Tired

“Hey, it’s all good. I’ve got it,” he reassures you, his voice softer now, but the intensity is still there, buried under the surface. 

This closeness leaves you momentarily speechless, sending your mind into a tailspin. You try to pull yourself together, feeling your heartbeats quicken as you're flush against him. “But…”

“It’s always a rollercoaster with him. As long as we know how to move around him it’s gonna be ok.” still holding you against him with his other hand, he brings the cigarette to his mouth and takes another puff. You’re too entranced by his scent, his red mouth as he exhales the smoke on the side to avoid blowing it on your face. “Stop worrying so much.”

You shake your head in defeat, your mind silently racing as he finishes his cigarette. There is a reason why you worry so much. Billy can downplay it all he wants, but you are fully aware of what his father represents. You have seen it on his skin, in his eyes and in his attitude when he’s around older men. Max is so young and you are certain that Neil has touched her mother as well. You wonder what she looks like; you've never met her. Billy brings you back to the present moment by gently squeezing your waist. His tourmaline eyes roam over your face. The combination of his gaze, so casual, and his warm hand touching your body sends you into heat. 

“You good?” 

You know what he’s referring to. For a moment you stopped thinking about it. Now it comes back in full force and your anxiety is increasing with every second. You feel overwhelmed by this emotion along with how flush his closeness makes you feel. Your mouth feels dry.  “I don’t know. I don’t know how it’s gonna be.” 

“You’re fine. Nothing’s gonna happen. Alright?” 

You nod, unconvinced, and as he brings his face closer to yours, his breath fanning over your face, mint an tobacco. Your heart races quickly as his lips brush against yours. You struggle to realise it, you didn't think he would kiss you again so soon. You certainly didn't think he would kiss you here. It is as if an electric shock was born from your kiss. The surprise triggered by the fact that what happened the other night is not just a vague memory makes you even more euphoric. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You completely ignore the risk of burning yourself with his cigarette, which continues to die slowly, held between the fingers of his free hand. You rest your hands on his shoulders, denim against your skin. The rest of the people, the sounds around you disappear. You are awash in the passion with which he kisses you, makes you euphoric. His hand leaves your waist and comes to rest on your cheek and you give him space, your hands descend to his chest. The sound of the bell breaks the moment, but you both seem to struggle to break the kiss. You are aware that you must enter the building but each time you pull your lips away Billy chases you, urging you to chase him back. After an eternity, perhaps because you are both out of breath, your lips part with difficulty and you squint, dazed. Your mind tries to regain focus as they move from his heated gaze to where your hands lie against his chest, tucked white shirt in denim jeans. His necklace. He squeezes your waist, as he exhales against your lips. You do not dare to meet his gaze because you know you would not be able to resist him. You have to go back to class. Billy seems to think the same as you because he pulls his face away slightly, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth between the two of you. It is now practically finished. Tilts his head back as he exhales. You eye his Adam apple. 

“Well, shit.” he clears his throat, a chuckle leaving his lips as his eyes briefly look past your shoulder. This makes you feel hotter, flattered by his exclamation. You understand very well what he feels. You feel yourself going up in flames as much as he does. “Guess we gotta go now,” he mutters, his eyes finding yours. 

It is as if he is seeking your confirmation.  It's clear that neither of you wants to move from here. 

“Yeah. Yes, let's go,” you nod, shaken and still dazed. You move away from him slowly, aware that if you moved too quickly you would stumble or lose your balance. 

Most of the students have already entered the building, but some of them are lounging by the entrance, and some of them are looking at you and Billy as you both walk in. It is likely, indeed certain, that they have seen you back in the parking lot. You decide to ignore their persistent stares completely. You feel relieved when you notice the absence of familiar faces once you are in the main hallway. Maybe you can avoid unpleasant situations at least until lunchtime. You turn to Billy, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. It's time to part. You won’t share History class together today. 

“I'll stay in the library to study later today,” you inform him. You have a habit of always going home together, but you have a Chemistry test in two days and need to study.

Billy doesn’t look at you. His eyes are fixed on something to your right. You know that look. You follow his gaze and spot Tommy Hagan by the trophy cases at the end of the hallway.

“Billy?”

“You said Carol was with Tina that day?” His voice is low, but it’s more of a statement than a question. Your heart sinks as you quickly put the pieces together.

“No, Billy, please don’t make a scene.”

His eyes never meet yours. “It’s alright.”

“Billy—”

Billy whistles sharply, cutting you off. “Hey, Hagan!” Tommy Hagan turns around, his indifferent expression shifting to concern when he sees Billy heading his way. You hesitate behind him, dread pooling in your stomach. What is Billy going to do?

“Can I have a word?” Billy calls out as he strides toward Tommy.

Tommy glances between Billy and you, uncertainty written across his face. “Uh, sure.”

“Your girlfriend and I have a problem,” Billy starts, his tone sharp. You feel agitation rise in your chest, already dreading where this is going.

Tommy’s brows furrow. “What?”

“Tell her to quit bothering her.” Billy points to you with a sharp motion of his thumb. Tommy’s gaze follows Billy’s direction, then his expression shifts into one of incredulity, followed by a short burst of laughter.

“What? Are you s—”

Billy cuts him off. “See, I don’t beat up girls.” his tone casual, almost dismissive. “I’m not an animal. But if she doesn’t stop with the bitching right now, it’s your ass next.”

You rush toward them, tugging weakly at Billy’s arm as students begin to slow down, watching the scene unfold. “Billy, come on.”

Billy doesn’t budge. He looks at Tommy, who’s starting to squirm under the pressure, and adds, “You got the hint pretty quickly. So why don’t you do the same with her? Update her on how things are gonna be from now on. I won’t be so nice next time.”

The calmness in Billy’s voice is chilling, but his eyes are a storm, seething beneath the surface. “You hear me?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, his blue eyes piercing through Tommy like a warning.

Tommy stiffens, looking down, unable to hold eye contact. He nods several times, trying to keep his composure. “Yeah, man. Safe and sound.”

Billy nods, slaps Tommy on the shoulder with a casual, almost condescending gesture. “Thanks.”

As you both walk side by side down the corridor, you feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, the whispers and stares burning a hole through you. You can’t shake the feeling that every step is being scrutinized.

Luckily, you don’t share first period with Tina. Chemistry is just Carol and Vicky, and while they shoot you their usual derisive looks, they don’t say a word. Without Tina, they seem to lose their bite, their presence fading without their leader to prop them up. It suits you just fine.

The rest of the morning goes by without any issues, but by the time lunch ends and Math class rolls around, unease settles in your stomach. Tina is in that class with you. When she walks in, you brace yourself, expecting some kind of confrontation. But instead, she just shoots you a dark look and storms past your desk without a word. Her footsteps are heavy, her scowl deep. You hear her drop onto her chair behind you with a loud thud, the sound making you tense.

You’ve never seen her like this.

The teacher walks in, pulling her things from her duffle bag as the usual classroom chatter hums around you. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Carol abruptly getting up from her seat next to Vicky and making a beeline for Tina. Your stomach tightens. You risk a glance their way. They’re whispering, fast and animated, their heads ducked close. It doesn’t look good.

As if sensing your gaze, Tina looks up—and locks eyes with you.

Her icy stare makes you go stiff. She tongues her cheek, her expression a mix of defiance and contempt. You swallow and turn back to your desk, willing yourself to ignore it.

The rest of the afternoon drags unbearably slow. You wait for something to happen, for one of them to approach you between classes, to say something, do something. But nothing comes. By the time the final bell rings, you take your time packing up, head down, hoping to avoid them in the hallway. But they don’t even acknowledge you as they leave.

Relief floods you when you’re the last to say goodbye to the teacher. You make it to the library without issue, slipping inside where it’s mostly empty—most students eager to escape the school building as soon as possible. You pass a quiet boy from your class who glances up at the sound of your footsteps, offering you a shy smile before returning to his book.

