#brosthetype

to: lean over you in the missionary position, eyes bloodshot and wide, the room filled with the sounds of your whimpers and his moans. his hands are gripping your thighs down, as the squelch of his cock meeting yours repeats in hard motions. your legs would shake when he’s so deep and he would let out, “i know baby, i know you can take it” voice breathy as his eyes roll to the back of his head, cock so deep in your cunt he’s not even sure how he hasn’t came yet. your folds adjust to his girth, and you can’t take the agonizingly slow thrusts anymore, lifting your hips to quicken his pace, “good fuckin girl” he grunts out, his cock pulsing as you take over. "fuck, yes don't stop baby." through breathy moans. "i knew you could take me."

to: act like he's so macho and dominant to everyone else, but when it's the two of you he's literally whimpering when you stop kissing, staring at you with nothing but hunger in his eyes, because he physically needs more. "no, no, no, no" he'll say. "why'd you pull away?" with those eyes wide like he's high, but there's no drugs in his system, and he's just drunk of you. literally begging you to ride him, to caress him, to straddle him, to touch him even, like the fucking loser he is, loosing all credibility when he's on his knees for you, kissing your stomach, and thighs, grabbing your hands whimpering "please, please touch me." ugghhh

to: still display how thick skinned he is. you'll be at a bar or a kook party, and he'll literally have you sit against him or on his lap, and as soon as he clocks some weirdo looking at you funny, you're suddenly standing behind him, his left arm holding onto you behind him, while he's in someone's face. "the fuck are you looking at huh?" he'll spat. "nah don't fucking look at her bitch!" he'll say, and to you it's so hot when he get's so protective of you, cause he'll do this while still holding your hand, behind his back.

to: get mad at you, over something the smallest bullshit, like you leaving him on delivered for twenty minutes. as if it’s some kind of betrayal. “don’t play dumb,” he'll snap at you. “you were on your phone. i know you were.” you'll scuff, “or maybe i just didn’t feel like answering you right away,” folding your arms, except you can’t even fullly be mad because his hand is holding your waist, his thum lightly rubbing back and forth on your skin. “yeah? that how it is now?” and he still hasn't let go, and it's so frustrating, yet calming. “you just ignore me whenever you feel like it?” with a squint of his eye. “rafe, you’re being insane” you say, “nah,” he cuts you off, dragging a hand through his hair before it drops back to you, like he physically can’t stand not touching you. “what’s insane is you acting like i don’t matter.” you roll your eyes, but you don’t step away, because you don’t ever step away. “if you didn’t matter, i wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you,” you mutter. he huffs, leaning forward, forehead almost brushing yours. “you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he says. “then let go of me.” but it does the opposite, making him tighten his grip. “not'a fuckin' chance.”

to: say something rude as hell, in the middle of an argument, and the second he sees it really bothered you, he'll regret it, and tries to bury it under more anger, because why can you make him soft like that “maybe if you actually fuckin' listened for once-” he starts, but then he sees your face fall, and it throws him off. “wow,” you laugh, but it’s not humorous. “that’s what you think of me?” he scoffs, pacing like he’s trying to outrun what he just said. “don’t twist it baby. you always twist it.” saying 'baby' like the pet name is supposed to soften the blow. “i didn’t twist anything, rafe. you said it.” he stops, turning back to you, “yeah, well maybe i meant it.” and when you're too quiet, he'll quickly take it back, knowing he took it too far. saying almost under his breath, “you know i don’t, though.” and he'll wait for you to come back to him.

to: not say a word to you, like you’ve been cut off without any warning. with his arms crossed, and eyes flicking anywhere but your face, until you realize what he’s doing. “are you seriously not talking to me right now?” you ask, annoyed. and he gives you nothing but a stubborn glance. “rafe, that’s so childish.” he shrugs, leaning back against the wall like he’s got all the time in the world. but really he’s waiting you out. you stare at him, then narrow your eyes. “you’re kidding right?” still nothing. “you want a kiss, don’t you?” you accuse, stepping closer. his gaze finally snaps to yours, but he doesn’t say it, cause he gave it away, “you’re unbelievable.” you grab his shirt, tug him down, and press a quick, annoyed kiss to his lips. and just like that, he exhales, hands sliding to your hips. “see? wasn’t that hard.”

to: cut you off mid sentence grabbing your jaw with his hand, his fingers pressing in just enough to make your words catch in your throat “wanna repeat that?” he says, like it’s not even a question. your heart jumps, more from the look on his face than his grip, as his eyes drop to your lips, not even pretending to listen anymore. “i said you’re acting-” you start again, but it comes out so much weaker this time. his thumb shifts slightly, tilting your face up just a little more. “nah,” he mutters, almost amused. “say it how you said it before.” you suck your teeth “why? so you can get mad again?” you snap, trying to pull back, but he doesn’t let you go. “no,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “so i can hear the attitude i'm gonna have to fuck out of you later." and that makes you swallow hard, trying to not crumble. “go on,” he adds, “don’t get shy on me now.”

to: refuse to ever be the first one to tap out. going round after round, even when his body is clearly telling him he should call it quits. sweat on his skin, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to catch up with his own breathing, yet he’s already looking at you like he hasn’t had enough. he’s leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other dragging slowly down your side. “another round?” he asks, like it’s nothing. like he isn’t still recovering. you blink up at him, with wide eyes. “are you serious right now?” a tired disbelieving laugh slips out of him. he shakes his head slightly, still not backing off. “what, you think i’m done?” he asks. “rafe, you literally just-” he cuts you off, “don’t care,” his forehead dips closer to yours. “if you’re a drug,” he exhales, smirking faintly, “i’m so fucking addicted.”