I absolutely loved your last Dean story!! I was wondering if you would be able to write about a reader who has never been able to finish, with herself or anyone else, and dean helps her learn.
Beautiful writing!
I would've done that sober
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
a/n: Well that was long, but such a delight to write and soooo so sexy
Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of ex's and sexual dysfunction/insecurity, emotional vulnerability, recreational drug use (NOT DURING SEX), dry humping/grinding, getting caught, fingering, tension and arousal descriptions, orgasm, praise and partial undressing/lingerie.
Word count: 12k
Divider by me ;)
You sat across from the fire pit in the boys’ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.
Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.
“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.
“That’s what pisses me off the most,” he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. “He had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Usually I respect delusion like that, but that guy’s a fucking disaster.”
You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.
Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him would’ve assumed he’d been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but he’d been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.
Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.
“Dean,” you finally interrupted, tone firm.
He stopped talking immediately.
You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. “It’s okay.”
Dean’s expression flattened instantly. “We have very different definitions of okay.”
His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.
“You should’ve let me talk to him,” he muttered.
“What good would that have done?” You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. “It’s not his fault.”
Dean’s head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. “The fuck does that mean?”
You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.
“I’m lost here,” he scoffed. “Is being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Dean,” you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. “I think I’m the only person who wasn’t surprised by the breakup.”
His brows furrowed.
You shrugged one shoulder lightly. “He just beat me to it.”
“Oh.” The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that.”
He passed the blunt over again.
You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.
“Yeah, well...” You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. “You’ve got other business to worry about.”
Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. “You are my business.” The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. “So start talking.”
He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didn’t. Hell, he’d bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because you’d been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.
You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. “Um…” You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. “I suck at the sex thing.”
Dean’s face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. “Bullshit.”
You laughed softly. “No, seriously. I do.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. “Turns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.”
Dean’s expression changed instantly. Every conversation you’d ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.
“But you told me–”
“I lied.” The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. “I’ve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. “Including mine.”
Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.
“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think sex is really my thing.” Your shoulders lifted. “I like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of it…but everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I just…” You shook your head. “Don’t get there…naturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.”
Dean watched you carefully. “Was it?”
“The sex?” You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. “I think so.” Your lips twitched faintly. “It was good enough to build better stories around afterward.”
Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.
“How about alone?” The question came softly, carefully.
If you didn’t know him so well, you might’ve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.
You shook your head slowly. “That’s why I’m saying it’s not his fault.”
“It’s not yours either,” Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. “It just hasn’t happened yet.” His voice softened further. “Doesn’t mean it never will.”
You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. “It’s definitely not from lack of trying.”
You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.
The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.
Dean still hadn’t looked away from you. “So what now?” he asked finally.
You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought you’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.
Then your lips twitched. “Celibacy.”
The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.
“Think I’d look hot as a nun?” you asked lazily.
“You’d look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,” he replied instantly. “And you’re absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.”
His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.
You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.
“You’re not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldn’t be patient long enough to figure you out.”
You grinned. “He’s six-one.”
Dean scoffed. “He tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, he’s five-eleven.”
Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasn’t there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.
“He was wearing lifts during tryouts,” Dean added smugly. “One bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.”
A laugh escaped you softly.
“If you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbid–”
“You should become a priest,” you interrupted.
Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.” He pointed toward himself loosely. “And that’s assuming I don’t burst into flames the second I walk into a church.” His eyes drifted back to you. “Can I continue now?”
“Yes, Father,” you replied through a chuckle.
Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.
“If you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.” He shrugged dramatically. “I’ll support you. We’ll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.” His mouth twitched. “Though personally, I’d go through withdrawals first.”
“How solidary of you.”
He nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.”
You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything he’d heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.
Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what you’d actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.
Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that must’ve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.
The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.
“Use me,” he blurted out.
Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time.
“What do you mean?”
Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be your last resort,” he repeated easily, like he’d already thought this through far more than he probably had. “Aren’t you always telling me to make myself useful?”
You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. “Because I’m starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.”
“I hold my weed better than you,” he reminded you smugly.
That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.
“You wanna quit? Fine.” He shrugged. “Quit when you’re actually out of options.”
A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Didn’t realize Six Flags counted as an option.” Your lips twitched faintly. “I hate rollercoasters.”
Dean nodded decisively. “Then I’ll go out of business.”
“You’ll close the park?”
“I’ll shut the whole thing down,” he promised solemnly. “Just so you can ride the teacups.” The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. “Remember when you threw up on the–”
“Yes,” you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. “I remember.”
Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. “You were crying,” he accused through the laughter. “You kept saying your stomach hated you–”
“I was fifteen.”
“And dramatic.” He added. “But so cute…less mouthy too.”
“You held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.”
Dean’s laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then he’d been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. He’d hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.
You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.
It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and Dean…Well, Dean was Dean.
Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadn’t exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.
“You really think that highly of your dick?” you asked finally.
Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. “Nobody said anything about using it.”
That made your eyes snap back to him fully. “And if nothing works?” you asked quieter this time.
The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you weren’t thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.
You genuinely didn’t know how you’d survive losing him too.
Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. “Then we fail,” he decided.
You swallowed.
His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. “Fail with me,” he corrected. “Fail better.” He pointed between you both lazily. “Fail together.”
A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.
You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Dean’s suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.
You didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.
When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.
You slept absurdly well afterward.
A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your ex’s, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.
You ignored every single one and it wasn’t because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.
The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. “Use me,” You nearly groaned into the bowl.
Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book he’d conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably would’ve absorbed more information if you weren’t scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.
The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.
You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someone’s weight.
You recognized the cologne immediately.
“How hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?” you whispered without looking up.
Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.
You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. “You’re not in this class.”
“I see your phone works perfectly fine,” he replied.
The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.
You stood quickly and started gathering your things. “Did you need something, Di Laurentis?” you asked flatly.
Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.
The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.
You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.
“We need to talk.”
You slowed at last before turning toward him. “What we need is space,” you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.
Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.
You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.
“You’ve gone to New York with me enough times to know I don’t need more space,” he pointed out. “But fine.” His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. “What’s going on?”
Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into people’s personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact he’d backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.
You exhaled slowly. “We said stuff last night.”
He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. “Yeah. That’s usually how conversations work.”
“Stuff you might regret,” you clarified.
Dean’s brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. “Regret?” He pointed toward himself loosely. “C’mon. It’s me.”
His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase ‘stuff you might regret’ translated in Dean’s brain to ‘good, she’s not upset’.
“I would’ve said that sober,” he assured you.
His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.
“You want me to repeat it?” he asked quietly. “Let me help you cum.”
Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. “It might not work,” you reminded him softly.
You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, he’d probably laugh through it, so that wasn’t what scared you.
Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. “What if it does?”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Frustration finally slipped into your voice. “Dean, I don’t want us to get weird.” You shook your head hard once. “I don’t need ‘optimistic Dean’ right now,” you muttered. “I need ‘realistic Dean’, so pull him out of your ass.”
“You already are weird,” Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. “I accepted that years ago.” His grin widened then. “Actually, I encourage it.”
You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.
“Let me try,” he insisted again, the confidence in his voice should’ve irritated you more than it did.
Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just looked…earnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.
You’d spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain you’d still want them too.
Dean remembered everything you said…unfortunately.
You sighed heavily. “We need rules.”
“Fine.” He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.
You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.
“No kissing.”
Dean’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Why?”
“Because!” you hissed. “And if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question the rules.”
His face twisted in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.”
You crossed your arms tighter. “That was different.”
Dean scoffed softly. “We were literally each other’s first kiss.”
Again, he was right. You weren’t just each other’s first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.
Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldn’t spiral into some ‘why didn’t we do this sooner’ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didn’t want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.
“We’re adults now,” you said firmly. “So no kissing.”
Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically.
“Okay,” he relented…Too easily, which immediately made you suspicious he’d already started planning arguments against it for later.
“I’ve also thought about what you said last night,” you continued carefully. “About Six Flags.”
Dean’s brows lifted.
“And shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,” you explained. “Potentially devastating, honestly.” Your lips twitched slightly. “So you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely don’t care.”
Dean actually looked offended. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. “But no thanks.” He shrugged once. “It makes this more exciting anyway.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. “I’ve got one ride right now and that’s all I need.”
Your face scrunched at his words. “Does weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?”
Dean ignored that completely. “I’m not doing anything with anyone else until we’re done here,” he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.
You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.
The second they moved far enough away, you continued. “Why?”
Dean’s expression softened at the question. “Because I need you comfortable,” he answered simply. “And I need you to trust me more than you already do.”
You groaned. “Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re making this weird.”
He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.
“We don’t even know how long this will take,” you pointed out.
“My fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,” Dean decided easily.
You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.
Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like he’d just confessed to tax fraud.
Your gaze dropped away first.
Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didn’t actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.
Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.
“Can I add rules too?” he asked.
You sighed dramatically. “Sure.”
The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.
“No scheduling things specifically for this,” Dean decided. “If it happens, it happens.”
You blinked once before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. “That’s good. I’ll stress less.”
Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quickly…Except his rule immediately created entirely new problems.
“Uh…” Your steps slowed slightly. “How do you…” You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. “Take it?”
Dean stopped walking altogether. “How do I take what?” he asked carefully. “My coffee?”
You groaned. “No.” Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. “Like…how do you like it?”
Dean’s brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.
You looked away at once. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Do I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?” Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.
Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.
“Y/n.” The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. “The day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.”
Your mouth parted slightly.
“I’ll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,” he continued firmly. “Do whatever makes you comfortable.”
And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasn’t what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.
You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your ex’s comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Dean’s face, he’d realized exactly where your question came from too.
That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.
You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.
Your stomach tightened faintly. “What are we supposed to tell people?”
Dean barely hesitated. “To mind their own fucking business.”
You snorted softly.
He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. “Just like I’m doing mine.”
The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.
There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boys’ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments he’d started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.
Nothing changed.
Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself you’d imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.
Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.
You sat curled up on the floor of the boys’ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.
Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.
You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything he’d said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it back…or done a single thing about it.
“What’d you get for number three?” Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didn’t look up from his notebook.
You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.
“C,” you answered eventually. “But I’m not confident about it.”
Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done the math twice and I keep getting B.”
You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. “Then it’s probably B.”
Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. “You’re admitting you’re wrong?”
You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadn’t functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment.
“Don’t need to dig through my family tree to know I’m not descended from Isaac Newton.”
A smile tugged slowly across Dean’s mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. “If you are,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “I’m glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.”
Your nose scrunched instantly. “What kind of compliment is that?”
“The kind I’m hoping gets you over here to help me.” He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.
You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.
“Let’s see,” you murmured.
You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.
Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.
Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.