You settle at one of the farthest tables, tucked behind a bookshelf. No one bothers you, but focusing is impossible. Your thoughts spiral. Tina’s strange behavior, Billy. Especially Billy.

His hands. His lips. His gaze.

The two kisses.

By the time you’re leaving the building, your mind is still clouded with him. You’re nearly at the exit when you hear male voices behind you. Then, a whistle.

Your body tenses instinctively, already on guard, ready to shut down whoever decided to be an idiot today. But when you turn around, you’re met with a different sight.

Billy.

“Hey.” he approaches you with his sports bag slung over his shoulder, his teammates behind him.

“Hey..” 

“See ya, man.” the boys greet him, throwing you a brief glance as they all walk past you. 

“I didn’t know you had practice today.”

Billy shrugs. “Didn’t know either, they moved it from Friday to tonight.” 

His hair has lost some of its volume, damp curls falling over his forehead, with smaller strands clinging to his neck. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a t-shirt under his denim jacket, nothing like what you’re used to seeing him in. Usually, when he has practice, you go home alone.

The sight of him like this stirs something in you, something you can’t quite put into words. There’s a familiarity to it, a quiet intimacy. Stripped of leather, denim, silver rings, and a perfectly styled haircut, he feels… softer. Warmer. Like home.

“Watcha still doing here?” he asks you. You can smell his shampoo mixed with his cologne. You try not to drop your eye on his mouth as he chews on a gum. 

“I was in the library.” he indeed wasn’t listening to you earlier this morning.

“Good thing I got practice then, huh?” he jerks his chin toward the exit behind you, as he starts walking toward it, so you follow along.

As you both step out of the high school, the heavy doors swinging shut behind you, you’re immediately met by the warmth of the evening air. The parking lot is bathed in golden light. The lingering heat from the sun settles over your skin like a comforting blanket, thick with the scent of summer grass and faint traces of freshly cut lawns from the nearby fields.

The sky is a vast canvas of soft, golden light, stretching high and clear, only just beginning to fade toward deeper blues at the edges.

“So how was your day?” he asks. 

“It was fine.”

“Yeah? Everything went well?”

You actually want to ask him if he had anything to do with Tina, Vicky and Carol's behaviour. But you prefer to wait until you are both in the car. 

“Yeah. How was yours? Was practice okay?”

“Not too bad. Coach gave us some shit 'cause the big game against Chesterton’s coming up. He says they’ve got a couple of new guys who are supposed to be real hotshots, so he’s on us to keep our heads in the game,” he says as he drops his sports bag in the trunk. “Keeps saying it’s our ‘chance to prove ourselves.’ Like winning every other game wasn’t enough.”

The sounds of the quiet parking lot surround you, the slamming of car doors, and the subtle echo of laughter from the rest of the basketball team as they all leave. 

“Is he always this harsh to you?” 

“Always is. Eh, who cares. Got used to it.”

The inside of the car is stifling after being parked in the sun all day, the black leather almost burning your skin as you sit down. You breathe a sigh of relief when Billy rolls down both windows, letting in a rush of fresh air.

“Yeah, it’s boiling in here. Do you have plans?” Billy asks as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“Not really, no,” you answer. During the week you normally just stay at home. You turn to look at him, curious. “Why?”

“Let’s head to the lake. Freshen up a bit.” 

“Oh. You wanna swim?” 

“Yeah, why not. It’s warm enough now.” 

You find yourself at a loss for words, his sudden offer making your stomach twist with unease. The two of you have never swum together, always staying near the water’s edge. You knew the time would come sooner or later if you kept going to Lovers Lake as summer arrived, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon. So, you come up with the lamest excuse possible.

“Uhm, can we do it another day? I don’t have my swimsuit with me.”

“We can stop by your house to get it.”

“But you don’t have your swimming trunks either.” 

Billy waves his hand in a dismissive gesture as he reaches for his pack of cigarettes. “Don’t need it. Just gonna use my gym shorts.”   

You find yourself speechless. Not knowing which excuse to find.

“Hey, if you don’t wanna-”

“No, no. I want to!” you rush. You don't want to miss an opportunity to spend time with him. Even if you have to risk him not liking what he sees once you’re in nothing but a swimsuit. “I was just... never mind. Let's go, let's stop at mine to pick it up.”

You tell Billy to wait in the car—you won’t be long. As soon as you shut the front door behind you, you rush to the bathroom, grabbing your razor in a frenzy. In your haste, you nick your calf, wincing as a thin line of red beads on your skin. But there’s no time to dwell on it. You finish up quickly, dart to your room, and snatch your bikini on the fly, slipping it on before pulling your clothes back over it.

When you step outside, you immediately spot Eddie Munson standing by the Camaro, right in front of Billy’s door. You haven’t seen him in days. His trailer door is open behind you, he must’ve stepped out when he heard the engine.

He glances up as you approach, offering a nod in greeting before turning his attention back to Billy. You catch the tail end of their conversation as Eddie gestures to one of the many tattoos inked across his bare forearm.

“...sick, man.”

“I can ink you up sometime. Just tell me your price and I’ll cut you a deal,” Eddie shrugs. “I’m flexible.” 

“Sweet. That’d be great.”

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Eddie straightens up, his gaze flicking to yours. You’ve never talked much. He seems like a nice guy, but there’s always been something about him that makes you a little hesitant, a little shy. Maybe it’s the ever-present chain hanging from his jeans. Maybe it’s the way he’s always dressed in black. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Hi, not too bad,” you reply giving him a small smile. “How are you?”

“I’m good yeah. See you.” he starts walking backward toward his trailer, then points at Billy. “You got yourself a nice guy.” 

“Oh. It’s huh, it’s, wer-re not-” you stutter, feeling your cheeks heat up. Eddie throws his hands up in a quick, playful gesture — palms outward, fingers spread slightly, as if to say, "Alright, alright, I'll shut up." His grin is boyish and teasing.

“My bad! Didn’t mean to assume,” he chuckles, starting to backpedal toward his trailer. “Catch you later, neighbor.”

You glance at Billy as he leaves the dirt road and turns onto the main road. You hadn’t realized he and Eddie were so close—he never mentioned seeing him.

“Are you thinking of getting another one?”

“Huh?”

“Another tattoo,” you clarify.

“Oh.” A grin spreads across his face. “Yeah. Definitely. Got something in mind.”

“Where would you get it?” you ask, intrigued by his vague answer.

Silence.

You turn toward him in question, only to flinch slightly when you feel his fingers brush against your skin. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road as his fingertips graze your calf, his palm settling on your shin. A jolt of electricity shoots through you as you realize—this is his answer.

“Nothing too big,” he says. “Thinking red ink.”

“Oh.” You try to sound casual, as if his touch isn’t setting you on fire. “That sounds like a really cool idea.”

Billy hums in response, and the silence that follows is thick—charged—because his hand is still there, warm, his fingers idly stroking your skin. Luckily, your house is only half a mile from the lake. You’ll be there soon.

The water is still a little too cool for you, so after a quick dip, you climb out. Lover’s Lake is peaceful in the early summer evening, the water stretches wide and glassy, mirroring the sky’s soft hues. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the occasional ripple breaking the surface as a fish moves below. A gentle breeze rustles the trees, carrying the faint sound of crickets just beginning their nightly chorus. The sun hasn’t set completely yet, but the sky is shifting—shadows stretching long over the dock, the horizon painted in streaks of orange and pink.

An hour later, you both end up in your usual spot—one of the docks where you’d sit to study or just unwind. Billy props himself up on his forearms beside you, his tanned arms illuminated by the fading sunlight. Your eyes drift over his sandy blond curls, messy from the water. You have the urge to run your fingers through them, but you hold back. You’re not sure you have that kind of confidence, not yet—not with him. Even though you’ve kissed twice now, you’re afraid of pushing too much.

