another step closer until he was almost flush against your front.

“Come on, sweetie. You don’t really want me to leave, do you?” he cooed, his tone as mocking as it always was when he thought he could see right through you. To be fair, he could, at least right at this moment – your own state of desire was written all over your face, despite you trying to hide it to the best of your ability.

Your breath got caught in your throat as you felt his hand on yours, gripping your wrist and moving it away from your cleavage.

“Now, show me those pretty tits of yours,” he murmured, his tongue darting out to lick along his bottom lip as his eyes fell on your tits, hugged by the dress in a way that nearly made his cock burst out of his trousers.

“Shut up,” you retorted, but made no move to cover yourself again, silently enjoying the hunger etched into his expression, mixing with the teasing confidence he consistently sported.

“Yeah? Wanna make me?” Lorenzo taunted, glancing up at you with the look that told you he didn’t really believe you could. Taking it up as a challenge, you gathered your courage – it wasn’t something you’d ever have expected yourself to do, yet had been craving for as long as you remembered knowing him – and pulled him in by the lapels of his shirt, crashing your lips together.

The kiss was as messy as it was desperate, Lorenzo’s hands immediately going up to grab your face, squishing your cheeks without a hint of tenderness in his touch – it was all fervor and passion. He urgently walked you back until your lower back hit the edge of the desk, making you hiss into his mouth. He pulled away for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the sudden sound, a smirk tugging at his now-swollen, kiss-bruised lip.

“You’re so damn sensitive,” he drawled, his tongue briefly rolling against the inside of his cheek. “Wonder what kinda different sounds you can make, sweet thing.”

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy, mocking nickname, tugging at his shirt to press your lips together again – he was much more bearable when he shut up for a second. You felt him chuckle into your mouth, the sound as annoying as it was a huge turn-on.

“Theo’s gonna find out,” you whispered, your words cut off by a moan stretching out your throat when you felt his lips moving down to your neck, a wet trail dripping down your skin from his tongue.

“Yeah? And who’s gonna tell him? You?” Lorenzo asked with a scoff, not leaving the crook of your shoulder.

“What if I do?”

Lorenzo shook his head, finally lifting his head up to look into your eyes, noticing that gleam of defiance he hated and loved at the same time.

“You’re gonna tell him, really?”

His words were accompanied by him turning you around in one swift movement, fully pressing you against the desk. You let out a high-pitched moan when you felt his throbbing cock against your ass, his hips bucking forward to provide himself with the friction he needed to relieve the buzzing ache.

“Gonna tell your brother how I fucked you in this slutty dress?” Another taunt, and you knew he was right – you’d have to be completely out of your mind to say a single word to Theo about what was happening and what was inevitably about to happen in a minute or two.

Your silence was telling, making Lorenzo chuckle again. “Thought so,” he murmured, his hands deftly unbuckling his belt – he didn’t have much time until the others would notice his prolonged absence, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity to make a mess of you go to waste.

“Berkshire, you’re a fucking–”

Once again, you were cut off, but this time almost literally – the leather of Lorenzo’s belt pressed against your throat, making you stutter and let out a strangled gasp as you felt the air being stuffed inside and pushed out at the same time, stuck in your chest.

“’Boutta say something, love?” he whispered into your ear, his tongue tracing the shell of it and making the skin – and your pussy – tingle. You shook your head – what could you even possibly say when his belt was firmly wrapped around your neck, making your mind dizzy both from desire and the lack of oxygen.

“Right, keep it that way.”

The urge to punch him in the face was strong, but stronger was the thrust which he entered you with. Your moan was strangled, quieter than it could’ve been, but it only seemed to please Lorenzo, evident by the way his belt tightened around your throat. His hand held onto its edges, keeping your upper body from falling onto the desk, while his other hand collected your wrists into his grasp, pressing them against your lower back. You couldn’t move in this position, but it wasn’t like you wanted to – his pace was steady and pretty rough, hitting all the right spots to drive you completely insane. A thought went through your mind: you’d imagined him being big so many times, yet the real thing was so much better than anything your brain could conjure up.

As if sensing your inner turmoil – or the lack of it, since you had a rather one track mind at the moment – Enzo briefly let go of your wrists to land a smack against your ass, the skirt of your dress rippling at the impact. You gasped again, the sting sending a lightning strike straight into your gut, making the dickhead smirk in utter self-satisfaction.

“Such a greedy little elf,” he cooed, clearly making a jab at your outfit. Your now free hand pushed back, trying to smack his forearm in response, but only the tips of your nails could reach it. Lorenzo barked out a laugh, amused by your helplessness even while being balls deep inside of you.

“Santa’s little helper,” he continued, smacking your asscheek again before gathering your naughty wrists in his hold once more, pressing them even further against your back. “You sure seem to be doing a good job at helping, sweetie.”

“I wanna… kill you…” you muttered through gritted teeth, somehow managing to croak out sounds despite the pressure of the belt still on your throat. Your eyes rolled back immediately after as Enzo snapped his hips to yours in an especially brutal thrust, the sound echoing through the entire dorm.

“If that’s ‘wanting to kill me’,” he mockingly copied your tone, “I wonder what ‘loving’ feels like.”

“Never gonna know,” you quipped, your hands clenching around the wrist holding them down. Your answer only made him scoff, his pace increasing, as if to punish you for what you had just dared to say.

“Never gonna need to,” he responded a bit breathlessly, making a part of your brain spark up at the fact that he was losing his cocky demeanor, even if just for a second, even if the only indication was a hitch of his breath.

You didn’t catch the exact moment your peak approached – you were unable to follow the pacing of time even if you really tried. The only thing you felt was Lorenzo’s cock twitching between your walls, bringing you right over the edge. Your lips parted in a needy, hoarse moan as your orgasm brought you higher than the sky itself, and Enzo pulled out, his hand sliding off your wrists to hastily stroke his cock and spill all over the hem and back of your dress. As his grip on the belt loosened, you could turn your spinning head to notice the green fabric covered in dark stains, already seeping through and onto your skin.