Dean had promised himself he’d take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. You’d overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, you’d always been terrifyingly good at reading him.
He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.
You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.
You blinked once. “Smooth,” you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. “I’ll give you that.”
Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.
“Should be a five,” you corrected while marking over the equation. “Not a seven.” Your brows furrowed slightly. “Your handwriting’s gotten worse over the years.”
“You still read it.”
“I’m not the one grading you.” Your eyes lifted straight into his.
You’d sat on Dean’s lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didn’t feel like that, not even close.
“Not in math,” he said quietly.
Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.
“You should be rating everything else though.” A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. “Pretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.”
You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. “No ride, no survey.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. “Go on then,” he murmured.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.
“Interesting moment you picked,” you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.
You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.
Dean noticed. “Just focus on me,” he instructed quietly.
Not ‘look at me’, just ‘focus’ which you could do.
You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.
Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.
The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.
Dean’s hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.
"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."
He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs.
You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.
"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.
You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.
You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Dean’s hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.
You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.
The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.
Tucker.
The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.
You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.
Dean’s hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.
Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.
The front door opened and you froze.
Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.
Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.
“–No, because that’s not what I said,” he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.
Dean’s voice came out rough and annoyed. “Can't you knock?”
The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.
Tucker’s brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of you…You standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.
The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.
“Wait,” Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hold on.” He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. “I live here,” he pointed out flatly. “If you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.”
Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.
“Hey, Y/n.” he greeted, much more gently.
“Hi,” you replied weakly with an awkward nod.
Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.
The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.
You hurried toward where you’d abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.
Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered urgently.
You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.
“You don’t have to leave,” he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Stay for dinner.” Then louder, “Right, Tucker?”
From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.
“Y/n, c’mon,” Dean tried again, even softer this time.
You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.
Your stomach flipped painfully. “You can text me that survey of yours,” you muttered.
Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.
You didn’t say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like you’d been underwater too long.
Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.
Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadn’t come.
For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.
The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact you’d nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.
You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.
He’d insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didn’t know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house would’ve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, he’d made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.
“Are you seriously not coming?” Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.
Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.
“She’s right,” she agreed. “Exams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.”
You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.
“What’ll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,” you informed them. “Which I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.” Your mouth twitched slightly. “Now see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.”
Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.
“When are we finding your rebound?” Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.
“It’s too soon,” you decided immediately.
“It is,” Hannah agreed with a firm nod. “She doesn’t wanna think about men right now and we’re respecting that.”
You pointed gratefully toward her. “See? Emotional maturity.”
“Sure,” Allie snorted. “I’m still passing your Instagram around tonight though.” She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. “You can decide what to do with the options later.” Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. “Don’t wait up for us.”
You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.
You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. “Just go,” you laughed while they protested loudly.
“We tried,” Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. “We’ll send you the address anyway.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“You say that now...”
You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.
Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.
You exhaled slowly…now what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. Or…Your thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.
You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. You’d bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.
Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.
You groaned at the sound. “Did you guys forget your condoms again?” you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.
You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. “Dean.”
Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which might’ve worked better if he wasn’t also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.
“I always carry condoms,” he informed you smugly.
Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway.
“Why aren’t you at the party?”
Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.
You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.
“Because I’m here with you.”
“No,” you corrected. “You wanted to be here with me.” You pointed vaguely toward campus. “Past tense…You should currently be at that party.”
“No can do.” Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.
Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.
Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.
“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.
“How did you know I didn’t go to the party?” you asked while following him toward your bedroom.
Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.
“I have my sources.”
You grimaced again. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”
“Hannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.” He shrugged casually. “I didn’t.”
You crossed your arms. “Who says I would’ve agreed anyway?”
Dean smiled instantly. “Me.” The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. “I’m very persuasive.”
You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. “What is that?”
Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. “Our entertainment for tonight.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Well…mine.”
You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.
Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.
“Lingerie?” you asked, genuinely confused.
Dean nodded once. “I had to get rid of the boxes,” he explained. “Turns out Agent Provocateur packaging isn’t exactly subtle.”
Your eyes widened immediately. “Agent Provocateur?” You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. “Are you insane?”
One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black lace…cream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.
Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. “I got lost on the website,” he admitted. “And then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.”
You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind.
“Explain to me,” you said carefully, “how exactly this counts as entertainment.”
“Besides the obvious?”
Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.
“When you were on my lap the other day…” His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. “You stopped focusing on yourself after a while.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.
“You started trying to get me there instead,” he continued gently. “Like you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.”
Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.
“And I get it,” he added quickly, voice staying careful. “Probably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Which I definitely did, by the way. Don’t start doubting that part.”
You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.
“Tonight,” he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, “the lingerie can be for me.” His eyes moved back to yours. “So the rest can just be yours.”
The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Dean’s head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.
Lingerie wasn’t only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.
Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?
Your voice lowered slightly. “What kind of mind games are you playing?”
You hoped it didn’t sound accusing because it wasn’t meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that he’d gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.
Dean shook his head immediately. “No games.” His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. “Let’s just give it a shot.”
Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.
Dean’s eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.
‘Yeah. Definitely one of my favorites.’
“How do you even know these will fit?” you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.
Dean opened his mouth…closed it and opened it again. “I’m…observant?”
Even he sounded unsure of the answer.
Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.
“Observant and persuasive,” you mused while backing toward the bathroom. “Let me know when there’s something substantial to add to that list.”
Dean nodded solemnly like you’d given him serious criticism to reflect on. “Will do.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuck’s sake.
He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.
It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.
Dean barely moved from the spot you’d left him in.
He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.
Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.
You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean must’ve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.
The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.
You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.
With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.
Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.
He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.
The silence stretched thickly.
You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.
You swallowed. “What do you think?”
Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. “I think,” he said slowly, “Six Flags might be going out of business soon.”
Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.
Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. “What do you think?” he echoed softly.
You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.
“I think…” Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. “Maybe…” Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. “I could show you something I actually know how to do.”
Dean’s jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.
“With my mouth,” you finished quietly.
You didn’t move afterward and neither did he.
In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didn’t need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.
For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.
A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.
Your eyes met his again through the reflection.
“I don’t doubt you can do those things,” he murmured near your ear. “All of them.”
One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten.
His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. “So why do you?”
The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.
His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.
You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.
The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that could’ve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.
"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.
As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Dean’s other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.
"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.
"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.
"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.
You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.
"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.
"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.
"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.
"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.
The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Dean’s fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.
You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.
The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?
"I think...I–" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.
The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him.
Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.
"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.
Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.
"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.
As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.
You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.
As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.
You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.
You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.
"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."
You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.
In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.
You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.
“Holy fuck,” You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.
"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."
His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.
The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.
Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.
As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.
The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.
You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"
Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.
Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
“Definitely the best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.
You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.
Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.
You swallowed once. “Did you…?”
The question barely finished forming before Dean’s expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.
Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.
“Am I still not deserving of a kiss?” he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.
You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. “You want a cookie and a gold star too?”
Dean’s grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. “Better than the survey.”
You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.
The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.
Dean’s hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like he’d been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.
You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.
Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.
His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint he’d been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.
The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Dean’s grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.
So much for rules.
Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearer…indefinitely.
a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍
Synopsis: Theo sneaks into your dorm late at night, only to find you asleep. When he finally wakes you up, he eats you up for his troubles.
warnings: smut, oral fem receiving, carnal implications
Word Count: 6.5K
Masterlist
xoxo!
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You were deep, subterraneanly deep, in a sleep that felt earned, your limbs feeling weighed down by anvils after a grueling week of double Potions and night after night studying seshes. You’d collapsed into bed with your sweet vanilla oil still potent on your pulse points, the scent intertwining with the faint herbal notes of the lavender sachets tucked under your pillow. You were completely, utterly, blissfully out.
So, imagine your lover’s dismay as he finally completes the death-defying journey to your dorm, dodging prowling Prefects and the jagged sensors of the castle wards, only to find his prize knocked out. He stands in the threshold, expression mixed with adoration and genuine offense that you aren’t already awake and waiting to devour him.
There’s a faint shift in the room, like the air itself has changed, warmer somehow, closer. You’re wrapped in blankets and half-buried in a dream purely psychedelic, when something nudges at the edges of your awareness. It’s not loud, nor urgent, not a bit. It’s just...there, a presence that definitely wasn’t there when you closed your eyes.
“Hey… hey, bella mia…”
From a distance, the voice is even more shushed, dragging you upward through the layers of sleep. It’s familiar, so so familiar. The voice that lived in the margins of your mind all damn day.
Your brows twitch slightly, a reflex you can't quite kill, but you don't wake. Your eyes are almost anchored shut in your rest.
A brief moment passes. You can hear him breathing, smelling faintly of the peppermint tea he always drinks to settle his restless mind. His eyes scan your form once over.
“…you’re kidding me,” he mutters under his breath, softer now, like he’s talking more to himself than to you.
There’s a quiet click of the door latch behind him. He has spent his entire life navigating the shadows of a house that didn't want him heard, and now, ultimately, a boarding school with the same desire. He’s done this before.
You’re still asleep. Well, you’re supposed to be.
A hand brushes your shoulder, initially light as a feather, testing the waters. His fingers are cool yet his palm remains warm; the heat seeps through the fabric of your sleep shirt.
“Hey,” he tries again, a little firmer this time, his fingers giving you a gentle shake that makes your head roll lazily on the pillow. “Wake up.”
You don’t. Not really. But your body reacts just enough. With just a shallow hitch in your chest and your breathing changing for half a second you slip right back into the slumber you’ve maintained for some forty-five minutes now.
He sucks his teeth in a tsk, letting his stocky shoulders slump just a taste. Too bad you’re asleep, you miss the way his eyes sexily roll to the ceiling in his light frustration.
“Unbelievable,” he murmurs, and you can hear the weary tilt in his voice. “I risk my damn life sneaking into your dorm and you’re dead asleep?” He lets a hand push his tousled waves off his forehead, an act of habit, only for them to fall back to nearly the same spot. “‘Dodged like three wards.”
There’s a faint rustle of fabric as he takes a moment to glance around your room. His eyes scan your mahogany desk, parchment messily strewn about, three wide spined books dog eared in a makeshift bookmark. He can get an idea of what you were up to before you dozed.
Darling, you should probably wake up. Definitely should sit up and ask him what the hell he's doing in your room at three in the morning.
He hovers over your form, so close you can smell the sandalwood and the wintry bite of the outdoors clinging to his robes.
“…guess you really are asleep.” he says it halfway disappointed and halfway fond.
The quiet, heavy thud of his dragon-hide boots hit the rug. One, then the other, tossed shoddily in the doorway. Moments after there’s a faint drag of fabric when his charcoal cloak slides off his shoulder, probably slung unceremoniously over the chair where your desk is still disheveled. He’s making himself quite at home.