“Jason’s throwing a party,” Billy says suddenly.

“Oh.” The statement catches you off guard. You watch as he pulls a cigarette from his pack and places it between his lips. “Jason as in Jason Carver?”

Billy nods as he lights the cigarette with one hand, his other arm still resting on the dock. For a brief moment, his eyelashes brush against his cheek, and you find yourself staring. You follow the movement of his hand, the way his thumb lingers on the grill of the lighter before he flicks it shut and places it back down. He takes a slow drag, then pulls the cigarette away, exhaling a cloud of smoke. You love his hands.

“Tomorrow.”

You assume he’s going. Billy has never missed a party. There are rumors about him being the life of them, and yet you struggle to reconcile that version of him—the one who drinks, fights, and lets loose—with the one sitting beside you now. The boy who lent you his jacket, who hugged you, who shares this quiet moment with you. The same boy who once punched someone so hard he knocked out a tooth, nearly sending him into a coma, blood splattering across the pavement.

“Will you go?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

Billy exhales another cloud of smoke, his voice slightly rough as he stifles a cough. “Yeah. Haven’t been to one in a while.”

You hum in acknowledgment, your gaze drifting toward the opposite shore. The sun has completely set now, and though the air is still warm, the sky has darkened. Your legs float lazily in the water, barely submerged. You’re not sure if you’d feel cold, but Billy doesn’t seem to mind.

“You should come.”

Your gaze snaps back to him. At first, you’re silent, caught between surprise and uncertainty, unsure if he’s being serious.

“Me?”

“You,” he repeats, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Billy.” You let out an uneasy laugh. “You know I’ve never been to any of those parties.”

“There’s always a first time.”

You’ve never felt comfortable with the idea of parties. You know you wouldn’t fit in, would probably feel out of place—maybe even unwelcome. Rejected. And after what happened with Tina, the thought of walking into one now feels even worse. You can’t hold your tongue now that it’s on your mind again.

“Can I ask what you told Tina earlier?”

Billy looks momentarily taken aback. Then he scratches his cheek with the hand holding his cigarette, his gaze shifting past you to where the Camaro is parked in the distance.

“Aw, why are you still thinking about that bitch? Forget her. She ain’t gonna do shit anymore.”

You nudge his arm lightly with your thigh, your voice gentle but firm. “Billy.”

He looks back at you. But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling as the silence stretches between you.

“What have you done?” 

For the first time, his expression shifts—like a door slamming shut between you. The warmth in his eyes cools, his features hardening in a way you’ve never seen before. His jaw tightens, lips pressing into a firm line as if holding something back. The cigarette lingers between his fingers, forgotten. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, sharp and unwavering.

"What, you think I’d hit a woman?"

There’s no anger, no outburst—just a quiet offense, a distance that wasn’t there a moment ago. His gaze, once open and familiar, now feels just out of reach. 

The change in him is instant, and it hits you like a splash of cold water. Your stomach tightens. You don’t like this—this sudden distance, the way he looks at you like you're someone else entirely. 

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

The words rush out, a little too fast, a little too desperate to pull him back from whatever place he’s just gone to. But he doesn’t soften. He doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he flicks the ash off his cigarette, his gaze drifting somewhere past you, jaw still locked tight.

You shift closer, hesitating before reaching for his arm. “Billy,” you say, quieter now, trying to catch his eyes. “I wasn’t accusing you. I just… I just want to know what happened.”

Still, nothing. The silence stretches, thick and heavy between you. It’s like watching a storm settle over the ocean—calm on the surface, but something deep and dangerous churning underneath.

Your chest tightens. You don’t like this. You don’t like how far away he suddenly feels.

“Please,” you murmur. “Talk to me.”

For a second, you think he might not answer. Then, finally, he exhales—sharp, controlled, smoke curling from his lips before he mutters, “Forget it.”

But you can’t. Not now. 

Your fingers tighten slightly on his arm. “Billy, please. I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. It just—” You pause, searching for the right words, for something that will pull him back. “Tina looked at me like she wanted to kill me today. In class. Just full-on daggers in her eyes. But she never said a word. Never even walked up to me.”

His expression doesn’t shift immediately, but you see the smallest flicker of something—acknowledgment, maybe. You push forward.

“I don’t get it,” you continue, voice softer now, careful. “I know she hates me, I could feel it. But she just sat there, staring. Why? What happened?”

Billy exhales slowly through his nose, still distant, but the tension in his jaw eases—just a little. The silence stretches, but this time, it feels different. Less cold. More like he’s deciding something.

Finally, he takes another slow drag of his cigarette, then speaks. “I talked to her earlier.”

You wait, but he doesn’t say anything else. That’s not enough. You need more.

“What did you say to her?”

Billy exhales. “Told her whatever this thing is she’s got with you, it’s done. That I don’t want to hear about it, and she sure as hell better not try dragging me into it.” his voice is calm but firm, no room for argument. “Told her to get over it and move the fuck on.”

His confession stirs something warm inside you, something that spreads too fast, too deep. The conviction in his voice, the way he says it like it’s the simplest truth in the world—it’s almost too much. You swallow hard, trying to process it, but the feeling is overwhelming, almost suffocating in its intensity.

Billy shifts beside you, exhaling sharply through his nose like he’s only just realizing how serious he sounded. He drags a hand through his hair, ruffling the curls at the nape of his neck, then drops it, fingers tapping idly against the dock. He doesn’t meet your eyes right away, gaze flicking toward the water instead.

“Thank you,” you say eventually, your voice quieter than you intended. “I just don’t want you getting antagonized by everyone because of me. That’s the last thing I want.”

Billy scoffs, a short, dismissive laugh. “As if I give a shit what these hick townies think of me.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you watch as he stubs out his cigarette against the wooden dock beside your legs. He seems so sure of what he’s saying. And deep down, you’ve always known it to be true—Billy has never cared about anyone’s opinion. You’ve seen it in the way he carries himself, from the very first time you spotted him in the school hallways.

“Tommy H’s stupid freckled face can kiss my ass.”

The statement is so unexpected that you freeze for a second. Then you press your legs together, fighting back a laugh. Billy swats away a fly that’s just landed on your knee, his hand lingering for a moment. His touch is warm, grounding, and for the first time tonight, the tension seems to ease. There’s even the ghost of a reluctant smile on his lips. The shift in atmosphere washes over you like a wave of relief.

“So…” he starts, his thumb dragging idly along your knee.

You glance at him, curious. “Yes?”

“Are you coming or not?”

It takes a second for his words to register. When they do, you let out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. “Billy, I’m not going to the party.”

“Why not?”

“...You know it’s not my thing.” the admission feels uncomfortable, like you’re exposing something shameful about yourself. “I’d just feel weird.”

“That’s ‘cause you’ve never tried it.”

“What makes you think Tina won’t bother me there? Everyone’s gonna be drinking, and—”

“You’ll be with me the whole time, sweetheart.” His voice is smooth, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like you’re just making excuses.

You shoot him a doubtful look. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that he’d stick by your side all night. You’re still not convinced.

And he sees it.

Because suddenly, he lifts your leg gently, slipping beneath it as he moves closer, settling himself between your thighs. His presence feels different like this—closer, more deliberate. The warmth of his hands against your skin sends a shiver through you, but it’s not from the water.

“Come on.”

“What?” you ask with a nervous giggle, your heart stammering in your chest. His arms brush against your legs, his torso barely grazing your inner thighs.

“It’s gonna be fun.” His grin is subtle, teasing, like he already knows he’s winning.

He props himself up on his hands, the wooden dock creaking beneath the movement. The water sways below. And then his face is level with yours, his blue eyes half-lidded but impossibly intense, locking onto you like a challenge.

“Come to the party with me.”

“Billy… I…” You sigh, knowing—knowing—that right now, if he asked you to jump off a bridge, you’d probably do it without hesitation.

And when his lips brush the corner of your mouth, you know it’s over.