“What the fuck, Berkshire?!” you exclaimed, your voice raspy from the oxygen rapidly flowing into your previously restrained airways, making you cough a bit. “That’s a new dress, you asshole!”

“What can I say, sweetie…” His hand landed on your ass with one last smack, lighter than the previous ones. “Gotta do some laundry now. Nothing a slutty little Santa’s helper can’t handle.”

[dearmisshoney]

caught red-handed (and rock hard)

synopsis. when theo sneaks into your room looking for a charger, he finds something way more interesting — your provocative polaroids. caught in the act, he might as well make the best of it. one thing leads to another, and suddenly, you're both tangled in a mess of teasing, dirty words, and desperate grinding. if you thought he was only good at pissing you off, well… think again.

pairing. brother’s bsf! theodore nott x reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, brother’s best friend!theo nott, dry-humping, enemies-to-lovers tension, degradation & teasing, slight praise (but mostly just theo being a cocky bastard), tit worship (theo is OBSESSED), rough sex, unprotected (wrap it before you tap it tho!!), dirty talk, name-calling (bella, slut, amore), overstimulation & slight dumbification (?), theo begging because he’s down BAD, messy, desperate, absolutely filthy

word count. 3.2k

a/n. first time writing! english is not my first language, so sorry for that! special thanks to my lovely ari (@nottsangel) for encouraging me to write and for making my (horny) gears turn in my head with her sexy blog! <3

aftermath | more brother's bsf! theo

“stop moving, jackass!” theo hissed, tightening the grasp on mattheo’s limp arm around his shoulders to steady his body. “where the fuck are your keys, mate?” he mumbled again, digging his other hand deeper in mattheo’s front pockets. it was just his luck that mattheo drank himself dumb and, as the ever-caring friend he was, theo had to drag him back to his house.

“hic­– dig a little lower, sweetheart, and you will find the treasure itsel—” mattheo started seductively, and it was clear he was completely gone out of this world. whatever fantasy he was living right now, theo was having none of it. a nice and hard step on his shoe made mattheo frown and moan in pain, his dreams shattered. it also made the key to the front door magically slip into theo’s hand.

finally, he could leave this fool and go to his own place in peace.

luckily for theo, it seemed that you were nowhere to be found. probably out at a party, just like the two of them were minutes ago, perhaps drunk out of your mind, or possibly already snoozing on one of your friend’s couch, already blacked-out. not that he cared what your situation was, really.

dropping mattheo’s heavy body on his bed, theodore contemplated helping him out of his clothes, but when mattheo started calling him sweetheart again and threatening him with a good time, he swiftly stepped away from the bed.

“where’s your charger, mate?” he asked, more or less to himself, aware that his bloke of a friend was too drunk to answer him. looking around his cluttered desk and messy carpet, theo searched for any sign of a cable, but nothing of the sorts was to be found.

that stuck-up brat might have one, he thought, and that’s how theo found his way to your room. he knew the path like the back of his hand, and even after the few drinks he had, his stride was confident and unwavering. he has been there on multiple occasions, mostly running little errands for your lazy brother, yet he also beelined for your room on those days when he wanted to pour his frustration out on a seemingly innocent victim. seemingly, as you also do your best — or worst, in that case — to annoy the shit out of nott every time he stopped by your house.

“she’s definitely out.” he sighed as he sneaked into your room, door immediately bumping into a pile of clothes you’ve left on the floor while picking the perfect outfit for your outing.

the familiar aroma of your perfume entered his nostrils at a similarly fast rate, and he inhaled in deeply without even a second thought. he always loved the way you smell, and it pissed him the fuck off. it was sweet, but not too sweet; it was mature, erotic — yet not too vulgar; it was a mystery to him why he found himself attracted to your fragrance every time he registered it.

“looks like someone will have the surprise of their life.”

theo chuckled as he zeroed into the garments on the bed, three sets of bras all scattered aimlessly all over the sheets. no bra, something you usually do, and something theo can’t help but appreciate. be it your own comfort or simply your disregard for external opinions, he was glad you ditched bras on a daily basis. indeed, you make his blood boil with your bitchy remarks and spoiled attitude, but the sight of your freed tits under whatever excuse of a shirt you choose that day instantly rewires and redirects that blood lower and lower to his cock.

too bad he won’t see you tonight.

“charger.” he promptly reminds himself as he redirected his attention to your desk, full with opened make-ups and all sorts of products. messy just like her brother. and, by the looks of it, charge-less just like him. such a big desk, yet no charger for poor theodore’s phone. he was already on enemy territory, so he might as well check your drawers for it, just in case.

holy fucking shit.

no charger in your top drawer, but something even better. something he would have never imagine stumbling upon while searching for a mere cable.

very suggestive polaroid pictures. of you. in lingerie.

they were nicely stacked in the very far corner of the drawer, almost like your basic game cards. but nothing about them was basic­– fuck, you looked so pretty, and so hot in them. even under the shitty light of the lamppost outside your window.

theo didn’t think twice and immediately turned on the colorful lamp on your desk, the glossy finish of the polaroids now displayed under a soft pink light.

you were so radiant, so confident, and with each and every picture he uncovered, he was sure it was all a dream he’s having while passed out at enzo’s house. he can’t get this lucky on a random wednesday like this.

oh, but he was about to get even luckier, as he finally arrived at the section where you started taking some of your garments off. the view of your bare tits, barely cupped by your palms, pushed forward into the camera lens, made theo let out a needy groan. and, as if the universe was listening to his thoughts, the next one was an even closer shot of the same position, red lips and soft boobs filling the whole picture frame.

if he thought about stealing a couple of the other ones before, he was for sure taking this one and putting it in his wallet.

his fingers gripped the edge of the polaroid tightly, and all he could think about was seeing such a view live. to have your perfect tits in his hands, to cup and squeeze and push them together. to leave wet kisses all over your skin, to place a big bite right on your sternum, to bury his face between them. shit, to put his cock between them as you let him tit fuck you like the slut that you are. maybe you’d actually be nice to him for once. and even if you’re not, he’d just have to push your red lips down hi–

“what the fuck?”

your voice hit him like a truck. the entire lewd image of you completely vanished from his mind, now seeing anger wash all over your figure as you stepped into your room. he registered your voice first, then your perfume, slightly mixed with cigarette smoke, and lastly, your skimpy little outfit.

no bra, just as he deduced.