The mattress groans under his weight, a compression that pulls the silk sheets taut across your hips and rolls your body just a fraction of an inch toward the center of the bed. That sudden dip is what cracks the heavy shell of your slumber, finally. Your survival instincts could use some work.
Your consciousness wades to life, but your eyelids feel like they’ve been sealed shut with lead in your exhaustion. You know damn well you’re not alone. But you also know it’s undoubtedly Theo based on his weight alone. You’ve sat with him so many times, you could probably pinpoint his exact mass in less than three tries.
You obviously wonder why in the world he’s in your room at this hour, and silently thank yourself for not being a mouth breather tonight. Truly, a win is a win. Yet, a flicker of pure perversity infiltrates your otherwise pristine superego. You’ll make him work to see your irises.
So, you do as any other sensible girl would do when there’s a very pretty boy encroaching on your personal space at an ungodly hour. You double down and make him work for you. Sinking down further into the pillows while letting your head laze a little more to the side, you commit to the act. Even let a tiny little sniffle of a snore out.
The sensation of his eyes on you was enough, but when those lanky pianist fingers reach to touch you, you feel yourself folding. They find the shape of your calf through the olive duvet, the warmth of his palm seeping through the layers. His thumb shifts slightly, brushing against the fabric in slow, absent-minded arcs. Or maybe not absent-minded at all. Theo doesn't do anything without intent.
“…yeah,” he murmurs quietly, his accent thick with familiarity. “Out cold.”
He gives your leg a tiny teasing shake, his fingers hooking slightly into the soft muscle of your calf. You don’t budge, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you’re surprised you haven't drawn blood.
His fingers begin to trace the faintest line along the curve of your leg, like he’s mapping the geography of you out, testing boundaries he’d think twice about doing with your eyes open.
The weight on your leg lifts, and for a split second you feel a surge of relief from the retreating warmth. Maybe he’s satisfied. Maybe he’ll just sit there and watch you sleep like a normal creep. Only then, his hand snakes under the covers, his fingers searching blindly until they find the cool, bare skin of your ankle. Your skin warms instantly as his fingers circle the bone, hairs on your legs spiking at the anticipation of the contact.
His hands grow sneakier, letting his grip fall lower, to the arch of your foot. He lets his thumb brush against the sensitive sole. Your lower body tingles at the unexpectedness of it. Biting your cheek turns to catching your tongue between your teeth, trying to suppress the instinctive jerk of your leg. You’re cursing him out in your head, calling him every name in the book, wondering how he always knows exactly how to get under your skin.
Bastard.
Then you make the smallest, most pathetic mistake when your lips twitch nearly imperceptibly. It was really only a hint of a smile at the gall of him. Yet under Theo’s scrutiny, it might as well have been a neon sign. You hold your breath hoping he didn’t see it, but you’d honestly be more surprised if he hadn’t.
He exhales softly, clearly amused. You can feel it in the way his hand stills for half a second before it tightens around your talus. “Mmm,” he hums quietly, “Funny.” From your ankle to your shin he climbs, taking his sweet time.
“You always sleep like this?” he asks casually, as if you were actually in dreamland. You let your smile widen just a teeny bit, and he huffs mirthfully at the sight. There’s a shift in the blankets as he reaches down, his fingers hooking into the edge of the soft duvet, giving it a playful tug. The cool air of the room slides to nip your skin under the blanket, hitting your knees and mid thigh. Only then do you realize the gravity of your predicament.
“Oh… okay,” he murmurs, a light chuckle coming from his chest in response to you. “Good to know.”
The mattress groans a pitch when he shifts his weight again, maneuvering himself tight into the center of your space. His finger slides under the meat of your calf, hooking higher under your knees and lifting you until your legs are draped right over his lap.
And you’re very, very aware of the fact that you’re pantsless. You’d tossed those cotton joggers where only the wizards would know. There was nothing but that scrap of lace between your skin and the rigid fabric of his trousers. You could feel the rough texture of his quads through his pants, the solid muscle of them pressing against your lower legs. It was so masculine, so heavy, and Gods, you’d almost pay to see those thighs bare and flexed right now.
He lets the silence fester for a heartbeat as he looks at the uncovered skin of your shin like a starved, starved man.
“Guess I gotta pull these higher. You should probably stop me.”
He pauses for another short moment, almost expectedly. He’s waiting for you to crack– you can almost see the way he’s likely smirking right now, that stupid sharp self assurity. But bratty, bratty you. You’d never give him the satisfaction so easily.
He huffs, annoyed with an undertone of endearment. The blanket moves again, sliding up until it was bunched at your waist.
“Dio m’aiuti,” he breathes out in a rough exhale that ghosts over your cheek. Lord, help me. “Damn…” he curses under his breath, mumbling your name, the syllables catching in his now dry throat.
You feel his shadow loom larger. He’s looking at you, really looking, in a way he’d never dare if your eyes were open to catch him. He takes his lower lip between his teeth, his intentions with you abundantly clear.
“Those look so good on you,” he whispers, and you can feel the compliment buzzing in your stomach. There's a ghost of a touch at your hip, his thumb hooking into the thin lace of the waistline of your thong. He tugs, lets go.The tension of the elastic snaps softly against your skin.
“You had to have worn this for me,” he says, his smile wryly returning, though it’s strained now. “No way you floss your ass every night with these. You’re too practical for that.”
He lets out a shaky breath that hits the bare skin of your stomach. His hands, usually so careful with his books and his potions, grow even more sure. He slides his palms down, settling them firmly on your inner thighs. The heat of his skin is a shock against the cool expanse of yours, almost a searing brand that makes your muscles tingle and jump.
“So, so sleepy…” he coos, very obviously mocking you.
He begins to rub you, his thumbs tracing spirals against the sensitive skin of your thighs, moving higher and higher with every stroke. They rest at the hem of your thong, tracing the fabric as if it were a riverbank. You definitely have a river going on in near proximity, and you feel your facade blend from cheeky fun to a genuine struggle to stay still. He’s waking up the familiar ache between your thighs, drawing all your blood to your throbbing center.
“E se…” What if…he murmurs, trailing off into a contemplative hum. He nudges your thighs apart just the slightest bit. Even in this state, he’s careful, wanting you comfortable as he settles his weight.
From his vantage, he can see how the thin scrap of lace barely contains you—the soft puffiness of your lips spilling out from the sides.You can audibly hear the way sighs, and at that point you give in, discreetly giving your own lip a bite. The way he’s reacting to you makes you feel a dizzying rush of giddiness, like an actual visceral thrill in knowing your body is reducing him to this.
“Oh, man,” he whispers, gravelly and overwhelmed.
He sits back for a second, dragging a hand roughly down his face, his fingers dragging over his features the way someone does when they’re trying to snap themselves out of a fever dream. What am I going to do with you? the thought is written in every sharp line of his jaw. He leans back in, his gaze fixed between your legs. “You’re so puffy here, pretty girl.” his voice nearly cracks.
His thumb migrates, sliding over the lace to run directly along the length of your lip. The feel makes your hips stutter upward, your body asking for what your mouth is too stubborn to formulate. He reaches down and takes the thin triangle of your undies, hooking his finger under the lace and tugging it upward.
A flash of pure perversion dances in his eyes. He watches, transfixed, like a lad playing with his favorite toy, seeing how your pussy swallows up the thread of the thong as he pulls it taut. He tilts his head to the side, tracking the way your wetness starts to seep out from the sides, glistening against the dark fabric.
You’re practically dying. For you, it feels like heaven, and he absolutely knows it. The tight friction of the lace slides up against your clit, right where you need it most. The texture of it is just rough enough to catch on all that sensitivity, soothing just enough of the ache he’s been building up.
His eyes are fixed on the way the lace is buried deep between your lips, lost in the heat he’s stoked.
“Look at you. Sopping wet for a piece of string.”
He chuckles a frustrated laugh, his gaze dropping to the wet, dark line of the thong and then drifting lower to where his own trousers are straining. He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “My cock would fit better there,” he muses. “But whatever. If you want to keep playing pretend, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with this.” The mental image of that makes you throb in a brand-new way, imaging him nestled in your crevice.
He leans down, his lips brushing the very top of your thigh, right where the skin is the softest. His thumb found the center of that drenched undergarment and ground into it with a heavy circle. You can feel the moisture spreading, the silk now completely saturated and acting like a conduit for every bit of friction he’s generating.
“Poor thing,” he coos, the mockery in his voice thick and honeyed. “Tossing and turning in your sleep because you’re so needy. I suppose I’ve gotta play with your pussy just to get her to calm down, haven’t I?”
His finger trails up, sliding until he finds where you ache. He takes your clit between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a hard squeeze that’s almost a demand for a reaction.
“Mhmm...”
Alright, everyone has limits. That was yours, the sound escaping you before you can choke it back, a sweet, quiet moan. The irony of it was you sounded exactly like you were answering his question.
“Oh, mhmm?” he asks, mirroring the sound back to you with a low hum. He knows he won, the smugness practically radiating off him.
“Did you say something, stellina?” he whispers, his voice dripping with honeyed mock-innocence. “I could’ve sworn I heard a sound. But... no. Not from someone so deeply, deeply asleep.”
"Such a shame," he muttered, his voice thick with teasing lust, his thumb circling you once more. "I wish you were awake right now so I could actually taste you. I’ve been thinking about it since the Great Hall."
He places a chaste kiss on your belly, minty breath fanning over your skin. "But I suppose I can’t exactly get your consent while you’re off in dreamland, can I? Much too bad.” You feel the coolness of his breath retreating. “I guess I’ll just have to wait…or leave."
He stays perfectly still, his hand just resting there, depriving you of the friction he’s been teasing you with for the last ten minutes. The sudden lack of movement is agonizing.
No way in hell you’re letting that happen. Your eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light of the dorm. Putting on your best ‘I just woke up’ face, a tiny, stupidly smitten smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him.
"Wh-what'd you say?" you murmured, your voice thick and honeyed with fake sleepiness.
Theo didn't buy it for a second. He stared down at you, not even trying to hide the way his eyes wandered all along your body.
Now that your eyes were finally open, you feasted on the sight of him. He wasn’t in his usual, stiffly tailored school robes. He’d clearly snuck out of his own dormitory in a state of undress, his only outer garment tossed carelessly into the shadows of your room. He was wearing a pair of dark, silk pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips, the fabric thin enough to hint at the hard, lean muscle of his quads underneath. He might as well not have bothered to put on a shirt, the dark fabric of his shortsleeve doing little to hide the shape of his pecs and biceps.