“Come with me.”

His voice is low, like velvet, pulling you in deeper. It’s a command, but it’s also a plea, soft but insistent. He doesn’t kiss you fully—not yet. His mouth hovers near yours, teasing, coaxing, almost as if he’s waiting for you to lean in, waiting for you to make the next move. The air between you is thick with tension, with something unspoken that neither of you can escape.

His lips place slow, wet, open mouthed kisses on your cheek. Like he has all the time in the world. And maybe he does, because you haven’t pulled away. His touch is warm, sending a trail of fire through your veins, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Say yes.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and final. Your chest tightens. You don’t know what to say, what to do. He’s got you on the edge, holding you there, the answer in his eyes, in his touch, in the way he leans closer, as if he's asking for more than just a yes. He wants all of you.

And then, his lips are on yours, deep and slow, like he’s savoring every second, every movement. The kiss is everything. The world spins around you, and all you can feel is him, the heat of his skin, the press of his body against yours.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t break the kiss until you’ve lost track of time, until your mind is completely clouded with nothing but him. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, to his chest, holding onto him like he’s the only thing grounding you in this dizzying whirlwind.

And then he pulls away, but just enough for him to look into your eyes, his breath mingling with yours, his gaze dark, but searching.

“Say yes.”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re on the edge, you know you are. And you can feel it, deep down, in your bones, that there’s no going back.

tonight, you were meant to be heading out on a girls night to Hogsmeade - daphne had been droning on about needing to live a little, pansy frustrated at the fact boys weren't throwing themselves at her feet and you, well just wanted to let loose at the three broomsticks and shake off that exam study cramp in your quill hand with the help of an alcoholic butterbeer or two.

getting ready: you'd just showered off the potions dust of your last class earlier in the day and towel dried your hair into unruly waves. hunting around the boys bathroom for the hairdryer you swore you'd brought over the other night when draco had complained of his not making his hair quiff the right way, you sighed - perhaps theodore had packed it away somewhere being the neat freak that he was and forgotten to tell you where he'd put it away.

blowing out a sigh, on a whim - you raided his trunk for something to wear. you couldn't exactly put on what you were wearing out tonight, you weren't exactly ready and walking out into the common room wearing nothing but a towel? hell, it'd be like diving headfirst into a serpent cesspool. pulling out one of Theodore's quidditch jerseys, you held it up to take in the scent - that now familiar cedar cologne he wore slightly tainted by freshly cut grass of the quidditch field. the fabric was soft from one too many washes and as you slid it up over your head, arms finding the sleeves, you glanced in the mirror; admiring how the emerald green looked on you. the jersey's hem making it an adequate excuse to pass off as coverage providing you didn't bend over.

with soft skin, rosy cheeks and a mission in mind; you padded out from the dorm to the common room with bare feet and scanned the place for your intended target.

that was your first mistake. and boy, was it a big mistake.

fire from the heaths flickered low, casting shadows across the common room like it was the side of stage for some high end broadway show. scattered across the room were a few of the younger year students who seemed caught up in their own worlds and then Theodore's mates - lounging around like the owned the place. blaise was mid sip of something that sparkled of amber, draco was sprawled across a couch with a book in hand he hadn't actually be reading and mattheo was sharpening one of his quills into something not so savoury. their heads shot up as you crossed the common room, over into their threshold - theo's jersey riding up your thighs with every step you took, teasingly flashing the curve of your plump peachy ass before you realised and could tug it down.

a low chorus of groans rippled throughout the room as you heard a few chokes and felt more and more eyes beginning to focus on you. blaise almost dropped his glass, draco forgot the book which slipped down to his lap and mattheo muttered something filthy about what he'd do to you beneath his breath.

"fuck - look at her", blaise was the first to speak up, "T, is gonna lose his shit." "hell, if she bent over", mattheo whistled, "what i wouldn't do to her."

theodore, who had been helping a first year with a transfiguration essay, flickered his eyes over to see what all the commotion was about and stilled like stone when he saw you. he snapped the quill in his hand; ink spilling across his fingers and the first years parchment, splattering like blood as he shamelessly groaned. those piercing blue eyes locked onto you, darkening from azure to midnight in the time of a heartbeat. his jaw clenched. a heavy vein running up the side of his neck as he stood, the chair he sat in scraping backward like a warning.

the common room hushed. tension coiled tight within every boys stomach as theo stalked over toward you with a predatory grace you hadn't before witnessed. he said no words - just shot a hand out to clamp around your wrist, yanking you flush up against his chest before you could squeak out something in protest. his hands dropped to your hips, shifting lower down your legs to tease beneath the hem of his jersey and squeeze your ass as they made themselves at home beneath the emerald fabric. you tried to move to pull the jersey down and conceal yourself, but theo had no intention of letting you do that.

"fucking mine..."

the words were snarled out against your skin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and nipped away hard enough that a small bruised bloomed up blue immediately. the words were loud enough to everyone in the common room to hear; your cheeks flooding a bright scarlet colour as his lips kissed and tugged at your ear. "you wearing something like this outside of the dorm room. not fucking happening, tesoro."

the common room erupted into whistles and chokes as theo hauled you down the corridor back towards his dorm; you stumbling behind him in a pathetic attempt to keep up. with the dorm door slammed shut behind you; you barely had time to register breathing before Theodore's mouth was on yours - hungry, needy; his tongue finding its way down the back of your throat as he backed you up to drop down against his bed. the kiss was rough. it tasted the way you assumed so would possession. his hands found their way into your hair; damp locks tangled around his fingers as he tilted your head back to force your gaze into his.

"..you look better than good."

theodore skimmed his lips across your jaw before one hand slid down your body, shoving beneath the jersey to lift it up high around your tits to expose your body to him. the cool air of the dungeons hit your skin, but his body was fire; pressing down against your as he made himself comfortable between your thighs which parted for him on instinct. you hooked both legs around his waist, but theodore moved to toss one over his shoulder opening you up wide as he ran his tongue beneath the swell of your breasts; latching on and sucking at a nipple as it began to harden as you whined.

"..theo, slow down... please..."

that was enough to send him feral. a hand dropping down between the two of you; he undid his belt; cock springing free from his trousers - sliding the thick head between your folds as he lubed up with your wet arousal. his mouth dropping open and lips parting; theo watched, groaning as he slipped the tip in an out of your entrance feeling you pussy begin to flutter around him.

"slow? you want slow after pulling this? after walking out there in my jersey for all those pricks to see. you're going to be in their mental wank bank for weeks amore. no. you're mine. you're wet. cazzo - gonna ruin you."

your nails dug into his shoulders as theo began to sink in; cock disappearing into your tight little cunt inch by inch. his eyes rolled back at how good you felt. you clenched your teeth, trying to get use to his size however it was no use as theo began to rock his length in and out of you, building up the intensity from gentle to reckless. the first few thrusts were brutal; stretching you full as his cock dragged against every nerve possible while he bottomed out with a hiss.

"fuck - tight..", he bit out; a hand beside your head to hold himself up over you, the other splayed out across your stomach, pushing down so that you could feel the way his cock thrusted and pulsed inside of you. you tried to shift a hand to run through the back of his hair but theo moved his from your stomach, catching your wrist to pin your arm above your head - the move shifting his jersey higher so that he could drop his head between your tits and motorboat in the valley of your breasts. you moaned, arching your back up off the bed as his hips grinded up against your own and whimpered as his snail trail tickled your sensitive swollen bud, causing you to start seeing stars.

"god.. theodore.."

a few more thrusts and you were wetting the sheets of the bed; thighs trembling as theo continued to rut inside you.