“the fuck are you doing, nott?” you asked, and in that moment he realized – you caught him.

not only did he break into your room — initially for a very reasonable motive, a charger, but he also rummaged through your stuff, stopping at your personal pictures and acting like a pervert. “have you lost your mind?” it was obvious you were mad; you stomped in your heels all the way to your desk, crushing all your pile of clothes under furious steps. just as you reached your hand to yank the polaroid picture out of his hand, theo beat you to it and raised it so high up, even your shoes did nothing to help you.

“you always posing like a little slut, bella?” he might have been caught red-handed, but he wasn’t the only one: theo caught you too. yeah, you were in no shape or form a prude, yet these polaroids were something even for you. such scandalous pictures, and, unfortunately for you, he now knew about them.

“you always dry-humping desks, nott?” there it was, that smart mouth of yours; always ready with a retort.

you hit the nail on the head with this one, pointing out something he has been doing unconsciously ever since he found your cute pictures. heck, his tent was still pressing against the edge of the desk, offering him some sort of pressure on his aching hardness.

“matty has a desk like this too. go live your depraved wood fantasy in his room.” you scrunched up your nose, disgusted by his behavior, and pointed at the door with your manicured nails. the nice coat of red on your fingernails were the same shade as the ones in the polaroid, and he was now yet again thinking of the way the meaty flesh of your tits spilled between your fingers.

“but i keep the pic–”

“no way.”

“then i am not leaving.”

you visibly scoffed at his refusal, arms crossing over your chest, hips bumping into the edge of your desk. “give me the picture, you, asshole!” you shouted, banging one of your hands against the desk, shaking the polaroids theo has been placing on it for the past few minutes. “give it back and get the fuck out of here!”

oh, if only you could see yourself right now. you were indeed full of rage, throwing daggers at him with your venomous gaze, but you looked so attractive. there was something about the way your hips were resting against the desk, the roundness of your body nicely elevated by the short skirt you were wearing. and your chest, oh lord, your tits were so tightly enclosed in that stretchy tube top, he could see why you decided against wearing a bra. your make-up was a little smudged, but he was glad to see the familiar red shade on your lips.

“get it yourself, slut.” and with that, theo pinched the collar of his shirt and dropped the polaroid down his clothes. did it stop around his torso? did it dip down into his pants? the only way to found out was for you to start exploring.

“you crazy bastard.” now you were fuming.

without wasting any time, you removed yourself from the desk and, putting all your strength into your arms, you pushed nott alll the way to your bed. “don’t move.” you ordered in a serious tone the moment he was seated at the edge of the bed; rebellious theodore nott would never listen to your whiny little commands though, so, of course, he tried to stand from his seat.

“are you stupid, nott?” and with that you pushed him all the way down onto his back, nicely seating your own body straight onto his lap. “don’t do that shit again or i am sitting on you face next.”

“don’t threaten me with a good time, amore.” he had to bite back with that cocky smile of his, but he did not in fact move an inch again.

why would he, when he had you where he wanted you: straddling him, your ass on top of his hard cock, your wandering hands all over his torso, searching for that polaroid, your chest so conveniently close to his face. you were so caught up in your little detective play, you didn’t even feel nott’s warm hands leaving the sheets, sneaking underneath your skirt, and cupping the fat of your ass.

a moan escaped his lips when his nimble hands found your clothed cunt, one of his fingers slowly sliding underneath your thong, lifting it, then letting it slap back against your skin. the sudden action made you jolt on top of him, and the added friction of your body moving on him made his own hips jump upwards. gripping your ass tighter, theo manhandled your hips to his wants, slowly rutting into you at a steady pace.

“no, no– ah–” catching onto what he was doing, you stilled your wandering hands. one of them moved right on top of theo’s, a silent protest for him to stop his teasing and let you be. “d­–don’t do that.” but you couldn’t lie to him, not after you whined so loudly at the contact of his bulge with your needy pussy.

“can’t work with a little distraction, hm?” god, he was so mean, mocking you with his usual arrogant tone like he wasn’t affected as well by the whole thing. “you seem to like it though, your hips are moving against me.” and it was true; your hips were subconsciously matching his rhythm, riding his tent at a similar pace, meeting his thrusts with enthusiasm. your poor clit was already so hard from him dry-humping you, and the rough material of his pants felt amazing with every tiny bumping.

“shut it, desk-pervert.”

“will you stop with the bloody desk? it was your pictures that made me rock hard.”

“you shouldn’t have seen them in the first place.” you were so so mean. you mean to say that he wasn’t meant to see your beautiful breasts in their naked glory? he must have heard it wrong, there was no way you’d say that. you were cruel, but not a monster.

“don’t say that, bella.” theo accentuated his favorite pet name for you with a sharp thrust, making you lose your balance and have your chest leaning more towards his face. “how could i live my life without your gorgeous tits, hm?”

“like you did until now.”

“in agony? no more.”

his words made your cunt sloppier, more and more wetness spilling through your sheer thong onto theo’s crotch. your skirt too gave up, already riding upwards on your hips and covering almost nothing. theo could see the way the shape of his cock disappeared between your clothed folds, the top part of his pants peaking at him from time to time with each thrust of yours against his lap.

“let me see those tits, beautiful.” he raised his hands and grabbed the swell of your breast, thumbling over you nipple to convince you to give in fully. “i will make it up to you, trust me.”

there was no denying it. you both needed relief. fast.

with a slight nod and eager eyes, the two of you removed your top — and more — in an instant. his clothes joined yours on the bedroom floor, and now you had no idea which ones were clean and which ones were due a washing.