He looked uncharacteristically undone. His mousy hair, usually swept off his forehead, fell over it instead, messily, tips touching his eyebrows and framing those eyes you came to love. There was a smudged shadow of fatigue beneath them. You’d always scold him for drinking coffee late, yet you watched as he gulped down a mug at dinner, hours earlier. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.
You loved seeing him like this. So handsome in a way that felt private, like you were seeing a version of him the rest of the world was never allowed to touch.
"Sei una furbetta," he mumbled, the Italian sounding like an approval. "Must’ve been the wind, darling, ‘didn’t say a thing. Since you’re so, so asleep, I was just heading out."
He made a show of shifting, the silk of his trousers tickling against your bare skin as he started to lift his weight. The movement was tauntingly slow,giving you every second to realize exactly what you were about to lose.
"Theo, stay," you gasped out, your pride officially dead and buried. You reached up, your fingers snagging the hem of his silk pants to anchor him to the mattress. Your knuckles grazed the warm skin of his hip.
He stilled instantly, his eyes tracking the way your hand was nearly trembling against him. He sighed theatrically, starting. "Oh... I guess I can stay for a bit," he murmured, his voice dropping a few notches. He settled back over you, his weight a grounding comfort. His hands made sure to stay where you can see them. He looked down at you as if he were a saint. "But what do you want to do, bella? You look so tired. Perhaps we should just talk?"
He was being an absolute asshole, and he knew it. He acted as if he hadn't spent the last ten minutes between your legs.
"I want you to taste me," you whispered, painfully needily. "Like you said you wanted to."
He wet his lips with his rosy tongue as if on instinct. He really is like a puppy for you. Yeah, he may have the upper hand many, many times, including now. But truly he is at your beck and call. So of course he didn’t waste a minute of time, positioning himself over you, his knees framing your hips. "Merlin, you’re so bossy when you're awake," he muttered, trying to convince himself that he’s the one with all the control here.
“And asleep too. You did exactly what I wanted.” you look up at him, batting those lashes triumphantly.
He groans, shaking his head, hair messily falling into his eyes as he looks down at you. “Yeah, well, you were faking it,” he countered without any bite. “Brilliant performance by the way, truly.”
“Not the whole time I wasn’t.” you defend, weakly.
He just clicks his tongue at you, his eyes growing a little softer at the edges. He slid his large hand underneath your head, his fingers tangling in your hair to cradle your skull against the pillow. He leaned closer to you until his forehead was resting against yours, nose just barely brushing your own.
“I missed you, mamma.” he admits, almost as if it were a secret.
Goshhh. That nickname. You feel like literal putty, your face parting in a toothy smile.”Theo, I just saw you like, nine hours ago.”
He humphs. “Sì, certo, pero. I was tossing and turning. Without you. Nine hours is a small eternity when my bed feels that empty.”
Your smile impossibly widens. You know exactly the kind of charmer he is, and yet he woos you every single time. You lean up, closing the tiny space between you to kiss him. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, he meets you halfway, his mouth devouring yours with a hunger that’s sweet and filthy all at once. He adds his tongue almost instantly, already knowing the shape and taste of your mouth so well that it feels like coming home.
One hand kneads into your scalp, massaging the skin soothingly. His other finds your waist. You feel his palm slide upward, slipping under the hem of your sleeping shirt, his skin a welcomed familiarity against yours. His thumb traces the curve of your side, the tingle of it making your breath hitch into his mouth. He groans in response, the sound caught against your teeth. A hand snakes around you, pulling you flush against him.
After a few more moments of those perfectly sloppy, wet kisses, you reluctantly pull back an inch. Your chest rises and falls quicker than it would standardly, lips puffy. “Okay,” you whisper, unable to mask the laugh in your voice. “Now, my other lips.”
Theo pulls back just far enough to look at you, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow, boyish laugh bubbling up from his chest. One of his thick brows shoots upward in genuine surprise.
“Pardon?” he asked in disbelief, not sure he heard you correctly.
“I don’t know...” you tease, your eyes dropping to his mouth and then back to his. “I just think my other lips need some serious attention. They’re feeling a bit neglected.”
Theo lets out a short, incredulous laugh, his chest heaving against yours. “You’re such a... a deviant,” he accuses, shaking his head. He settles back on his haunches, even though he keeps his hand firmly planted on your thigh. “Is that what this is? Are you just using me for my mouth? Is that all I am to you? A tool for your pleasure?”
He places a hand over his heart far too dramatically in a gesture of hurt. He furrows his brows, giving you the most pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. With his sharp corners of his eyes, it looks like he’s trying to use telekinesis to scramble your brain.
“Yes!” you say, your voice dripping with fake seriousness as you reach up to trail a finger along his jawline, feeling the slight prickle of stubble. “Yes, absolutely. It would be a waste not to put your talent to work”
He stares at you for a beat, his jaw tightening as he looks at the flush on your cheeks. He knows damn well it isn’t true. He remembers the months of pining, the way you begged your friends to change their route to class so you could make eye contact with him for 2 seconds. And the way you used to turn scarlet even when he said something as simple as ‘Good morning.’ He knows you’re just as addicted to the soul of him as you are to his hands.
“Wow,” he sighs, a long, exaggerated exhale of breath that he lets fall against the bare skin of your stomach. He looks down at your navel, then slowly trails his gaze back up into your eyes, his expression lascivious. You can’t bear it when he looks at you like that, like you are the only thing in the entire castle worth seeing, like he’s going to take you apart and memorize every piece of you to put you back together. All you can think about is the blue of his eyes.
“I’ll remember that,” he muses against your skin as he begins to trail a line of nipping, open-mouthed kisses down your torso. “Treating a guest like this. After I risked a midnight run-in with Mrs. Norris just to see you. Truly heartless.”
“A guest who happens to be very, very hungry,” he whispers.
You let out a breathy, frantic little laugh, trying to keep your head above water as his hands squeeze your thighs. “You literally finished my plate at dinner, Theo. I watched you eat my last three potatoes.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his messy waves falling over his forehead, “A man can’t want dessert? I’m a growing boy, I have requirements.”
“That is more than okay with me,” you breathe, honestly, some of your confidence crawling back. You place your hands behind your head in a flourish, stretching out like a cat, and then slowly lift your legs, placing your feet firmly on his broad shoulders. The contrast of your soft skin against the hard line of his frame makes you woozy. “So what's the plan? Are you gonna eat me like a cannoli?”
He freezes. Like, actually stops moving, his hands hovering over your thighs as he stares at you in dead silence. “No way,” he says, his voice flat. “No way you just said that. Absolutely not.”
He pulls one hand away to run it through his already messy dark hair, tugging at the ends trying to process what you just said. He’s looking genuinely upset at your choice of pastry, and you could’ve sworn he even scoffed. You can’t help it; a snort escapes you, followed by a fit of giggles because the look of pure offense on his face is far too much to handle.
You catch your breath just long enough to look him in those icy, narrowing eyes, and you can't resist the opening. “Absolutely, Nott!”, you chirp, giving him a cheeky, lopsided grin.
The corner of his mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile he’s clearly fighting to suppress. He hates that he finds you funny right now, that your puns actually land. You watch his cheek hollow with a bite, and he furrows those brows again.
“Ugh, baby, no. No, no,” he groans, shaking his head and leaning back over you, his expression suddenly very serious, though his eyes are dancing with tell-tale amusement. “You need to know this. You have to understand the geography of what’s about to happen to you. Cannoli? That’s Sicily, that’s the South.”
He rolls his eyes, and only then do you realize he’s being partly facetious, playing up his heritage just to tease you back.
“You know I’m from the North. My family is from Venice and Milan. We don't do cannoli like that. We eat tiramisu.”
He leans down and nips, quite firmly, at the soft fat of your belly. You squeal, half-laughing and half-moaning as he begins to trail those kisses lower again, his hands sliding under the crooks of your knees to pull you closer.
“Well,” you start, tiptoeing around your ask. “Could you..could you fill me up like a cannoli? Later?”
The words hang heavy in the air of your dorm, and you can almost see behind his eyes. Clearly his internal monologue’s a mess of good-natured disbelief.’what is this girl’s problem?’But the mental image attached to your phrasing does much to turn him on further.
He clears his throat, yet his voice is still raspier than before. ”For you, I think I can arrange that. Actually, I’m certain of it.”
He can’t even help himself. As he kneels there between your thighs, he lets out a jagged, frustrated breath and slides one hand low, disappearing into the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms.You watch the line of his shoulder flex as he cuffs himself through the fabric, his knuckles grazing the hard, insistent length of him as he tries to process the mental image of finally, finally being inside you. The sight of him touching himself, even for a second, just because of something you said, makes you feel higher than any drug could render you.
He looks down at his own hand, then back up at you, irises darkening in anticipation. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, jaw tightening.
His fingers leap up to hook into the damp lace of your thong, slowly shimmying the fabric down your legs. He watches every inch of skin as it’s revealed, his breath picking up when the lace finally clears your ankles and gets tossed somewhere toward the foot of the bed.
“What a treat,” he sighs in pure adoration.
He moves back in, his chest brushing against your shins as he settles between your knees. He leans down and presses a fervent kiss right to your pubic mound. The heat of his mouth against that sensitive skin is a shock to your senses. He stays there for a moment, breathing you in, his nose brushing against the soft curls as he worships the very sight of you.
He looks up at you through his dark lashes, his chin resting right against your inner thigh.
“You want your pussy eaten?” he asks, uncharacteristically crude for him.
A breathless, shaky laugh bubbles up in your chest, trying to gain some of your footing.“I think,” you pant, your fingers curling into the silk of the duvet, “you mean my tiramisu, Theo.”
He smiles lightly, but doesn’t laugh this time, pressing a slow, soft kiss on the meaty part of your thigh. “Tell me, silly girl,” he murmurs, the words almost commanding.“I don’t joke about consent. I need to hear it. Is that what you want?”
You swallow hard, your voice coming out as a small, desperate thread of a sound. “Please... please can you?”
He nods as if it were a promise. He leans back in, using the tip of his nose to gently nudge your labia apart. The cool air of the dungeon hits your heat for a split second before it’s replaced by the warmth of him. He begins to pepper wet, open-mouthed kisses over your swollen folds, his tongue darting out just enough to tease the edges of your sensitivity without giving you the full contact you’re feining for.
Your leg gives an involuntary shake when he gets closer to where you need, even surprising yourself as your knee knocks against his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling back just enough to check your face.
Inwardly, he is absolutely stoked. The sight of you already reacting so strongly while he’s hardly even started is a massive stroke to his ego.
“Mhmm,” you manage to whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your hips up, wordlessly begging for him to stop the teasing and just finish you.