"say your mine." "what?" "just fucking say it.."

you couldn't think straight the word 'mine' shattered across your tongue with a cry that made your thighs wetter; pussy walls fluttering around him as you came with a sob and he followed through - burying himself in deep with a guttural moan before spilling hot inside of you. theo's body shuddered against yours as he collapsed on top of you. a tangle of limbs and laboured breaths suffocating the dorm as the world slowly began to reform around you. his weight against your body felt like a perfect, comforting cage - his lips pressing soft, sorry kisses up your cheek to your temple.

"holy shit..", he grumbled.

you eyes widened. "fuck - the girls are gonna kill me. i'm gonna be so late.."

theodore chuckled, rolling off to the side - he wrapped an arm around you only after tugging down his jersey and buried his face back into the crook of your neck with a sigh.

"rain check..", he whispered hot against your skin as you melted into him. "i need to see just how loud tonight, can make you scream."

The first few weeks of dating him were… hard. Not the usual “he forgets your favorite drink” kind of hard, but the kind that lives in your chest and makes you ache for someone who never learned what softness felt like.

Mattheo was beautiful, dangerous, impossibly intelligent—and terrified.

Not of her, exactly.

But of what her love meant. Of what it asked of him.

Because to Mattheo, love came with strings. Expectations. Rules written in scars and moans and skin pressed too hard against his.

So when Y/n kissed him on the couch in the Slytherin common room—just kissed him, nothing else—he tried to tug her shirt up before he even pulled away.

“Mattheo,” she whispered, breathless but not giving in, her hands gently pushing his away. “That’s not what I’m asking for.”

He froze.

His eyes clouded, confused. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not tonight. Not now.”

He blinked like the words didn’t compute. Like he’d misread the entire language of touch.

And maybe he had.

Because for the first month they were together, he couldn’t even hold her hand without his fingers tightening, sliding up her wrist, trailing toward skin he wasn’t sure he had permission to crave.

It wasn’t about lust.

It was about instinct.

Mattheo had learned early that touch came with a price. That kisses turned into currency. That warmth always spiraled into heat until someone got burned.

Three months in, Y/n finally understood what it meant to love someone who didn’t know what safe felt like.

And he started to understand, for the first time, that maybe her touch wasn’t a spark begging to ignite him— Maybe it was a balm.

The moment it all changed wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even a kiss.

It was a quiet Tuesday. Cold. Wind rattling the windowpanes of the castle.

Mattheo had just come back from detention—his jaw tense, knuckles red, eyes darker than usual. He walked straight past her in the common room, didn’t even meet her eyes, and disappeared into his dorm without a word.

Y/n waited ten minutes. Then fifteen. Then thirty.

When she finally climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to his dorm, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, shaking.

“Mattheo.”

He didn’t look at her.

“I—” He swallowed. “I said something to Professor Snape. I don’t even remember what. He asked why I was always angry and I—I couldn’t even answer him.”

She came closer. Slowly. Sat beside him, far enough that he didn’t feel caged.

“I think I’m broken,” he whispered.

“No,” she said simply. “You’re just bleeding.”

His throat bobbed.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed. “Be… held. Be soft. I’ve never known a touch that didn’t want something from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she murmured. “Just you.”

She held out her hand—not reaching for him. Just offering.

It took him three full minutes before he took it.

When he did, his grip was so light it barely counted. Like he was afraid he’d crush something delicate.

And then he didn’t let go.

Not even when they lay back on his bed, side by side, fully clothed, eyes fixed on the canopy above them.

He didn’t touch her the way he usually did.

His hand just stayed in hers. Still. Quiet.

And that was when he realized—maybe her touch didn’t mean fire.

Maybe it meant home.

Time didn’t heal him. She did. Slowly. With patience that most people didn’t understand.

The first time he let her cup his face without turning it into something more, he cried.

Not a lot. Not loud.

Just two tears that slipped down his cheeks as her thumb brushed over his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

“What for?”

“For only knowing how to take.”

“You didn’t take anything from me,” she said gently. “You gave me something. You gave me you.”

He shook his head. “I gave you ruins.”

She leaned in, kissed his forehead.

“Then I’ll build a home from them.”

It wasn’t all easy.

Some nights he still woke up with bruises under his eyes, heart pounding from nightmares he never talked about.

Some mornings he avoided her touch, afraid he’d forget again—that he’d grab her waist, pull her close, kiss her neck before asking if she wanted him to.

And she never punished him for it.

She just kept showing up.

Holding his hand for eleven minutes instead of ten. Laying beside him in the dark and reminding him that love didn’t come with conditions.

That she wasn’t a test he had to pass.

That he could love her with trembling fingers and still be enough.

The turning point came during Christmas break.

They were alone in the Slytherin common room, curled up on the sofa beneath a green wool blanket.

She was reading. He was sketching something in the corner of a torn-up Arithmancy book.

Y/n reached over, absently tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t tense.

Didn’t reach for her hips or slip his hand up her thigh.

He just… smiled.

And then, very quietly, leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For teaching me how to want you… without needing to take from you.”

Y/n turned to him, heart aching, eyes wet.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

And gods, that broke him.

Because no one had ever said that before.

Not once.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until her hand was on his face again, thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I love you, Mattheo,” she whispered. “In all the ways no one ever taught you you deserved.”

He rested his forehead against hers.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t think of touch as foreplay.

He thought of it as safety.

As proof.

As love.

Theodore Nott was absolutely convinced of two tings:

1. He was absolutely, irredeemably in love with you.

2. You didn’t feel the same.

It wasn’t your fault. He didn’t expect you to notice the way he turned every page in Potions book every time Slughorn asked a question, just to catch a glimpse of your approving smile when he got something right. Or how he’d always sit near you in the Common Room, hoping you'd accidentally lean into him again. Or that he kept chocolate-covered strawberries enchanted cold in his dorm because you once said they were your favorite.

But today?

Today was hell.

Because you were out in Hogsmeade. With Matteo Riddle.

Theo watched you go, wearing that pretty white sundress that drove him feral, cheeks flushed with cold and excitement. You'd smiled at Matteo—soft and uncertain—and Theo had nearly cursed a hole through the stone wall when the git offered you his arm.

Now, several hours later, the dungeons had gone quiet. Theo was seated in his usual chair by the fireplace, a book open in his lap, but his eyes kept reading and re-reading the same paragraph for nearly half an hour.

He felt you come in before he could even look up—the shift in the room, the weight of your presence like a familiar pull in his chest. He glanced up. Froze.

You looked… wrecked.

Not outwardly. Your hair was still pinned back in those perfect waves cascading down your back, your gloves still neat. But your eyes were glassy, your lips pulled into a tight line.

Something inside Theo cracked.

You didn’t even look at him when you passed. Not until you reached the couch and dropped onto it like your bones had given out.

He closed the book. “What happened?”

You blinked at the fire. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Theo sat forward, elbows on his knees. “If it upset you, then it matters.”

You hesitated. And then, as if some wall broke, you whispered, “He said I was spoiled.”

The words dropped like a dead weight between you.

Theo blinked. “Spoiled?”

You laughed, bitter and low. “Matteo said I expect too much. That I’m used to people giving me everything I want. Called me demanding.” You swallowed, suddenly small. “I didn’t think I was asking for much. I just thought he would open the door for me.”

Theo stood. Walked over slowly, then lowered himself to the rug in front of you, his long legs folding easily beneath him.

“He said that because you wanted him to treat you right?”

You didn’t answer, but your silence screamed yes.

Theo’s hands curled into fists against his thighs. “You’re not spoiled.”

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off.

“And even if you were—what the fuck is wrong with being treated like you matter?” His voice was sharp now, but not at you. “Wanting nice things, or softness, or someone to care doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human.”

You stared down at him, something fragile in your expression.

“I like pretty things,” you murmured. “I like flowers, and thoughtful letters, and someone walking on the street-side of the pavement. That’s—”

“That’s not spoiled,” Theo said, voice low. “That’s you knowing your worth.”

A beat of silence. The fire crackled.

And then you said, very softly, “Why do you always say the right thing?”

His gaze locked with yours. “Because you deserve to hear it.”