“oh my fucking god, mi fai impazzire (you drive me crazy)!” straddling him yet again, this time theo had the honor of burying his face between your bare breasts, inhaling that lovely perfume of yours and mouthing at your feverish skin. moving slowly on top of him, now grinding your drenched thong against his bare cock, you allowed theo to worship your breasts like he promised. twisting and pinching each nipple with dexterous fingers, he got them up and perky for his greedy mouth to suck on. “they’re so soft and warm, fuck.”

“don’t ever keep them away from me, understood?” sucking a purple hickey on the side of your breast, theo looked up at you with his blown-out pupils. was it an actual order or was it a plea? either way, theodore nott was whipped for your boobs and you had no chance of escaping his hands and mouth any time soon. “talk to me, pretty.”

“yes, theo.”

“good fucking girl.” he groaned from between your tits, his lips never leaving your tender skin as he started roaming his hands all over your naked body, desperate to leave marks all over you.

his cock twitches against your aching core, your wetness already mixing with his precum and making a mess all over his crotch and abs. the stickiness had your bodies stay glued together, aiding your movements atop of him; feeling every ridge, every vein, every little throb of need.

“you’re fucking soaked, shit.”  theo couldn’t handle it any longer, stopping his assault on your breasts and pressing his forehead against your chest in order to ground himself. he needed to feel you fully or he might cum only from humping you.

“let me fuck you, amore! i–” he gripped your hips to stop you from moving, otherwise he might have cum then and there. hoping to finish inside you, he eagerly asks for consent. you wouldn’t say no, right?

“apologize for breaking into my room.”

even horny beyond compare, you were still holding that over his head. such a needy girl you are, yet you seem to be the one controlling the strings right now. theo, ready to protest, could only groan when he felt you moving against him again, letting the mushroomy tip of his cock hit your clit. and, the cherry on top, it even slightly caught onto your entrance on its way back, teasing him with endless possibilities.

so he begged.

“i am so sorry, amore. i am a bastard. please– ah! please let me feel that pretty pussy.”

raising your hips just a bit, you dragged your thong to the side and positioned the tip of his cock right at your entrance. slowly, oh so slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, your cunt warm and welcoming to the intrusion. with each inch swallowed by your pussy, theo’s eyes rolled more and more to the back of his head.

“you feel so good, fuckfuckfuck” theo was about to lose his mind over how great your walls felt against his cock. so hot, so wet; your cunt was sucking him in more and more.

and when you started bouncing on him, he was a goner.

“thank you, amore! fuck, this is heaven!” it could have been all the edging he has suffered while dry-humping, or the couple of drinks he had before, but he was extremely sensitive. his deep groans from before were sometimes substituted by high-pitched whines of pleasure and pain, a great addition to your own sultry moans.

“don’t stop, bella! shitshit” gripping your hips with desperation, he pushed you down onto his cock with more fervor than before, his own hips raising from the mattress and plunging into you at a faster pace. theo was using you like his personal fucktoy, slamming you with force against him, reaching deeper and deeper and bullying that sweet spot of yours with every thrust.

your bed was creaking with the intensity of your movements. your ragged breaths, your chanting moans, your wet squelches around his cock. all of it were increasing second by second, signaling that the end was near.

“look at you, amore! you were made to bounce on my cock.” dipping his head lower to your chest one last time, theo sucked one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. one of his hands sneaked its way down to your clit, rubbing tight little circles against it to make you orgasm.

“cream my cock, pretty! make a biiiig mess for me.”

his words pushed you over the edge and, with one last sharp cry, your orgasm hit you like a truck. your gummy walls clenched like a vice around theo, milking his cock for every last drop. his hips shuttered one last time against your cunt, his load shooting straight inside you shortly after. thick ropes of cum spilled into your pussy, some even dripping around his cock and down onto your sheets.

neither of you moved for a couple of seconds, just staring at one another and at the sticky connection between your bodies, heavy breaths and gasps of air filling the silence.

“i guess you got more than tits, huh, nott?”

“lucky me.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

[itneverendshere]

Hi Gigi, I love your hockey Rafe and Kelce sisters fic so much! I always go back to it on Fridays to read—there’s something so great about it. I was wondering if I can request a very angsty fic, like Rafe and reader get in a really bad argument which leads them to almost break up. And that same week or something, Rafe has a hockey tournament (or whatever it’s called), and he’s really distracted because all he can think about is her. And she doesn’t show up to the game, and she hears that they lost. She goes to check up on him at his dorm, and it gets smutty—and kind of angry smut or something—but they make up, ’cause they’re my Shaylasss. Thank you for reading my request! I hope you have a great day :)

break my heart and start a fire - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's!sister!reader x hockey!rafe warnings: angst; smut.

You’re sitting on the kitchen counter in your new pristine, all-white apartment your parents paid for. You’ve got a glass of pinot balanced loosely in one hand, Chanel on your wrist, lashes still perfect and your laptop snapped shut beside you.

You��re livid.

When the door opens and Rafe walks in, you don’t bother looking at him.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Your tone is flat. You know it is. It’s the one that makes waiters flinch and your classmates call you intimidating.

You cultivated it, raised on legacy and expectations, and too many rooms full of men who thought you were a pretty rich thing and nothing else.

His feet stall.

“I was gonna apologize.”

You arch a brow, remaining fixed on the counter.

“Don’t bother.”

He frowns, stepping inside. “I had practice. Coach changed the schedule. I didn’t know—”

“You did know. You forgot.” You slip off the counter, eyes cold. “I reminded you three times this week. I needed you there for the presentation.”

What you don’t say is: you spent weeks working on that project, your TA tore it to pieces in mock reviews. Practiced your speech with Kelce, who couldn't focus because he was too busy texting girls.