He hums in response and approval, bringing his hands up to rest comfortably but firmly around your stomach. Grounding, yes, but also practical. He wanted to hold you firmly in place so you couldn’t retreat from what was coming.
His head dipped again, the slickness of his tongue dragging from your perineum all the way up to your tiny, throbbing point. Your chest falls in relief, the first shocks of the contact balming your overcoiled tension. He groans to himself at your taste, the sound muffled by your skin. He began to lick you softly, his tongue fluttering in light strokes over your swollen folds. He was acquainting himself with you, movements curious as he sipped at the moisture you were yielding for him. So gentle, so coaxing.
“Yes, Theo.” you squeak out softly, not really knowing what else to say, yet you wanted to spur him on somehow. It did just enough. His hands gratefully tightened around your waist. He looked up at you, his hooded eyes pulling you right into him. “Like this?” he asked, softly, his breath a minty fog that made your walls flutter. He flattened his tongue, placing a heavy, heavy pressure right at your center. The texture of it is slightly rough, catching against your supersensitive skin. He settles in, stubbly chin rubbing at your entrance as he grows more sure.
Your restraint said farewell a long time ago, your moans so lewd and guttural, punctuated by the wet sounds of him making out with your sopping lips. He’s meticulous, moving from side to side, catching the sensitive skin of your labia between his lips and giving a soft, playful tug that makes you gasp his name. “So loud, baby.” he sighs against you, praise disguised as a complaint. “Take what you asked for.” he continues, his thumbs rubbing circles over your waist. He’s enjoying the taste of you, his head tilting to the side so he can get a better angle, his tongue darting deep into your opening before returning to flick against your clit.
A daring hand slides down, reaching to pull your lips open wider, exposing you fully to his gaze and his tongue. He watches the way you pulse for a short moment, leaning back in to soothe exactly that. “Atleast, slow d-..slow down.” you stumble deliriously, the tension in your thighs coiling slink.
“Yes ma’am.” he tells you, almost too easily. He moves lower, nose brushing past your opening as he trails a line of wet, stinging kisses down, down down, toward the sensitive, tight skin below. He presses his mouth firmly against you, sucking a wet kiss directly onto the sensitive skin of your anus. You feel it from your center to your toes, so taboo and uncharted.
“Theo-” you gasp, ripped from your lungs, legs shifting involuntarily against his shoulders.
He pulls back just a fraction, the cool air hitting the wet mark he’s left behind. He looks up at you through the messy locks falling into his eyes.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, a half assed apology. “I missed.”
He migrates back up, his mouth wide and hot as he latches onto your clit with an uncontained hunger. He does the exact same thing, sucking a deep kiss right onto your peak—but he holds it this time. He stays there for twice as long as before, his tongue swirling in tight,damp circles.
With his mouth busy, he brings one of his thumbs down, circling your entrance teasingly, his digit slick with the mess he’s made. He traces the very edge of your opening, pressing just enough to make you feel the hollow ache of your own emptiness. From there, you know you’re a goner. Your legs are shaking violently against his shoulders, your breath coming in short panicked hitches that you can't control.
“Theo—I’m... I’m coming,” you mewl, torso twisting instinctively in an attempt to gather yourself.
He’s not surprised in the slightest, his hand holding you securely against him. He sweetly grunts against you in response, finally slowing down when he feels you trembling. The feeling’s consuming, starting at the base of your spine, wading outward, your whole body like jelly. You can feel the warmth of your spilling out slowly, across the cool skin of his chin and the heat of his tongue.
His fingers shift to the undersides of your thighs to hold you open, keeping you pinned to his mouth. He begins to lick up the small, pearly liquid that leaks out of you, cleaning up the mess he made. He ensured not a single bit of you is wasted. “‘Tastes so good.” he murmurs against your thigh. “You did so well for me.” he tilts his chin down to meet your eyes, a boyish grin on his lips. “Better than any dessert.”
He lets out a long, shaky exhale, resting his forehead against the inside of your knee for a heartbeat as he tries to regulate his own jumping pulse. You swallow hard, your voice coming out small after you finally garner the strength to shift. Your eyes drop from his face, trailing down the lean line of his torso to where… zoo wee mama.
The bulge in his pj’s is impossible to ignore, the insistent line against his pants belying to you just how much he was holding back while focusing only on you. “What about you?” you whisper, your fingers reaching out to ghost over the waistband of his pants.
Theo’s belly lurches, his entire frame going rigid at the suggestion. He looks down at your hand and then back up into your eyes, his features melting into something so much more raw. He sits back on his heels, rising up on his knees until he’s shadowed over you, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his silk bottoms.
It feels like a scene unfolding in slow motion, and all you could do was watch with your lips parted. As he pushes the fabric down, the sharp, sculpted hardness of his obliques melts into the lean muscle of his lower stomach, trailing down to the dark, soft dusting of hair that leads to his manhood. He stops his descent there, a deep smile line forming in his cheek at your needy expression.
“I suppose,” he starts, letting his hand dip in to cup himself, pumping a few times just to push your buttons. “I can cut my losses and make a cannoli for once.”
He doesn't have to clarify. You know damn well he isn't talking about dessert.
---------------------
hiii my loves i am so so sorry ive been AWOL for a bitttt. finals finals finals ughhhhhh. i have part twos and a full length fic in the works:) this is just a little somethin somethin ive whipped up in between;) huge kisses. soon as i get over this hurdle, so much more to come.
if you were smart enough, you would know that mattheo riddle has always been someone to avoid. unfortunately for you, that has never been possible with him being your brother's best friend. and when a series of heated glances and stolen moments during a three week winter holiday turn into something you can never take back... how do you cope? ...maybe you don't want to.
who: mattheo riddle x nott!ravenclaw!reader
genre: smut
wc: 3,5k
content warning: riddle, your older brother's best friend–a classic frenemies to lovers! i did think the fic was getting too long, so i'm going to break them up in parts
a/n: obviously i am not writing smut with teenagers, so everyone is aged up and this is a hogwarts!college au
The semester was nearly over, you heading down the stairs to where your last final would be held. It was a dark auditorium, but today the lights were on. The professor seemed engrossed in whatever was on his screen. You quietly took your seat in the front, like you always did, and set your pen on your pull-out desk. The only thing you had brought with you was that and your dorm keys, which you had to turn in right after this.
December was upon you, as was Winter Holiday. You couldn’t wait, staying in bed, only getting up to shower, brush your teeth, use the toilet and eat! It sounded like such a time. You shook your head. You couldn’t think about that right now.
Now, you had to focus on the piece of paper in front of you and the questions on the screen. This would be your final grade. How well you did would determine what you remembered from lectures. But it was no sweat, you had done this hundred of times before. You would be fine.
The problems began the second you left the hall. Heading back up the steps, a single person stood leaning against the wall–the biggest smirk on his face.
Your expression flattened when you noticed him. Rather than stopping, you sped right past him. He hurried to catch up, “what’s going on baby sis?”
“I’m not your sister, do not call me that.” You huffed.
“Right, you’re not my sister, just a baby.” You halted in order to glare at him, hoping he’d get the message. “You really should stop running off, Theo would hate it if I lost you.”
“Yes, where is my brother on this chilly afternoon?”
Mattheo tilted his head as he followed you up the steps. “He’s sort of…busy.”
You scoffed, “busy?–thank you, see you in three weeks,” you spoke to the girl behind the glass as you slid the key over to the other side, “doing what exactly?” you directed at the idiot standing beside you.
Mattheo’s grin faltered a little and he scratched the back of his neck, “driving home.”
Your eyebrows drew closer and your eyes narrowed, “what do you mean ‘driving home’?”
“Well, he said there was something he had to do and I was already going to stay with your family this holiday, so he drove…home.”
Another scoff fell from your lips as you threw your hands up, “of course he did!”
“Don’t be angry, Princess, your parents don’t live that far from campus.”
“Theres no way I’m getting in your car.”
“Oh come on,” he rolled his eyes, sounding annoyed now, “you’ve done it before.”
“Yeah, when Theo was also there–when it was a 5 minute drive to my dorm, and oh yeah–when there was no other choice!”
“Hate to break it to you, Princess, but you don’t really have a choice here either.”
You growled, “Don’t call me that.”
“Why ever not?” He grinned, but it was frustratingly on purpose.
You shouldered past him, heading down the steps again. The concrete beneath your feet felt real, more real than the situation you were now in felt. Merlin–you thought–save me.
But Merlin was long dead and Mattheo, unfortunately, was very much alive.
“Where are you going?” He yelled after you, “the parking lot is the other way!”
“I’m not going with you!” You shouted back.
“Seriously? You’re being childish!”
You grit your teeth and spin back around, nearly headbutting the idiot. You swallowed and took a step back, trying to ignore the other students milling around you, “I’ll just take the train.”
Mattheo rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, “You are so difficult sometimes.”
You paused, was he being truthful? You didn’t like him for a multitude of reasons. He was a player, an asshole–why your brother was friends with him you couldn’t figure. You had never liked him because of the stories you’d heard other girls tell about him, how he’d leave in the middle of the night and pretend not to know them the next day. Only the scum of the earth did things like that. You would not be stuck in a car with such scum.
“I’d rather be stuck on a train with strangers than in a car with you.”
“Why?” His exasperation was palpable.
“Oh, like you don’t know.” You huffed.
“Know what? You’ve never liked me for why, I don’t know. I don’t really care right now because I’m tired and hungry, and I’d really like to be on the road before it hits midnight.”
“It’s not even four!”
“Yeah, well you know what I mean.”
You went quiet for a moment, watching the grade-A asshole. He stared at you, a challenge in his eyes. You released a breath, and again, pushed past him, “Fine. But if you try anything I will punch you in that smug ass face of yours.”
Mattheo whistled and spun around, his "tiredness" seemingly forgotten.
“And when I see Theo, I’m going to punch him too.” You murmured under your breath, but of course, he somehow still heard you.
“I’d love to be present for that–
“Of course you would be,” your retort was quick, like they always were when it came to him. He brought out the worst in you, the part of you that couldn’t stand being humble and nice.
You heard him unlock the car in front of you, but before you could pop the passenger door open, he locked it again.You tugged but the door wouldn’t budge. You glared, he smirked. Once again he unlocked the car and you went to open it, but the lock clicked again.
“Stop being an ass,” you yelled.
Mattheo held up his hands in mock innocence, his brown eyes crinkling with mischief, going against the very thing he tried to convey, “keys must be busted.”
“I’m going to bust you if you don’t–
“Chill, Princess,” he clicked the keys and the car unlocked. Finally, you yanked the door and it moved. A small sigh of relief fell from your lips.