Your breath hitched.

Theo reached up, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a little too long. Your skin felt like it might combust under his touch.

You leaned in. A little. Barely.

Theo swallowed hard.

“Opening doors for a woman—and especially a woman like you—it's a privilege. Matteo’s a fucking idiot if he doesn’t realize that,” he said, voice thick. “And if he doesn’t know how to spoil you…”

You raised a brow. “Yeah?”

His lips curled slowly. “Then let someone else try.”

Your heart stuttered. “Who?”

Theo didn’t answer. Not with words.

He just stood up, leaned forward, and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was everything else — aching, gentle, reverent. Like he was memorizing your mouth with every slow brush of his lips. His hands settled on your waist, steadying you.

You sighed against him — and that was his undoing.

He deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up your back, the other cradling your jaw like you were made of silk. You tugged him down onto the couch with you, your legs parting instinctively to let him slot between.

And then the kiss turned hungry.

Theo pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Can I?”

You nodded.

He was on you in seconds, mouths hot and eager, hands tangled in fabric and hair. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, sucking a mark just below your jaw.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, teeth grazing your throat. “Let me take care of you.”

You gasped when his hand slipped over your legs, cool fingers dragging up your thighs. Your hips arched instinctively, grinding up against him.

Theo groaned. “Shit—don’t do that unless you want this to end fast.”

Your voice was a breathless whisper. “Then slow down.”

His eyes burned.

“You want to be spoiled?” he whispered, sliding your shirt fully over your head. “Let me spoil you, cara mia. Let me worship you”

You whimpered. Every brush of his fingertips made your nerves light up. He kissed the inside of your wrist, your brow bone, the top of your head.

“You deserve silk sheets and moonstone rings,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “Someone to remember your favorite tea and put warming charms on your slippers.”

Your breath hitched. “Theo—”

“And,” he added, crawling back up your body, his hands framing your face, “you deserve someone who makes you come so hard you forget your own name.”

The retort forming on your lips dissolves into a moan when Theo’s large hands wrap around your thighs. You could feel how hard he was through his trousers, feel the restraint trembling in his muscles as he held himself back.

“This infernal thing,” Theo whispered, his fingers working their way under the hem of your sundress, brushing your core. “You drive me insane every time I see you walking around in this tiny little thing.” 

You whimpered, unable to form words as he begins to rub gentle circles over your clit through your panties. 

“Say it, vita mia,” he breathed, eyes dark. “Say you want me.”

“I want you,” you said, hips arching into his touch. “Please, Theo—”

He groaned, kissing you like he’d been starving for years. “I love the way you say my name.”

He pushed your panties to the side—not all the way, just enough to give him access to your aching core. Theo liked the control, the knowledge that he had you right where he wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered, lips grazing your collarbone, fingers toying with your clit. “Fuck, you have no idea.” 

You gasped when he tugged the cups of your dress down, his mouth immediately descending on your breasts. 

Your hips shifted, needy friction building, but Theo caught your movement. 

“Patience, sweet girl,” he whispered. “And you shall be… rewarded.” He said, punctuating the last word with a slow thrust of one of his fingers into you. 

“Fuck, cara mia,” he groaned, as he began to move his hand in and out of you, slow, gentle, teasing. “You’re so wet already. Is this all for me?”

You nodded breathlessly. “Please…”

Theo smiled like he’d just won a war. “That’s more like it.”

His hand pulled away from you, and he gripped your thighs, spreading them apart, settling on his knees in front of the couch before lowering his mouth to your core. The first pass of his tongue had you arching off the couch—slow, teasing, maddeningly thorough. Theo ate you out like he was starving, with long, lazy strokes, then focused on your clit, flicking and circling until your breath hitched and your hands flew to his hair, tugging.

“T-Theo—!”

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he muttered between licks. “Let me hear you.”

He slipped a finger back inside you—then another—curling them perfectly as he sucked your clit again. Your legs trembled, his hair soft between your fingers. Heat gathered in the pit of your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter, pressure threatening to snap.

“Theo I’m gonna—!”

Theo moaned against you, the vibration of it sending you over the edge. You cried out, back arched, thighs squeezing around his head as you came hard—stars behind your eyes, pulse thudding wildly.

When you opened your eyes again, Theo was staring down at you with pure reverence in his eyes, his pupils blown wide, hair a mess from your fingers.

“I could do that all night,” he muttered, leaning up to kiss your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “But right now, I need to be inside you.”

Your hands fumbled at his trousers as he shoved them down, revealing a length that had you clenching around air.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice cracking with restraint as he settled between your thighs, lined up and ready but still holding back.

“I want you, Theo,” you whispered, dragging your pussy over his throbbing length in a way that had him letting out a shuddering breath in your ear. “Please.”

He didn’t make you ask twice. He pushed into you slowly, watching your face the whole time — the way your mouth parted, the breath you caught, the way you held onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect.”

Once he was fully inside you, Theo pressed his forehead to yours, holding still as you adjusted. Then he started to move—slow, deep thrusts, each one angled just right, dragging moans from your lips with every roll of his hips.

The way he filled you—like he was made you—had you gasping his name.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he rasped, lips brushing yours. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

And he did.

He worshipped every inch of you—Theo sped up, pinning you wrists above your head with one hand, the other wrapped around your throat, holding you to his gaze as he fucked you harder; whispering praises against your skin like a man possessed. “That’s it, pretty girl. Take it all—good girl.”

When you came a second time, it hit you in waves—Theo coaxing you through it, his hips rolling against yours. “Shhh, baby, I know, I know. I’ve got you, cara mia. I’ve got you.”

And when he finally fell apart—your name on his lips, voice cracking, forehead pressed to yours—it was with a reverence that left no room for doubt.

You were his. And he had always been yours.

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@belovedenzo

Sirius didn’t know what to do with himself when he found himself wishing you would hang around them. When he started looking for you in the stands at his quidditch games and practices. When he suddenly offered to help you with an assignment because Lily and Remus had prefect duties. When he got uncharacteristically upset when you got your first boyfriend. When he realized that he was upset because it wasn’t him. 

Luckily for Sirius, it didn’t last. Something about you not giving him enough of your time. You ranted about it in the common room. Loudly. Sirius could recall you saying, “Merlin forbid a girl has friends. And friends that I don’t have any classes with! Sorry I don’t want to eat dinner with him every evening!” James gave you your space despite his muttered threats about this boy.

That night Sirius couldn’t sleep. So he did what everyone does when they can’t sleep: he went to sit by the fire in the common room. And by chance, you were already sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath you, as you stared into the dancing flames. 

“Am I acceptable company?” Sirius asked, standing off to the side. 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” you responded. You didn’t even look away from the fire. 

He sat down on the other side of the couch before casting a wary glance your way.

“Maybe you have a vendetta against all blokes now. Dunno.”

You gave a dry laugh. “No. Just against gits.”

“Hmm, surprised I don’t qualify for that.” Sirius would be an idiot if he didn’t know that he could use some work on himself. 

“Yeah… well… I have nothing against you.”

With your gaze set on the fire, Sirius took the opportunity to watch you. Because why had he been so happy to know that you broke up with that boy? Why had his heart skipped a beat when he saw you sitting by the fire in the deserted common room? Why did he want to smile when you said you have nothing against him? Coming to terms with how much he liked you was more difficult than he’d ever admit. 

“I can feel you staring, Sirius.”

“‘M not,” Sirius said, immediately looking at the fire.

You sighed and turned your body so you could face Sirius. He looked back at you, his body still facing forward.

“I know I’m not wrong for wanting to be my own person. I’m not a… a… a thing to be flaunted,” you said, sounding and looking frustrated.

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“And Sam couldn’t accept that. That’s on him. Not me.” You paused and your expression shifted. “Right?”

“Yes. Some blokes are a bit dense.”