You looked so good too—clean, a walking fuck-you in heels, and still, you kept glancing at the door, wholeheartedly believing he was coming.

He runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, breathing heavily. Normally, the picture of post post-practice boyish charm would work on you.

“I’m sorry, alright? I had a meeting with Coach and then a surprise scrimmage. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, and somehow, I’m always the second one you choose.”

You phrased it wrong and hate the way it sounds.

“You’re being unfair,” He sighs, “I’ve missed one thing—what do you want me to do? Quit the team because I missed your research showcase?”

Your glass slams on the marble. “No, I want you to give a shit.”

“You know I do. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I don’t care just because I didn’t move the world to watch you stand in front of a few professors and recite shit they already know.”

Your face freezes.

You’re in love with a boy who always gets to be wanted, while you’ve had to demand to be seen. He plays a sport people idolize, and you’re busting your ass to be taken seriously in rooms your last name already opens, and somehow, that already makes them respect you less.

You’re not mad about the presentation; you’re mad that he’s not understanding and your boyfriend seems to only realize what he said a second too late. 

“Fuck. That’s not—”

“Get out.”

“No, wait—I didn’t mean it like—”

“Get out, Rafe.”

“No, hold on. Listen to me. You know what pisses me off?” he snaps. “You think your shit matters more than mine.”

“I never said that.”

Never implied it. You see the way he hurts for this sport, when he comes home limping, icing his shoulder, dead on his feet but still grinning.

You love that part of him, for all its hunger and recklessness, but you wanted him there. 

“You don’t have to. You treat hockey like a joke. Like the only thing that matters is what you choose.”

“Because I chose it!” You step forward, eyes burning. “I didn’t let my dad fund it, didn’t rely on my last name, didn’t coast on legacy. I wanted something that wasn’t just given to me."

The ugly truth you hate admitting. You don’t get to be successful and brilliant and beautiful. You have to prove it, again and again. To your professors during your internships, and to your family, who put you on a pedestal without your asking.

Rafe stares at you in bewilderment.

“And I didn’t want that too?” he says quietly. “You think I didn’t join the team to prove I could be something outside of my family?”

“You didn’t even try to let me know. I kept waiting for you like a fucking idiot."

“I was gonna come,” He defends himself. “I swear. I had every intention. I even brought a change of clothes in the car—” His voice breaks off, setting him off just to remember, “—but then Coach pulled me into that meeting and I couldn’t say no, and the scrimmage went over and—”

“And you didn’t call,” You cut in. “You didn’t text. You didn’t try to. Because it wasn’t a priority. I wasn’t a priority.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You know I hate disappointing you.”

“Then why do you keep doing it lately?”

Too far?

“Because I’m drowning too, alrigh’t?” Rafe’s hands are in his hair, tugging. “Between practices, meetings, team events—I barely sleep. My body hurts all the fucking time. And I still try to be here. I still come.”

“But you don’t show up, Rafe!” You shout back. “There’s a difference. Physically being here doesn’t mean anything if you’re not actually with me.”

“So that’s it, huh? I’m never enough for you.”

You flinch. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“Is it?”

“You want me to grovel?” His voice rises now. “You want me to beg and chase you like I always do? Say I’m sorry even when you don’t give me anything back? You remember that now or is it not convenient?”

You laugh bitterly. “I’m so hard to love, huh?”

“No,” he says, softer now. “You’re hard to reach.”

“If I’m so unbearable, go.”

He stares at you incredulous. “You want me to.”

You look away, throat’s tight, and your arms are crossed, and your body feels like it’s shaking even though you’re not moving.

“I needed you there,” you repeated for the millionth time.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I wanted you to care enough to be there. Not feed me the same tired lines about ‘Coach this’ or ‘practice that’—”

“It’s not excuses,” he snaps, “It’s my life, and I’m doing the best I fucking can.”

“Maybe your best isn’t good enough,” You grit out before you can stop yourself.

“There it is.”

He breathes heavy again.

This isn’t about a missed presentation anymore. You both know it’s a compilation of everything underneath, the pressure, the resentment, the fear that this isn’t sustainable. That you love each other too much and not enough, all at once.

“I’m tired of fighting,” you say, quieter now.

“And I’m not? I’m trying.” He shakes his head, wounded.

That’s the moment you realize this might be the end.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

That one kills him.

You see it when Rafe stumbles back as if he’s in a game, being thrown into the boards by his opponents. You observe him closely, expecting the usual resistance, the pushback you never want but always thank God for.

The part where Rafe does what he always does, folds first, even when he shouldn’t, and fixes things.

This time, he doesn’t.

“Okay.”

No protest, or what do you mean or don’t do this or please.

Your heart jerks. That’s it? 

Rafe’s jaw clenches, it looks like he’s going to take it back. Yeah, he probably said it to hurt you back and he's going to apologize.

But he doesn’t take it back.

He nods once, eyes unreadable.

“Yeah,” He concedes. “Maybe we should.”

You thought he’d fight for it the way he always did before, all the times you nearly made it impossible.

But he doesn’t.

He gazes at you with that blank expression you despise, even if you rarely get a glimpse of it thrown in your direction. He gives you one last look then turns and walks toward the door.

He leaves without yelling or asking questions.

You don’t move an inch, you're going through an out-of-body experience, you're sure of it. You don’t call his name, even though you know you wanted to, even though every cell in your body is begging you to run after him

He agreed too fast, and now you’re spiraling, thinking he’d already been waiting to leave. You're aware you don’t have the right to be hurt after throwing it out like that and using the word break like it didn’t mean permanent.

But he didn’t say no.

He let you go.

It makes your soul hurt in a way nothing ever has, not your distant family members’ cold praise, the professors who’ve looked right through you, not even the last time you cried in your car alone because everything you’re doing this year still doesn’t feel like enough.

This is worse, so much worse.

Rafe's supposed to be your one place, your person.

You don’t notice the door closing behind him. 

It’s been four days since you told him to leave.

You're a mess.