“You’re extremely angry today…didn’t do so well on your final?” He asked after you were both in the car with seatbelts on.
“Shut up.” You pulled down the mirror and tried to relax your furrowed brows. It was only two hours. Only two hours with the jerk. You could do two hours…but would your sanity still be intact by the time you reached your destination?
One could hope…one could simply hope.
Five minutes on the road, you yawned. Mattheo was sure you had spent cramming for the final you’d had today the night before, so it wasn’t all too surprising.
You stretched, sinking down into the seat. He snuck a few glances at you, watching how your shorts kept riding up your legs and how you seemed to not care. He wondered if this was how you were with guys in your year. He sure hoped not–they’d take advantage immediately. Anger boiled in his chest at the mere thought of anyone looking at you.
“Do you mind if I roll the window down?” You didn’t wait for his response, which had one of his eyebrows twitching and an irked smirk falling to his lips. And if the smug expression you’d looked at him right after with was anything to go off of, he’d estimate that you’d done it just to piss him off.
But Mattheo’s eyes snagged on the white lace tanktop that was lower than it had been before. He swallowed, averted his gaze and cleared his throat as he reached to turn on the radio. You were oblivious to his stares, at least, that’s what it seemed like to him.
He sighed heavier than he needed to, even though he knew he could use some of the cold air to erase the steamy thoughts–Merlin that was insane. His head hadn’t been screwed on right this monring–though it’s not like he hadn’t thought of it before.
The way she’d look if–OKAY, he needed a cold beverage–now.
“What–dude what are you doing?”
“I’m thirsty.” He glared at your snort.
“What?” Your eyes popped out, he wondered how many poor fools had fallen for that false innocence.
“I hate you,” he spat, signalling right.
“The feeling’s mutual.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he wondered if he was fast enough, that maybe he could yank it out of your mouth. A smug grin spread across his face at the thought. That would definitely take care of the talking.
“Stop smiling like that, you look creepy.”
He threw another dirty look at your farce, huddled as far away as you could get in the car. “You’re such a baby.”
“I am not!”
But he was already parking and sliding out of the car.
“Asshole!”
Mattheo smirked, he’d been called worse by you, but that was definitely his favorite.
A few minutes later, Mattheo had come out of the convenience store, threw a black bag at you, and then slammed the door shut again, wanting to fill up the tank before getting back on the free way.
You were in the middle of setting yet another hateful paragraph to your brother when you heard the gas handle click. The car was full. A little light bulb exploded at the top of your head.
You waited for Mattheo to empty the can, waited for him to set it back on the hook,and when he finally turned around, reaching for the handle of the car like you had about thirty minutes ago, you locked the car.
He glared at you through his tinted windows. It was getting darker now, not because of the time–it was around four, four: thirty at the latest–but because of the season. It was winter and you were in the heart of London, heading toward a gated neighborhood.
He was annoyed, but he wasn’t angry…not yet anyway. You wanted to make sure he came out of this hating the car ride with you more than you hated the car ride with him.
“Open the door, Princess.” His tone was warning, but it only fueled your amusement.
“I’m afraid I can’t, faulty locks and all.”
He called your name–not a nickname, but your full first name, and he’d drawn it out, another warning tone–but something else as well. Perhaps he was royally irritated now?
You unlocked the car, but locked it right when he reached for the handle again, smirking when his eyes blazed through the window between you two. If he wasn’t pissed off before, he surely was now.
“When I get into this car–
“You’ll what?” You lifted your eyebrows, the fake innocent face from before falling into place again.
He grinned, but there was nothing amusing about the way his lips quirked up and his eyes burned through the glass, “you don’t want to know.”
Your insides did backflips. What did he mean by that? Would he kick you out of the car? Make you walk all the way home? No, Theodore would kill him if he did that. Then what? Your mind began rising at the possibilities. An unexpected ache rose between your thighs as you watched him.
You shook your head, “fine, come on loser.”
You unlocked the car again and Mattheo snatched the door open–nerly ripping it off it’s hinges. He slid through the car with the fluidity of a wildcat, his right hand clamped around your throat and his face met yours, mere inches away.
The cold of the outside hit you, but the heat of his body warmed you right back up. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. You couldn’t speak–too shocked to utter any coherent sentences.
His grip wasn’t tight, but it was enough to keep you still. He moved his face nearer until you thought he might kiss you–but he didn’t. His mouth moved just above your ear and you wallowed–knowing he could feel not only your quickening pulse, but the way you reacted to his touch, the way you sucked in a breath when the heat of his words coated over your ear and part of your neck.
“You are so lucky your brother is my best friend." His mouth was so close that when you spoke, his teeth grazed the tip of your ear.
Embarrassment darkened your cheeks. You regained consciousness and shoved him away, but he didn’t move instantly. “Get off you idiot.” Your words trembled and that was probably more embarrassing than whatever he’d just done that made you feel whatever you had just felt.
You didn’t even know what he’d meant by that. What would he have done if you weren’t Theo’s sister? Would he really have left you? Well, if you weren’t Theodore's sister, you likely wouldn’t even be in this predicament.
Your entire body physically shivered at the memory of his teeth against your skin, your lips trembled at the way he stared at you…the way is eyes looked more golden than brown right now…and the way he looked at you like you were–no… no he coudln’t…
He turned away, settling back down, he adjusted the seat and pulled his seatbelt over him. But rather than starting the car, he shut the door and reached for the bag that lay on the middle console. He pulled out an energy drink, swallowing almost half of it in one gulp after forcing it open.
You must have just imagined it, there was no way he’d looked at you in that way. One, because you were you, two because he was him, and three, because he hated you. And you hated him.
You hated each other.
And that was that…
Slowly, you lifted your gaze to his, shivering when his eyes caught yours without having turned his head. “What?” His voice was hoarse and you wondered if it was from the drink.
“Shut up,” you shifted your body away from his, turning your back on him to stare out the window once more.
He chuckled, but didn’t respond. You were in some way grateful for that.
“Drive, we still have a long way to go and I want to be as far away from you as fast as possible.”
“I’m sure,” he said in a way that sounded as if he didn’t think that was true at all.
“Shut up!” You said again, wanting to get the last word in, and you did…for the time being.
“Thank Merlin!” You took a giant whiff of fresh air as you took your first step out of the car since getting in. “Home sweet home.”
“Mattheo!” You turned and saw your brother clambering down the steps. You glared as he called your name, holding his hands out as you approached.
You shoved past him, completely ignoring him, “You think she’s mad?” You heard him ask that idiot before slamming the front door shut.
You found your luggage in your room. The last time you had seen it, it was in your brother's car, that no doubt sat in the garage.
You wondered when your parents would get home. Mattheo’s would be out of town, which is why he was staying with your family this holiday. You just hoped he wouldn’t ruin the plans you had.
You decided to unpack later, first you wanted to eat and then you would take the best shower of your life. The dorm showers were nothing to scoff at, but nothing–absloutley nothing compared to the water pressure at your house.
There were three bathrooms in your house, one in the master bedroom, where your parents stayed. One upstairs, which you shared with Theo, and one smaller one that didn’t have a tub. That one was on the first floor behind the stairs, typically used for guests.
Along with the three bathrooms, there were five bedrooms. The master–with a gorgeous terrace overlooking the garden–yours, Theos, and two guest bedrooms, one which sat on the first floor along with the smaller bathroom.
The master bedroom was heavily separated from the other rooms, it lay on the other side of the second floor. When you walked up the stairs, you came to the middle, where a giant family portrait hung above an old, but taller table. If you took the left side, you’d round the hall and be led to the master bedroom. If you took the right side, you’d be led down a longer, more curved railing that would transform into a hallway.
A giant wooden arch marked the entrance of the hallway where four rooms sat on opposite sides of the hall. Theo’s room sat across from yours, in the middle of your room and the guest room. The guest room was the furthest from the archway, yours was the closest.
You jerked, hearing Theo call your name from downstairs. You left your things where they were, only taking the time to plug in your phone charger before heading back down.
“Mom and Dad are running late, I had to come home and make dinner before you got here.” Your eyes narrowed in on him. “Oh, come on, you know how cranky you get.”
Something told you that hadn’t been the only reason for his disappearance, but you left it alone for now because you were really hungry.
“Foods already on the table,” he said as you sped past him. “Thank you, Theo.” He mumbled to himself.
Mattheo was already at the table, chomping down on a piece of chicken. Your mouth watered. You slipped into the seat diagonal to him and reached for a buttered biscuit. It was gone in seconds. You scooped spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, macaroni, and corn onto your plate.
“Slow down, Princess, you’re going to vacuum everything up.” You kicked mattheo under the table right as he laughed.
Your brother came into the kitchen seconds later, his hazel, but more green eyes glistened in the yellow oven light. “Sve some for me,” he huffed a laugh too as you tried to kick him as well, but failing.
“Violent, isn’t she?” Your eyes narrowed in on his, turning to Mattheo after he agreed.
“So incredibly violent.”
“You two better sleep with one eye open.”
“Oh, I’ll be locking my door.” Your brother grinned.
“I don’t know,” Mattheo tilted his head upward only to look down at you even when sitting, “I like a challenge.”
Heat fluctuated all over your body. You turned your head downward, trying to focus on the food in front of you rather than the warmth pooling in your stomach.
He was so utterly confusing. What did he even mean by that? Or by what he’d said in the car? Did he want you to sneak into his room at night? If so, why?
The image of him at the gas station appeared before you, the feeling of his thumb pressing just above your pulse, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to show you what he could do if he wanted to. And then the way his breath–his mouth–his teeth.
Merlin–you could not think of that right now. You swallowed the images, hoping they’d stay down. “I’m getting in the shower,” you stood, carrying your plate to the sink.
“Fine, but you’re washing dishes.”
You rolled your eyes, “why can’t Mattheo wash them?”
“He’s a guest.” Your brother replied.
“Guest my ass,” you peeked at the boy in question, wondering why he wasn’t butting in like he usually did. “Fine whatever."
“Love you, Sis!”
“Kill yourself.”
Mattheo choked on something as laughter tried to escape his throat. You hoped it was enough to kill him…maybe you were violent…
Ten minutes later your pajama set lay across your bed and you were in the main bathroom upstairs, where it sat a few feet down from your bedroom, right after the entrance of the archway.
You pulled the curtain back and leaned over the tub to turn the knob of the shower, you adjusted your towel on your shoulder before it fell. Right when the water rushed down from the head, the door to the bathroom opened and someone glided in like they owned the bathroom.
You turned narrowed eyes on to Mattheo, his arms and legs crossed as he leaned against the closed door.