You sighed. Then you fell forward, resting your forehead against the side of his shoulder. He gave you a slightly confused look.

“Are you alright?” You mumbled something into his shoulder. “You know I didn’t understand that.”

With a dramatic sigh, you sat up, but only to move closer to Sirius so you could rest your head on his shoulder without blocking your face. 

“Getting there. I’m getting there.”

You sat like that for a while, neither of you saying anything. When you were ready, you thanked Sirius and then went to bed. He sat there for a little bit longer before heading back up to his dorm. He wanted the moment to have lasted longer. Sitting in that easy silence with you was something else. 

For a few days, you regretted that night in the common room. Your brain was telling you that you had been too much, an annoying little sister who put Sirius in an uncomfortable position. You should’ve just let him stare and not said anything. Now that you’ve made him uncomfortable, you can tell that he’s avoiding your gaze whenever you’re near each other. Before, when you’d make eye contact with him across the room, you would exchange polite smiles. There was an acknowledgement. Not anymore. He won’t meet your eyes. 

You needed to apologize for it, tell him not to worry about you. You’d find him after quidditch practice. You would keep it casual. Because you were James’ cool, confident, easy-going little sister. Not an annoying one. 

Like usual, you watched the practice from the stands. You tried to watch all of the players equally, but you kept returning to Sirius. His flying was sloppy and he was missing easy hits. He was obviously distracted and Jame was biting his head off for it. It felt like the practice dragged on forever. But when it was done, you lingered just out of sight of the locker room door. You knew you had to ambush Sirius to get him to talk to you; the only thing that would prevent him from listening to you would be if James walked back with him. Maybe it was good that Sirius was distracted during practice – he wouldn’t want to leave with the guy who yelled at him for like ten minutes straight while on a broom. 

You listened as the door opened and closed. James left with Marlene, both ranting about how the practice wasn’t their best work. Perfect. With James gone, you waited a little closer to the door. The seeker left, followed by the other beater, the keeper and the last chaser. Sirius was the last one. You waited for about five minutes before you started getting nervous. You had to keep your wits about you. 

You opened the locker room door and knocked on it loudly, to announce your presence. 

“Sirius?” you called, looking around. 

“What?” he snapped from around the corner.

“Can we talk?”

He peeked his head around the corner, hair dripping and not wearing a shirt. 

“Potter? Shit, what are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice suddenly much nicer and almost nervous. 

“I was waiting for you,” you said. “Should I go back outside?” 

“Um, no, just give me one minute.”

You sat down on the bench in between the rows of lockers and fidgeted with your fingers. You could hear Sirius muttering to himself but the only things you could make out were swears. When he came around the corner, he was wearing pants and pulling a shirt over his head. 

“What’s up? Everything okay?” he asked, standing in front of you. 

“I, erm, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other night. I’m good. Fine.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips. 

Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion. “What made you think I was uncomfortable?” 

He didn’t think he had shifted at all when you had your head on his shoulder. Maybe you mistook the quiet as awkwardness, rather than the easiness he felt. 

“Oh, um, you haven’t been able to look at me?” Your throat tensed. “Kind of felt like you were avoiding me.”

Sirius nervously rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from you. “I have been avoiding you, but-” He clicked his tongue. “-not because I was uncomfortable.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was comfortable.” You tilted your head in confusion. “Too comfortable.”

“Okay?”

You weren’t getting it. Why was him being comfortable around you a bad thing? Why did it make him avoid you?

“Godric… screw it! Every time I look at you, I want to kiss you. I want to treat you how you deserve to be treated, so much better than how that git treated you. But I can’t ‘cause you’re James’ sister.” 

You stared up at him with wide eyes. Oh. You stood up, making Sirius take a step backwards. He thought you were going to slap him. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your pounding heart. 

“What if… I wanted you to kiss me?” Your heart was trying to escape out your throat. “We could just not tell James.”

“Not tell James…” he repeated. His eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips. 

You took a step toward Sirius and he didn’t take a step back. Instead, he gently took your face in his hands and kissed you. It was soft and gentle and you wasted no time in kissing him back. You were about to thread your fingers through his hair when he pulled back.

“Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

Not telling James ended up becoming not telling anyone. It was too risky. If you told anyone, how could you guarantee that they wouldn’t tell him? 

In public, you were just James’ little sister and his best friend. Polite. Cordial. Sharing smiles and eye rolls from across the room. In the privacy of the common room late at night, when you knew his dorm would be empty, in random broom closets, in unused classrooms and the locker room after quidditch practices, you were more than friends. It was more than snogging too. He would read to you. You would bring snacks and have a makeshift picnic. You would sit next to each other, talking about your day and anything else on your mind. But yes, there was snogging. 

You were doing a good job at keeping it secret. At least, good enough. Your friends caught on pretty quickly that you had a new someone – it was the only explanation of where you were disappearing to so often and how smiley you were when you returned. Sirius was proud of himself for keeping it from James, given that they had the map. He made sure that he had it with him whenever he was meeting up with you. Remus was the only one who seemed suspicious of his keeping the map so close, but he didn’t say anything. 

But then one night after quidditch practice and a heated session with you, Sirius tied his hair up before heading up to his dorm. You had made a good habit of returning to the common room at different times after practice to prevent any rumors. So you weren’t with him to see that you had left a mark. Well, several marks along his neck. 

“Merlin’s balls, Padfoot!” Remus gasped when he walked through the door. 

“What?” Sirius asked, not looking at Remus.

“Did you get attacked by a colony of leeches?” he asked, now attempting to stifle his laughter as Sirius’ hand flew to his neck. 

He forced a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Who is it?” James asked, sitting up a little straighter on his bed. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius answered.

“Hiding his latest conquest… That’s new,” Remus muttered, turning back to homework although he was smirking. 

“Yeah, since when don’t you tell us who you’re snogging?” Peter asked.

Sirius put his stuff away in his trunk and got out his own homework. “Since she asked me not to.” 

James and Peter exchanged a look that Sirius chose to ignore. He wanted them to drop the topic. If they asked him to describe the girl, it would only take so long before they put two and two together. They did drop it. For that night.

The next day, walking to class, Remus asked, “So who is it?”

“Huh?” 

“The girl giving you hickeys.”

“Told you last night. I’m not saying.”

“Ah, come on, Padfoot. It’s just me.”

Sirius shook his head. “Mate, drop it. I’m not telling you.”

“You’ve always told us who you’re with. Never had any shame in it. Why you getting all shy with it now?”

“I said drop it. She asked me not to tell you and… I like her. So I’m not going to tell you anything until she wants to.”

Sirius quickened his pace to get to class, leaving Remus behind. He watched him go with a curious expression on his face. Sirius usually bragged about who he took into broom closets, but he was being protective of this girl and that only made Remus want to know more. 

The boys badgered Sirius about his mystery girlfriend more than your friends did with you. It went on for weeks after that night with the hickeys. Whenever Sirius came back to the dorm alone, various questions were launched at him.

“Same girl?” “Any visible hickeys?” “How far you’d get?” “Where’d you snog? The greenhouses? Quidditch pitch? Back of the library?” “What’s she like?”

Sirius brushed them off every time. He wasn’t going to give them anything, but that seemed to egg them on. They were determined to find out who it was. One evening, they started asking Sirius about the girl in the common room.

“Alright, Sirius, is she a Slytherin? Is that you’re so secretive about it?” Peter asked, shoving his Potions homework away from him.

Sirius didn’t answer. 

“Is she in our year? Older? Younger?” James asked. More silence from Sirius.

“Ah, give us something,” Remus begged. “You’ve been seeing her for weeks and you’ve told us nothing!”

You entered the common room and Peter, James and Remus’ voices reached your ears. They weren’t being quiet with their interrogation of Sirius. So, naturally, you walked over to them.

“You’re being loud,” you said matter-of-factly. 

“We have reason,” James said with an eye roll. 