To everyone else, you look fine. Perfect, even. Your lips are lined, your hair’s blown out, and your shoulders stay square like your momma taught you. 

But you can’t sleep, you’re barely eating, and you keep checking your phone even though there’s nothing there—no text, no missed call, not even a meme he’d normally send to make you roll your eyes.

That very night, you don’t go to his game.

You know it’s a big one, tournament-level, where scouts show up and people hold signs and they wear special jerseys and everything feels incredible. You were supposed to be in the front row; they saved your seat all season. You were going to wear his old hoodie, the one that smells like his soap and sweat, and pretend you’re bored even though you’d track every move he made on the ice.

But you don’t go.

You sit on your bedroom floor instead, wearing his sweatshirt, knees pulled to your chest, mascara smudged because you cried before even brushing your teeth. You had the thought earlier that maybe you overreacted, you could’ve been softer, more patient, more of a giver the way Rafe is when he’s not buried alive by everything else.

You’re not the only one breaking your back to be something.

It’s then, you understand, he was trying.

Even if he failed.

You shouldn’t have asked for a break and thrown away something that mattered because you were scared of needing him too much.

“You’re hard to reach.”

He's right.

You are hard to reach. You push shit away unless it shows up exactly when and how you want it. Lately you withhold affection like it’s currency and punish people for not reading your mind, for not prioritizing you above their exhaustion.

But Rafe always tries. Maybe not perfectly, not how you want, but he's there in ways you haven’t been giving him credit for.

He rubbed your feet after twelve-hour study days, even though he was covered in bruises from practice. He drove an hour out of his way to bring you your favorite coffee before your final, even though he had a meeting with his coach. He stayed on the phone, quiet and half-asleep, just so you wouldn’t feel alone while working through the night.

You never thanked him properly, because somewhere along the way, you started believing that existing beside you meant he should know how much you cared by now.  You didn’t voice it as much as you should. 

And when things didn’t go your way, you broke things off and expected him to catch it with grace.

All you can do now is sit with it.

With your pride, your selfishness. You press your palms against your eyes, because who the fuck even are you right now?

You used to be better than this.

But this fucking school, this pressure cooker of a life—it’s ruined your brain these past few months. Your GPA, your networking, your internships, your resume, your fucking LinkedIn updates.

Every conversation you’ve had in the past six months has felt like an interview. 

You never saw yourself turning into someone who thinks that love is earned only through proof, that affection is a game of keeping score. Didn’t realize you’d gotten so fucked up inside that you mistook his love for a burden, treating him like another checkbox. 

You gave him a breakup disguised as a timeout. And for what? Because you were hurting and didn’t know how to say it without making him bleed, too?

Now you’re alone with your full course load, your near-perfect transcript and your carefully curated life. And none of it matters without him.

You call your brother around nine, attempting to keep your voice even.

“How’d the game go?”

You’re greeted by a sigh.

“We lost,” he groans. “Bad.”

Your stomach drops.

“Rafe?”

“He played like shit,” Kelce says flatly. “Didn’t pass. Missed two wide-open shots. Coach nearly benched him, but it was already over by then.”

You press your palm to your eyes.

“He’s not talking to anyone,” Kelce adds. “Went back by himself. I wouldn’t bother unless you’re ready to deal with… all of that.”

You hang up before he can finish.

Your fingers are already reaching for your keys.

The halls are dim when you reach his floor. You know the code to his door by heart now—he gave it to you last year, and even though he spent most of his time by your dorm and now at your condo, he liked the idea of you using it for no reason.

You stand outside for a second, listening, there’s no sound.

You key in the code anyway.

The light’s off. 

There’s a tiny glow from the lamp by the bed, but everything else is still. His sticks are tossed in the corner, pads in a heap near the desk, and Rafe is sitting on the mattress, hunched over in a pair of sweats, a towel draped around his neck.

Shoulders bare, bruises already forming on one side of his ribs.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You step in anyway.

“You lost.”

He gives a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Your heart is climbing into your throat.

“I should’ve been there."

That makes him look up. 

His eyes are bloodshot, and it kills you. You don’t think they’re from crying, Rafe hardly does that. They’re most likely from playing like he had something to prove and nothing left to lose.

“Yeah. You should’ve.”

He looks like hell.

“I’m so sorry.”

Rafe doesn’t move.

You walk toward him slowly, not wanting to overstep, you don’t know where your relationship stands.

“I didn’t mean it,” You stutter out. “I was scared, and I said it to hurt you. But I didn’t want you to agree. I didn’t want you to go.”

His hands are balled into fists on his thighs.

“You don’t get to say ‘let’s take a break’ and then show up four days later because you feel like shit about it.”

“I know.” Your voice cracks. “I know that. But I—”

“No,” Rafe cuts in, “You don’t know. You don’t fucking get it, do you?”

His eyes are wild. 

“You think I didn’t want to fight for you? That I didn’t sit there, staring at my phone, praying you’d say you didn’t mean it?” His hands fly to his hair. “I didn’t say no because I didn’t care. I said no because I was tired. Every time I try these days, it’s never enough for you.”

You flinch, but he keeps going.

“I played like shit today. You wanna know why? I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you weren’t there. That I didn’t even know if you were watching. I gave everything I had on that ice, and all I could think about was whether you still gave a fuck about me.”

“I do,” You whisper, "Of course I do."

“Then where the fuck were you?”

You’re crying now. Full-body ache, throat-closed kind of crying.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” You choke out. 

“You don’t break up with the person you love just to test if they’ll stay.”

“I know. I know that now.” You’re pleading. Shaking. “I was wrong, Rafe. I was fucking wrong.”

“You broke my fucking heart.”

“I know,” You’re kneeling in front of him now. He finally glances down and sees your hands shaking at your sides, the uneven movement of your chest; “I fucked everything up.”

Rafe’s face drops, not expecting you to do it. You brace your palms on the floor between his knees like you’re begging, because at this point, you are—and you don’t care how pathetic it looks.