“Get out.” You started toward him, crossing your own arms briefly before breaking one away to push at his chest.
“Calm down, Princess,” his hand snaked around your wrist, pushing it away from him, “I’m just messing with you, your parents are running a bit late, Theo wanted me to tell you.”
“He couldn’t tell me himself?” You huffed.
Mattheo shrugged and a bitch ass grin engulfed his face, “he wanted to take an early night.”
“I’m sure.”
“Belive whatever you want,” he turned his back to you, but paused mid-reach to the doorknob.
“Was there something else?” Your tone was sickly sweet, but you did not mean it in that way at all.
“No,” he shifted slightly and glanced at you, “just that green is so not your color.”
You wrenched the towel from your shoulder and whipped it at him just as he yanked the door open and made his escape in a fit of giggles.
Ughrh.
a/n: let me know what you think should happen, i'm open to ideas and requests are open!
Summary: Deciding to pass the time before your enemy heads over to work on a paired project…You lose track of time, resulting in some mind blowing fun with Mattheo👀
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, college au, enemy!mattheo, toxic!mattheo, ewb!mattheo, voyarism, legilimency, masturbation, orgasm control, degrading, dirty talk, tension, clit stim, jerking off, mutual masturbation, mutual orgasms, Mattheo controlling you with just his mind
An hour. You had an hour until god-awful Mattheo would show up to your dorm to work on the project together. You hated him. Couldn’t stand the idiot. But fuck— Did he get you hot and bothered.
—Tick tock-tick tock—The clock above your bed was loud, but nowhere near as vocal as your mind was. Your legs spread as you laid naked on your bed, flicking your swollen little bud.
Pictures of Mattheo on top of you- Banging into you at full force danced across your mind while your fingers effortlessly swirled around your clit. “-Mmmm…Just…like that…” You whimpered to yourself, your eyes shut as you envisioned it perfectly.
One hour. You had time. Or so you thought…Stuck in your blissful trance— Mattheo barged in like he usually did. But you didn’t notice. Didn’t even hear him over your loud thoughts.
His eyes widened at the sight of you sprawled out on your bed. Fully nude— Fuck me. Matt didn’t say a single word. Watching you…Feeling his cock start to pool with blood and harden. “Mmmm- Matty…Yes-“ Another whimper left your swollen lips.
When he heard his name being slipped from your sexy moans- His dick fully hardened. Rock hard. A breath escaped from his lungs as he took a step forward.
“Naughty girl…Huh? Moaning my name? Thinking of me?…. Someone’s certainly on the naughty list this year.”
Mattheo’s voice echoed through your mind, at first thinking it was something you had done yourself, envisioning it. However, you were curious, your eyes fluttering open to see his stare burning into your leaky slit.
“Fuck— Uh, Mattheo?!” Your voice rasped through as you scurried to sit up and try to cover yourself. A low chuckle emitted from your enemy as he stalked over slowly, standing right at the edge of the bed.
What the fuck? I had an hour…why is he here early? You cleared your throat, your glossed-over eyes flickering between his own. “Keep touching yourself— Don’t stop.” Again, his voice growled through your head.
The use of legilimency. You knew he was a skilled and powerful wizard but fuck- Not with this. Although, it only turned you on more. Merlin— how could you hate someone so much yet want to fuck them? It didn’t make sense, not to you, not to Mattheo.
“I-I…Why are you…here so-so early?”
You finally asked as you relaxed against the bed once more, your palm reaching over your little slit but not moving your fingers just yet. “Early?— If anything I’m a few minutes late—“ The cockiness of his words chimed through your head.
“O-oh…I thought- I—“
You were tripping over your words, stuttering like crazy. But his domineering tone cut you off. “Shut up and keep fucking touching yourself, whore—“ the vulgarity of it, the degrading, you were practically a puddle.
Abiding to Mattheo’s demand, your fingers started to swirl in small and fast little circles yet again. Your gaze fixated on him while he started to shuffle down his sweatpants.
Taking out his massive length, he slowly started to stroke it. His eyes devoured you in unimaginable ways. “Mattheo…f-feels so good—“ croaking out in a small little cry, a satisfied smirk painted across his smug face.
“Keep moaning my name- Fuck— You look so hot playing with your pussy like that—“
He growled through your mind, jerking himself off faster and faster as time went on. “—Such a dirty…Pathetic little whore.” Mattheo was speaking through your head- almost as if….if he didn’t physically vocalize them, they didn’t mean anything.
Hearing the splashing of the growing wetness between your slippery folds, your moans only progressively got louder. Feeling the euphoric sensations right before an orgasm would start to hit you.
“So close— Fuck! I’m so—“
Before you could even finish your screams, you heard Mattheo’s voice shout within your brain. “Not- Fucking- yet.” He meant business. You quickly stopped, gawking at him with big eyes.
“W-what?” You asked softly, watching as he tilted his head back and let out a loud groan. Still stroking his precum-covered cock, his darkened gaze locked with yours. “You cum when I say you can, got it, slut?”
Goosebumps Erupted over your delicate skin before taking your fingers and circling them slowly once more. Giving your enemy a slight yet submissive head nod.
You kept your pace slow and smooth- not wanting to risk finishing early and pissing him off. But then yet again, he spoke into your head. “Faster- I know what you’re doin’”
Fuck. You swallowed, glazing your fingers around your clit faster. However, you knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Not with how he was looking at you.
“I-I…It feels so good-“Squeaking out through a muffled cry, Matt seemed to move his own hand even faster. His gaze going from your cunt, to your tits, to your eyes.
“Fuck it— I’m close…Cum with me, you dirty…little…-fuck…whore”
Groaning through each word, you finally got the go-ahead. God, why was I even listening to him? Fuck. It was too hot though. You could hardly handle it.
Slipping your dainty fingers with ease, that familiar feeling built up quickly with ease. “I’m gonna cum, Matty- fuck me! I’m gonna cum—“ Screaming out in pleasure, your climax finally hit. Feeling your juices squirt out all over your bed sheets.
“A fuckin’ squirter? Fuckin’ Hell—“
Stroking his dick even harder, he let out a low groan before his seed shot out, cumming all over the soaked bed sheets and a tiny trickle hitting right across your mound.
Both of you hitting an intense orgasm at nearly the same time felt strange. Having only loathed each other for so long- this seemed off.
The two of you sat basking in the afterglow. Staring into each other's eyes with jagged breathes. Not knowing what to do or say…
One the 9th day of Dickmas we get…Mattheo and legilimency😈🎁
Hope y’all liked this one of matty hehehe👀 Make sure to check out more yummy fics from @nottswitch @nottsangel and @slytherinslut0 ❄️
a/n: this was requested by my girl, @heatedrivalryslover. thank you so much for the request, i hope i didn’t disappoint 🫶🫶
word count: 3K
masterlist
you spend all day pushing mattheo’s buttons… until he finally snaps.
˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
the day had been a slow, deliberate game of fire, and you had lit every match with a sweet, innocent smile.
it began at breakfast in the great hall. the long slytherin table buzzed with the usual morning chatter, silverware clinking against plates. mattheo sat directly across from you, his dark eyes half-lidded as he sipped his coffee. theodore nott was on your left, as always. you leaned into theo’s space a little too comfortably, reaching for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. your fingers brushed his deliberately; lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“oops,” you murmured, voice soft and playful. “sorry, theo. you always seem to be right where i need you.”
theo smirked, amusement flickering in his cool blue eyes. “easy, amore. some people might get the wrong idea.”
you laughed lightly, the sound carrying just far enough for mattheo to hear. his grip tightened around his mug, knuckles paling, but he stayed silent. only the sharp twitch of his jaw gave him away.
potions class was even better.
professor slughorn had paired you with theo for the day’s complicated draught. mattheo worked alone at the station behind you, close enough to hear every word. you made sure of that.
you bent over the cauldron, deliberately pressing your hip against theo’s as you both ground moonstone into fine powder. “your hands are so steady,” you purred, low and breathy. “i wish i had your precision, theo. everything you do just… feels perfect.”
theo’s lips curved. “flattery will get you everywhere.”
from behind you came the unmistakable sound of wood snapping. mattheo’s stirring rod had broken clean in two. you didn’t turn around. you simply smiled wider and let your shoulder brush theo’s again while you added the next ingredient.
lunch brought the final spark before the blaze.
you slid into the seat between theo and lorenzo, your skirt riding up your thighs just enough to draw eyes. when theo offered you a forkful of strawberry tart, you accepted it with a delighted hum, letting your lips close slowly around the fork while holding his gaze.
“mmm.. delicious,” you sighed, licking a stray crumb from your lower lip. “you always know exactly what i want, teddy.”
lorenzo chuckled under his breath. mattheo, seated further down the table, said nothing. but his fork bent slightly in his fist, and the temperature around him seemed to drop several degrees.
by the time the group returned to the slytherin common room after dinner, the air was thick with anticipation. the emerald fire crackled in the grand hearth, casting dancing shadows over the dark green leather couches and silver serpents coiled along the walls. most students had scattered to their dorms or the library, leaving only your usual circle lingering.
mattheo lounged in his favorite armchair; legs spread wide, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, black curls falling messily into his stormy eyes. but those eyes never left you.
you perched yourself on the wide arm of theo’s chair, crossing your legs so your skirt rode higher, revealing the delicate lace tops of your thigh-high socks. theo was mid-explanation about some obscure dark magic theory, his voice smooth and intellectual. you leaned in closer, resting your hand lightly on his shoulder, your nails tracing slow, lazy circles over the fabric of his shirt.
“gods, theo,” you breathed, voice dripping with honey, “you’re so clever. i could listen to you talk all night long.”
theo’s smirk deepened, clearly enjoying both the praise and the way mattheo’s fingers were digging into the armrest hard enough to leave crescent marks in the leather
“careful, cara,” theo warned lightly. “riddle looks like he’s about two seconds from hexing me into oblivion.”
you tossed your hair over one shoulder and laughed, bright and flirtatious. “oh, he wouldn’t dare. would you, mattheo?”
the silence that followed was deafening.
mattheo rose slowly, every movement deliberate and powerful. the common room seemed to hold its breath as he crossed the space in three long strides. he stopped directly in front of you, towering, his presence swallowing the air around you.
“get up.” his voice was low, rough, velvet dragged over broken glass. “now.”
you tilted your head, batting your lashes with feigned innocence. “but we’re having such a nice conversation–”
his hand closed around your wrist, firm, warm, and unyielding. not painful, but impossible to ignore. “i said now.”
the walk down the dimly lit corridor to his private dorm felt endless. tension crackled between you like live electricity. the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind you, mattheo raised his wand and cast a powerful silencing charm. the air thickened, soundproofing the room completely.
he didn’t touch you right away.
he simply stood there in the center of the room, arms crossed over his broad chest, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up just enough to reveal the sharp lines of muscle and the faint, raised veins tracing along his forearms. his gaze raked over you slowly, possessively, dangerously.