“And that reason is…”

He sighed. “Sirius here has been seeing this girl for weeks and he won’t tell us who it is. He won’t even describe her.”

You smirked and turned toward Sirius, who was already looking at you with a rehearsed neutral look on his face. 

“Aw, that’s kind of cute. But come on, Sirius. It’s just the boys,” you said, gesturing to them. “Give ‘em something to get them off your back.”

Sirius swallowed thickly. You had just given him permission to say something. He tried to cover his shock with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine.” He looked around the group, trying to figure out what to say. “Ah, got it. You lot know her very well.”

“Oh, that narrows it down,” you laughed, turning to leave the group, but you didn’t go far. You picked a spot on the couch nearby and took out your Charms book. You wanted to eavesdrop. 

“That’s rubbish!” Peter exclaimed. “We know a lot of people!”

“It’s not rubbish,” Sirius defended with crossed arms. “I just eliminated practically all of the Slytherins.”

“And a fair amount of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,” Remus added. James and Peter gave him stern looks. “What? He said we know her very well. We know eagles and badgers, but I wouldn’t say we know them all that well.”

“So she’s a Gryffindor?” James asked, turning his attention back to Sirius.

He gave him no answer. Not even a facial expression. 

“I think we can assume that much,” Remus said. “And it’s certainly not Lily. I know that much.”

“How?” James asked. 

“Been studying with her when Padfoot returns from his rendezvous.”

“She can’t be more than a year on either side of us,” Peter said. “Younger they get, the more scared of us they are.”

“Valid,” James said with a solemn nod.

Sirius just rolled his eyes. He didn’t know if he could relax, but he needed to have a relaxed air about him. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned backwards, supporting himself with straight arms. 

“Right, so that leaves us with what, twelve girls? We can narrow it down,” James said after mentally counting the girls in their year, the year above and year below. “We’ve already checked off Lily and we can check off my sister and Marlene.”

You hid behind your book so the boys couldn’t see your smile if they looked over at you. James dismissed you as an option right off the bat. They would never get it right at this rate. 

“Cross off anyone he’s already been with. There’d be no point hiding it from us if they’ve done it before,” Remus said, waving a hand at James.

Sirius snuck a worried glance your way. He thought his hint was clever, but his friends were going to run through the girls quickly. And once they did, they’d have to go back over the list. There was no telling if they’d come to the conclusion that it was you. You flexed your eyebrows. He needed to turn back around.

You found it amusing as the boys tossed around names and found each one not feeling right. Sirius looked more or less mortified. He lost his relaxed air when he looked at you and couldn’t get it back. It was only getting worse as they moved on from girl to girl and then started renaming girls.

“We’ve listed everyone,” Peter said, sounding defeated. “Are we sure that he didn’t fall into the lake and is just too proud to tell us?” 

“Why would he be by the lake after quidditch practice?” James sighed. 

Something about what James said made something click in Remus’ head. After quidditch practice. He looked at you, at first with wide eyes of realization and then the wicked smirk of someone about to unleash hell.

“I know who it is,” Remus said firmly, not looking away from you.

All three boys looked at Remus, and then they followed his gaze to you. Sirius went pale. James turned red. And Peter laughed. 

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“We do know her quite well,” Remus said. 

“Padfoot,” James growled. “For the love of Merlin, tell me that Remus is wrong.”

You looked up slowly. You knew they were looking at you. You heard it go down. 

“I can’t,” Sirius said in a small voice. 

“At least he had a good reason for not telling us,” Peter said between fits of laughter.

“Yeah, Wormtail? What’s his reason?” Remus asked, clearly enjoying the building tension between James and Sirius.

“He loves his life. Because Prongs is going to murder him.”

“My bloody sister? You are mental?” James yelled, jumping up.

Sirius immediately mirrored him. “Maybe, yeah.”

James turned on you. “You! What do you have to say about this?” 

You hummed and flipped a page in your book, as if you were disinterested in their conversation, as if it didn’t completely concern you. 

“What the others say is true: he’s good at snogging.” 

Sirius broke into a stupid smile because that answer was so you. A little bit of sass to your brother. It was also a compliment to him. James, however, did not like that answer as he turned a darker shade of red. 

“I… argh! That’s my little sister!” James shouted at Sirius, and then turning back to you, “My goddamn best friend? Could you have chosen anyone else?”

Still feeling unbothered, you leaned forward and looked at Remus. “Remus is kind of cute.”

“Oi!” Sirius said. 

“I said kind of!”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” James roared.

He glared at you and then at Sirius before storming off to their dorm. You broke into your fit of laughter when he started up the stairs. 

“I think he took that well.”

“So, you’re really… together?” Remus asked, watching Sirius run a hand down his face as he stared at the stairs James disappeared up.

You nodded. “When you’d figure out Sirius was seeing someone?”

“Few weeks ago. You left a mark.”

You tilted your head in slight confusion. You left marks on Sirius before only a few weeks ago.

“Oh, he put his hair up.”

“Ah,” you said. Then you looked at Sirius. “He’ll get over it. Let him cool down and come to terms with it. You’ll be fine.”

“He’s pretty pissed,” Sirius said, voice low. 

“For now. He’ll get over it.”

“He’s pissed at me.”

“Mate, relax. She’s right. He blows up, but he always cools down,” Remus said.

“Yeah… right…” Sirius muttered before collapsing on the couch next to you. “At least I can kiss you in public now.”

“That’s what you’re excited about? I can’t wait to go on a real date-date with you.”

“Oh, gross… Maybe they should’ve kept it a secret,” Peter said to Remus.

you open your mouth to throw another insult, —but rafe catches your chin in two fingers, tilting your face up to him, and the words die on your tongue. “you got a smart mouth on you, don’t ya?” he growled, the brim of his cowboy hat shadowing his eyes as he pressed you against the barn wall.

"ain’t nothing smart about letting you drag me out here," you snapped back, voice breathless, back arching as his hand slid up your thigh.

“nah,” he smirked, fingers grazing your panties. “what’s dumb is wearin’ this little fuckin’ dress and thinkin’ I wouldn’t do somethin’ about it. like I’d let you walk around here with those slutty little tits pokin’ through your dress like that.”

“God,” you whisper, eyelids fluttering.

he kisses your jaw. “ain’t listenin’ right now.”his fingers brush the hem of your dress, slide under as he groans low when he feels the slick wetness sliding his fingers through your slit slow.

"you’re so fuckin' wet," rafe praises, sliding the pads of his fingers up to circle your clit in lazy, devastating strokes.

you’re gasping, clutching at his shirt, “don’t you dare make me cum before you fuck me,” you mumble, “my dress is already ruined.”

rafe laughs against your neck before his free hand comes up, fists tight in the ribbon of your hair, dragging your head back so you’re looking up at him.

"hold your skirt up," rafe orders. his belt clinks as he fumbles it open, as frantic as you are now, your hands already working between you, tugging at the denim stretched tight over his thighs. you gasp when you finally get him free—thick, heavy, flushed dark with need—lining himself up against your dripping entrance, his tip teasingly nudging. “hurry up,” you snap, hips pushing back greedily. "need you to shut the fuck up and—" you don’t even get the words out before he’s sinking into you with a rough, punishing thrust. you choke on your own moan, forehead thudding against the barn wall. rafe groans low, dragging his hips back and slamming in again.

you can’t help the desperate noises that escape your lips as he fills you, thrusting harder and faster against you, his grip tightening around your waist. he fucks you hard against the barn wall, cowboy hat tipping down over his forehead, sweat dripping down his chest. every brutal slap of his hips drives the breath from your lungs,

"that’s it," rafe grunts, hand tight on your hips, fucking you through it. "milk my cock, baby. come on." he follows you a few seconds later, his warmth spilling into you and when he pulls out, cum dripping down your thighs, he leans in close to whisper:

“Tell Daddy you were at Bible study.”

a/n: a little sunday sin