“I messed it all up,” Your tone is rushed. “And I know you’re mad. I want you to be mad. I would be. I said cruel shit and that makes me disgusting—”

“Hey—”

“—and I knew the second I said break that I didn’t mean it, but it was like I couldn’t stop myself—”

“Breathe, princess.” Rafe leans forward, gripping your arms. “Look at me. You’re not breathing.”

It’s killing him to see you like this.

“I’m sorry,” You sob again. “I should’ve been there, I wanted to. I take and I take and I act like I’m better, but I’m not. I’m not.”

“Stop it,” He tells you firmly.

“I didn’t want to lose the only person who ever really looked at me like I was more than some legacy brat.”

“Stop—”

“And now you’re gonna hate me, and I’ll deserve that too—”

“Baby.”

Your voice breaks entirely. Your hands curl into his thighs. “Please don’t hate me.”

Rafe’s breath punches out of him. He gets down on the floor in front of you, drops from the bed, and kneels too, knees pressed against yours, taking your wrists in his hands.

His blue eyes flutter, praying for strength. When they open again, he studies you, trying to decide what the fuck he’s doing.

“I could never hate you,” He scolds you quietly. “I was mad. Still am. But don’t ever say shit like that again.”

You’re still crying, sobbing, it’s so ugly that it makes your whole body seize. You don’t remember crying this much.

“I couldn’t breathe today,” You confess through the tears. “I was sitting on the floor and I couldn’t move, Rafe. I couldn’t eat, kept seeing your face when I told you to go.”

He slowly pulls you forward until you’re folded into his chest, and you cling to him immediately, terrified you’ll be dumb enough to lose him again. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” you sniff against his shoulder. “I don’t even know, Rafe. This school year is fucking killing me, and I’m killing us.”

His hands are in your hair now, holding your head to him. You’d give him shit for ruining your blowout, but it’s been messed up enough by you.

“Someone like you?” He repeats, “You’re all I want. Even when you’re difficult, when you’re selfish. Even when you drive me up the fucking wall.”

You huff a weak laugh through your tears.

“I didn’t fight,” He murmurs. “It felt like… You didn’t want me to. You’d already decided.”

“I wanted you to,” you admit. “Even when I said not to. I always want you to.”

His arms tighten. “Then tell me, baby. Don’t make me guess.”

You pull back to look him in the eyes; it’s therem, the pain. You cup his face, shaking hands sliding over his jaw, feeling the stuble there.

“I miss you. I miss being yours.”

“You think you’ll ever not be mine, princess?” His eyes, bloodshot from the game, from the loss, from you, search your face. "Not a fucking chance, okay? You think I’d let go of you that easily?” He goes on, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t have a backup plan. You are the plan.”

You reach for him again, caressing beneath his eyes like you could take the pain from him if you touched him gently enough.

“You’re my plan too, I swear. I never cared about anything like I care about you. That should’ve been enough to make me softer. I let everything else come first—my pride, my fear, the pressure. I didn’t make room for you.”

His thumb grazes your cheek and you realize too late he’s wiping away your tears.

“I wanted you to show up,” You go on, “but I wasn’t showing up for you either. I kept asking you to reach for someone who wasn’t reaching back.”

You swallow hard.

His brow creases, you think he’s going to speak, but instead, you feel his forehead drop to yours.

“You scare the shit out of me sometimes.”

You’re startled. “What?”

He exhales against your cheek.

“You act like you don’t need anything. You’re always humiliated to ask. It’s been a year, princess. Stop holding me at arm’s length.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know.”

You shift forward until your nose is brushing his, and your breath stutters when his hand cups the back of your neck.

“I thought you were done with me.”

“I was waiting to see if you’d come back,” He replies.

“And if I hadn’t?”

“I would’ve waited.”

“I love you,” you breathe, hoping it comes out like an apology.

“You think I don’t know that?” His hands slide down to your hips. “Get up here.”

You move onto his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, bodies chest to chest. It doesn’t feel like the beginning of sex, more like two people trying to climb back inside the same body after being ripped apart.

His hands flatten against your back.

“I still feel like I can’t catch my breath. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” He reassures.

You nod against him, the tension in your muscles beginning to melt beneath his touch. His fingers stroke soothing lines up and down your spine, grounding you.

“I was so mean to you.”

“You were scared,” he replies. “So was I.”

“And now?” You ask softly. “Are you still scared?”

Rafe’s gaze drops to your mouth before coming back to your eyes, burning. 

“Only of losing you again.”

You lean in hesitantly and kiss him.

You didn’t know you could miss something this much. He takes it, holds it, and breathes it in. His hand slides up to cradle your face. Every time your lips meet, it feels like a sob gets caught in your throat.

You feel him sigh into you and then stop.

He tilts your chin, eyes glassy but fierce. 

“Next time it gets bad, you come to me. You don’t test me; you broke me a little.”

“I know,” You grimace. “I broke me too.”

“You stubborn, magic girl,” He mutters, almost in awe. “You think I ever stood a chance?”

You laugh quietly, shaky from the remains of your tears. 

“You should’ve run the first time I said ‘fuck off.’”

He smirks. “That was when I knew.”

Your smile fades as your brows knit. “Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna be better, okay?” Your head dips desperately, “I will. I swear. I just—” You swallow, “I hated myself for the things I said. For shutting down, shutting you out. I don’t want that if it means losing you.”

God, it does hurt like a bitch to admit it—to need someone like this. But Rafe’s always done it; it’s time you do it more often.

“I was so fucking proud,” You murmur disdainfully. “So convinced that if I caved first, I’d lose the little bit of ground I had left. None of it was worth it.”

He kisses your cheek like it's a penance. “I know, sweet girl. We’ll figure it out, we’re gonna fuck it up sometimes. It’s okay.”

You grab his face and kiss him once more. You taste the hurt on his tongue, feel the way he freezes, then clutches at your body. He groans into your mouth, biting at your lip too harshly, pulling you in closer, lifting you without asking.