“you’ve been a very, very bad girl today,” he murmured, voice deceptively calm. “all day long you’ve been teasing me. flirting with nott like a desperate little slut. touching him. laughing at his pathetic jokes. letting him feed you from his fork like he had every right.”
you leaned back against the closed door, biting your lower lip. “jealous, riddle?”
a dark, humorless chuckle rumbled from his chest. “jealous?” he took one step closer. “oh, darling… i’m going to make you regret every single second you spent trying to make me lose control.”
he closed the distance in two more strides, backing you against the four-poster bed until the edge of the mattress hit the backs of your knees. his fingers came up, ghosting along your jawline before gripping your chin firmly, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“strip,” he ordered softly. “slowly. and do not look away from me for even a second.”
your fingers trembled with anticipation as you obeyed. you unbuttoned your blouse one button at a time, letting the crisp white fabric slide off your shoulders to pool at your feet, revealing the black lace bra that barely contained your breasts. next came the skirt, shimmying it down your hips with a deliberate sway that made his nostrils flare. you rolled the thigh-high socks down your legs one by one, bending slowly so he could watch every inch of skin being revealed.
when you stood before him in nothing but the matching lace panties, he finally moved.
mattheo pushed you back onto the bed, crawling over you with the grace of a predator. his mouth found your neck immediately, sucking hard enough to bloom deep purple marks against your skin. “these are mine,” he growled against your throat. “every fucking inch of this body belongs to me.”
his lips trailed lower, teeth grazing your collarbone before closing around one lace-covered nipple. he sucked and bit until you arched off the bed with a sharp whimper. he gave the other the same treatment, his large hands roaming possessively – squeezing your waist, digging into your hips, spreading your thighs wide.
“you really think theo could make you feel like this?” he whispered hotly against your damp skin. “think his clumsy hands could learn every curve of you the way mine have?”
you moaned softly, hips twitching, but refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. he chuckled darkly and hooked two fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs with agonizing slowness.
“look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “already fucking soaked. all that teasing today got this pretty little cunt dripping for me, didn’t it?”
he settled between your spread thighs, broad shoulders keeping you open for him. his tongue traced a slow, torturous path up one inner thigh, stopping just short of your aching center. he repeated the motion on the other side, then blew a cool stream of air directly over your swollen clit.
“mattheo…” you breathed, hips lifting desperately.
“beg.”
“please…”
“please what?”
“please touch me. please put your mouth on me.”
he smirked against your skin. “still not good enough, baby.”
you whined, fingers twisting into the sheets. “please, mattheo… i need your tongue on my clit. i need you to lick me until i cum.”
“good girl.”
his tongue finally dragged through your slick folds in one long, flat stroke. you cried out, hands flying to his dark curls. he devoured you like a starving man– slow, deep licks alternating with fast, precise flicks against your clit. he sucked the sensitive bundle between his lips, humming in satisfaction when your thighs began to shake.
every time you climbed toward release, he pulled back, kissing and biting the soft skin of your inner thighs instead, murmuring filthy praise.
“such a greedy, pretty cunt… dripping all over my tongue. you were made for this, weren’t you? made to be edged and ruined by me alone.”
he edged you four times. four agonizing, perfect times. by the fifth, tears of frustration and overstimulation were slipping down your temples.
when he finally let you cum, the orgasm crashed through you violently. your back arched off the bed, a broken scream of his name tearing from your throat as your walls clenched around nothing. he didn’t stop. he kept licking you through every aftershock, then pushed two long fingers deep inside you, curling them relentlessly against that perfect spot while his mouth sealed around your clit again.
he forced a second orgasm out of you before the first had even faded, then a third, and a fourth – each one stronger than the last. by the time he finally lifted his head, your legs were trembling uncontrollably, your chest heaved, and your voice was hoarse from moaning.
mattheo kissed his way up your body, leaving a trail of fresh hickeys– one on the swell of your breast, another just beneath your navel, a line of them along your ribs. when he reached your mouth, he kissed you deep and claiming, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
“turn over,” he commanded, voice rough.
you obeyed on shaky limbs, moving onto all fours. he pressed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest down against the mattress so your ass was raised high for him.
he took his time undressing behind you, letting you hear every rustle of fabric, the clink of his belt buckle, the soft thud of clothes hitting the floor. when the thick, hot head of his cock finally nudged against your soaked entrance, he teased mercilessly – rubbing it through your folds, tapping it against your swollen clit, coating himself in your wetness.
“tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he demanded.
“you,” you gasped immediately.
“louder.”
“it’s yours, mattheo. only yours.”
he pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open until he was buried to the hilt with a deep groan. “fuck… so tight. so fucking perfect for me.”
he started with slow, deep rolls of his hips, letting you feel every ridge and vein. his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise – more marks of ownership. gradually the pace increased. harder. faster. the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with your breathy moans and his low, possessive growls.
just as you were spiraling toward another shattering orgasm, the words slipped out in a haze of overwhelming pleasure:
“fuck.. theo…”
everything stopped.
mattheo froze completely, buried deep inside you. the silence was deafening. you felt the shift in his body instantly – every muscle tensing, his grip on your hips turning almost painful.
he pulled out slowly, almost gently, then flipped you onto your back so he could look directly into your eyes. his expression had transformed. dark storm clouds of pure anger, disbelief, and raw, dangerous possessiveness swirled in his gaze.
“say that again,” he said, voice deadly quiet.
your bratty side surged despite the warning bells screaming in your head. you met his eyes with a defiant little smile, even as your pussy clenched needily around nothing.
“i said… theo.”
for one heartbeat, he simply stared at you.
then the leash snapped completely.
mattheo slammed back into you with one brutal, punishing thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. “you little fucking slut,” he snarled, voice raw and furious. “does my greedy little slut really think theodore nott could fuck you like this? that he could have you falling apart on his cock this quickly? that pathetic boy wouldn’t even know what to do with a cunt this tight and wet.”
he set a merciless rhythm, hips snapping forward with enough force to make the heavy four-poster bed creak loudly. one large hand wrapped around your throat – not cutting off air, just holding, claiming, reminding you exactly who was in control. his other hand pinched and rolled your nipple hard.
“look at me,” he growled. when your eyes threatened to flutter shut from the intensity, he tightened his grip on your throat just enough to get your attention. “fucking look at me while i ruin this pretty little cunt.”
you moaned loudly, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure shooting sparks through every nerve. he leaned down and bit into the junction of your neck and shoulder, hard enough to make you cry out, then soothed the mark with his tongue.
“say it,” he demanded against your skin. “say you’re mine.”
“i’m yours,” you gasped, voice breaking.
“come on, doll. you can do way better.” he pulled out abruptly, flipped you onto your side, hooked one of your legs over his hip, and drove back inside at a new, devastating angle that hit even deeper. “louder. tell me who owns this pussy. who owns every moan, every orgasm, every fucking inch of you.”
“you do!” you cried, nails digging into his shoulders. “mattheo– fuck–you own me! only you!”
he fucked you relentlessly like that, switching positions whenever the mood struck him, claiming you completely.
he folded you in half on your back, your legs over his shoulders, pounding into you so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach while he watched your face contort in pleasure.
he pulled you on top next, gripping your ass hard as he guided you to ride him fast and desperate. when you started to slow from exhaustion, he slapped your ass sharply. “bounce on my cock like the desperate little whore you are. show me how badly you need it.”
when your thighs began to burn, he flipped you again, pressing your face into the pillows while he took you from behind, one hand fisted tightly in your hair, the other reaching around to rub your clit.
every brutal thrust came with filthy, possessive words growled right against your ear:
“this cunt is mine. these perfect tits are mine. every single moan that leaves your pretty mouth–mine. theo couldn’t last thirty fucking seconds inside you without blowing his load like a pathetic virgin. but me? i’m going to fuck you until the only name you remember is mine. until you can’t walk straight tomorrow without feeling exactly who ruined you.”
you came again– violently– screaming his name as your walls clenched around him. he didn’t slow down. he kept fucking you through it, forcing another orgasm from your oversensitive body right after.
by the time you were a trembling, sobbing, wrecked mess beneath him, tears streaming down your face from the overwhelming pleasure, he finally growled against your ear:
“say it again. say you belong to me. say it like you fucking mean it. need to hear you say it.”
“i belong to you!” you screamed, voice completely hoarse. “only you, mattheo! i’m yours – i’m yours – i’m yours–”
that was what finally broke him.
he buried himself as deep as possible and came with a guttural, satisfied groan, pulsing hot and thick inside you. the feeling of him filling you triggered one final, shattering orgasm that left you shaking violently in his arms.
for a long moment, he stayed buried inside you, his body covering yours protectively as you both came down from the high. his breathing was ragged against your neck.
then the anger melted away, replaced by something softer but no less possessive.
he pulled out gently and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. he pressed tender kisses to your forehead, your tear-streaked cheeks, the marks he had left all over your neck and breasts. his hands stroked soothing circles over your back and hips, massaging the bruises he had left there.
“shh, baby.. i’ve got you,” he murmured, voice now low and tender. “you were so good for me. my perfect, beautiful girl. i’m so proud of you.”
he reached for his wand on the nightstand and murmured a series of gentle cleaning and soothing charms. a warm, damp cloth appeared; he wiped you down carefully between your legs and over your sweat-slicked skin. then he pulled the heavy blankets over both of you, tucking you securely against his chest. one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand gently carding through your messy hair.
after several quiet minutes of soft touches and whispered praise, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and murmured with a smug little smirk you could hear in his voice:
“i bet nott couldn’t make you feel even half that good. could he, baby?”
your body was deliciously sore, your mind hazy with exhaustion and satisfaction, but that mischievous spark inside you still refused to die completely. you nuzzled closer into his chest and whispered sleepily, voice raspy:
“hmm… i dunno. not really convinced. maybe i should call him tomorrow and find out for sure.”
mattheo’s hand stilled in your hair.
a low, dangerous chuckle rumbled through his chest, sending fresh heat curling low in your belly despite how spent you were.
“oh, darling,” he purred, already rolling you gently beneath him again, his lips trailing fresh, claiming kisses down your marked neck. “you really do love testing my patience, don’t you?”
his mouth found one of the darkest hickeys and sucked on it gently, reigniting sparks of pleasure. “i guess i’ll just have to remind you again… and again… and again… until the only name you can even think about moaning is mine.”
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