“Don’t disappear on me again,” He growls against your lips, dragging his mouth along your throat, hand already up your shirt. He can’t stand a second of space between you. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You whimper, fingers threading into his hair, pulling.

“I won’t. I swear.”

“Do you have any idea,” he mutters, mouth against your skin, “What it did to me, not knowing if I’d get to fucking touch you again?”

“I’m right here."

You’re already dragging his shirt off, and he’s already pushing your shorts down your legs.

It’s frantic, neither of you are sure how long this will last—if it’s real or if one of you is still about to run. Every movement is angry and desperate. You claw at his back, he grips your ass too hard, but it’s all honest, out in the open.

“Good,” he pants, lining himself up.

When he sinks into you, it’s not sex, it’s an apology that goes both ways. A reckoning. He’s buried in you, his forehead pressed to yours again, sweat on his brow, mouth open in a pained gasp.

“I missed you.”

You nod, kissing him through it. “I know. I know. I’m here.”

You gasp his name, and he groans, head thrown back.

“Rafe—” you cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders, riding the rhythm he sets, desperate, full of love you. “Fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” he pants, voice hoarse, “Don’t apologize now. Take it. Take me.”

You do.

God, you do.

Your thighs are shaking around him, his sweat-slicked skin sliding against yours.

“I thought I lost this,” He snarls, voice quavering, “Thought I lost you.”

You hold his face between your hands, eyes shining through the blur of lust and tears. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” Rafe implores against your skin as his mouth travels down your neck, sucking, marking you.

You shiver, heart pounding, pulling his head back so you can look into those fierce eyes.

“You’re real. And so am I.”

He answers with his mouth on yours, on your throat, your chest. His hands never stop moving. It’s not about pleasure anymore, though the pleasure is there, coiled at the base of your soul, threatening to take you out.

You hiss when his teeth scrape meanly over your skin, holding on for life at his broad shoulders as he fucks into you harsher, punishing you for all the days you weren’t here, for every second he thought he’d lost you.

“I’ve been dying for this. For you.”

Rafe pulls you flush against him, chest to chest, ghosting over your jaw. His hands explore hungrily, reclaiming desperately.

You wrap your arms tight around his neck, burying your face against his sweaty skin. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He bites down on your shoulder—hard enough to leave a mark, but not to hurt—and creaks a, “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

When your orgasms come, it feels like punishment, overwhelming, devastating, your body arches, legs locking around him, and Rafe curses, holding on, afraid you’ll vanish once again.

He follows seconds later, buried to the hilt, his whole body trembling as he pulses inside you, forehead crushed to your collarbone, breath shattered.

When Rafe finally speaks, his voice is soft again.

“Never again. You hear me?”

You nod, breath catching. “Never again.”

[etclouie]

hii, hope all is going good. i have request for your year event !!

i was wondering if you would want to do a brothersbsf!mattheo riddle nsfw build a fic with 3,G,elephant please 🙏

title; truck beds and picnic sex (Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader)

build a fic choices; 3) missionary. G) leaving scratches on their back. ꒰ 𓃰 ꒱ a truck bed — from build an nsfw fic 

warnings; brothers bsf!mattheo x reader, smut, minors do not interact!!!, p in v, pullout method used, some teasing about readers brother finding out, but that’s it?? (553 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— thank you for celebrating my one year!!! | submissions are now closed

Mattheo rocked his hips into yours again, making the truck rock with the force of his thrusts.

it was only supposed to be a date. a sunset picnic in the back of his truck, but of course he had other ideas.

not like you could blame him.

you loved being able to have alone time with Mattheo, no interuptions and no chance of your brother catching you.

but that didn’t stop Mattheo teasing you about it.

“what’d you do if your brother found out, huh? don’t think he’d be happy you’re letting me have you like this, whenever and wherever i want”

you could only whine in response, making him chuckle against your ear.

the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, along with your moans.

each thrust he gave had you spiraling towards your rapidly approaching climax, your walls fluttering around him, making him groan.

“shit baby, that’s it”

Mattheo groaned, his arms bracketing your head as he held himself up.

his thrusts never faltered, not even when your cunt clamped down around him, indicating your impending release.

you were a moaning, writhing mess under him. and you only got more desperate as he angled his hips, hitting that one spot that made you see stars.

“Matty—“

you moaned out, legs drawn high around his hips while your nails scratched across his sun kissed skin, leaving marks in their wake.

“fuck..”

he grumbled, but he made no effort to pull your hands away from him.

Mattheo angled his hips again, hitting that one spot dead on and sending you hurtling over the edge with a breathy cry of his name. 

your cunt clamped down around him, walls spasming and your climax wracking through your body. 

his eyes stayed focused on your face as you came undone, watching the pleasure paint your features . 

“i’ve got ya baby, that’s it”

you nodnodded along to his words, your nails scratching across his back again as his thrusts continued, now chasing after his own high. 

he was close and you both knew it. 

“almost there baby, almost there”

Mattheo grunted again as your walls fluttered around him, his pace growing sloppy before he abruptly pulled out. 

you whined at the loss of him, watching him wrap a hand around his cock and pump himself a couple of times, groaning at the feeling of his own hand as he brought himself to the edge. 

he surged forwards, kissing you fiercely as his hand continued along his cock, working himself until he was following you over the edge of pleasure, groaning against your lips as he spilled himself onto your stomach. 

a strangled groan fell from Mattheo’s lips, his lips parted as he stroked himself through his climax. 

“fucking hell”

you giggled as he cursed, hissing as his hand fell away from his now sensitive cock, before he settled on his back beside you. 

“never gonna get tired of fucking you”

his words made you roll your eyes, but you were in no mood to argue with him. 

Mattheo leaned over you, into the picnic basket, to retrieve a napkin. with a gentleness he kept reserved for you, he wiped away his release from your skin. 

“your brothers just gonna have to get used to the idea, because there’s no way i’m letting you go”

reblogs are highly appreciated !