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littlewinter1917 · 1 year

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Groupie Love

Chapter Four ✿ Clear Up

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: Your best friend’s band has been taking off, ever since you’ve both started uni. But when you come back from a semester abroad, you find yourself confronted with both: Your lingering feelings for your best friend Eddie, and unexpected ones for their new drummer, Billy; someone you also have quite the past with…

Words: 9.1k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: You come face to face with Billy during the party and finally have a talk. But the confrontation with your childhood best friend takes a different turn than you expected.

Chapter Warnings: More tensions, and some angst, but also quite a bit of hurt/comfort. Some swearing and brief talks about past child abuse (nothing explicit) but still more than in previous chapters.

A/N: I am BACK! And I'm honestly terribly sorry for not updating this sooner!! Life's been quite something, but I hope that I won't disappear from the face of the earth and my word document for such a long time again! If you're still interested in this story after all these months, thank you! And a big thank you the people who continue to comment, I really, truly appreciate it!! As a first apology, here's a 9.1k chapter of Billy and the Reader finally having a much needed talk!

Previous Chapter

The party is in full swing even though it’s only been a couple of hours since your friends managed to fill out the first draft of papers tying them to a record label.

It’s not completely official yet, since setting up those kinds of contracts isn’t something that’s done on a whim or in the span of a single meeting; but it has become pretty clear that Capitol Records are quite serious and adamant in their offer of wanting to sign Eddie and his bandmates.

The shared excitement over this outcome is reason enough for a small get-together, and just like Steve promised, a celebration is in order, even if it’s supposed to be low-key, because nobody wants to jinx anything when it comes to the future.

In this context however, ‘low-key’ only means that the party mostly consists out of your best friends and a few more people who are closer to the band than to you, leaving you to spot the occasional face that looks rather familiar but not familiar enough to be able put a name to it.

But in all honestly, you don’t really care too much about any of that right now, because whenever you do let your gaze wander through the open space of your friends’ living room, you do it with only one particular face in mind that you hope to spot.

Billy’s.

You haven’t seen the guy in question even once since getting here, despite having been in the flat he shares with Steve, Eddie, and Argyle for at least a bit over an hour.

Granted, you didn’t go out of your way to search for him either, but the open living room and kitchen space is not occupied by a whole lot of people, so it’s not like those sandy curls would drown out in the masses.

You start to wonder if he decided to move the party to his bedroom instead.

Maybe with a pretty face or two.

Remembering last night’s events is enough to strengthen your determination to not go looking for him there. You don’t need to see him getting felt up by two pretty ladies or vice versa. Once at the concert yesterday was enough, thank you very much.

Besides, if he’s comfortable enough to behave like that in public places, you don’t really want to know what you might walk into if you step unannounced into his bedroom.

Yikes!

So, instead, you nibble nervously at the straw of your cherry coke that Steve got you mere minutes ago, nodding your head absentmindedly to something Chrissy’s saying while your gaze drifts once more through the space of the apartment, trying to find a certain head of blond curls or alternatively a certain set of blue eyes.

After the events at the café, and Billy’s unprovoked and slightly cryptic comment, you’re still fuming with anger.

An anger that only intensified after he left, and you got the opportunity to think over the things he said - some passive aggressive jab about not following through on one’s words.

And the silent accusation that slipped through with it, almost unceremoniously thrown your way, was enough to make you see red.

He’s not in a position to be angry with you, at least not as far as you’re concerned.

At this point you don’t even care about setting things straight - Jonathan’s previous idea about some possible misunderstanding now completely forgotten. No, right now you just want to confront Billy and give him a pretty piece of your mind for a change too.

After the hurt he’s put you through, it’s certainly a bold move to point his fingers dripping with accusations in your direction, implying something you’re not even sure you understand.

Either way, it’s a shitty move, and it’s not one you’re particularly impressed with.

Still, Billy’s nowhere to be found, and while you feel guilty about the fact that your mind is currently occupied with this, rather than the celebrational sentiment that has taken over your friends, you can’t quite help it - not when the resentment of your childhood days keeps bubbling up, almost cooking over with no means to turn off that stove.

You’re angry, and Billy’s offhanded comment was the small spark you needed to really get fired up. It’s now an almost furious burning flame flickering somewhere hidden in your chest, growing bigger with each passing minute, as your mind keeps adding things you would want to say to Billy if he ever does shows up.

With a mind that preoccupied, it’s difficult to pay attention to anything else, and even though you try your best as you listen to Eddie’s and Steve’s excited ramblings, it’s hardly working. Not when the blaring absence of one guy in particular is taking over the better half of you mind and all of your thoughts.

Your inner turmoil, however, is not something any of your friends seem to notice, nor do you want them to, but when Steve starts talking lightheartedly about a funny thing Billy did earlier, you feel yourself get rather agitated.

You take this as your cue to step outside for a bit, hoping to find some comfort on the deserted balcony instead.

The fresh air that immediately greets you as you close the door behind you has a cooling effect on both your body and your mind, and you feel yourself relax slightly, as you focus solely on your breathing whilst gazing out into the night.

You’re not sure how long you stand there after walking towards the edge of the balcony, hands resting against the railing as you take in the dark shapes of the trees and bushes of the garden below.

The only indicator of time passing, and drifting by, are the subdued melodies of the music that slip through the closed balcony door and into the surrounding late summer night.

It’s a chaotic mix of songs, representative of the group of friends you call your own, and so it’s no surprise that Echo and the Bunnymen is followed by Wham! which in turn is followed by Judas Priest and so on.

Currently there’s Prince being played if you’re not mistaken, but the tune is getting regularly interrupted by the earnest and bright laughter of your friends, making it harder to identify the song that’s being played in the background.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the feeling of knowing you’re finally back home, finally back where you belong.

The realization of how much you truly missed even the smallest things, like the quiet, cannabis-induced giggles of Jonathan and Argyle hits a nerve deep inside of you, and it resonates all through the night as you look up into the starry sky, trying to find a familiar constellation.

You stay like that for another heartbeat or two, so deeply lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear or notice the balcony door open and closing again.

“So, this is where you’re hiding.” A deep and raspy voice suddenly calls out to you.

Billy.

You hate how the mere sound of his voice has shivers running down your spine. And despite the fact that you’ve been looking for him all evening, anticipating the inevitable confrontation that’s due like heavy rain after the continuous storm brewing deep inside of you, you silently curse his sudden appearance.

This is not how you imagined this confrontation to go; not with him finding you and riling you up. It should be the other way around if anything.

“I’m not hiding.” You state, without a single glance back at the man behind you.

You don’t care.

At least that’s what you keep telling yourself, but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo yet, apparently.

You’ll just send it through once more, like those stupid little letters of yours, again, and again, and again; just because Billy never responded doesn’t mean your heart won’t at some point.

Hah! That memory certainly helps, as the anger inside you grips you tighter and you in return tighten your grip on the balcony banister, steading yourself and your thoughts.

You’re in for a surprise, asshole, you think.

“Huh, you’re not hiding? Sure looks like it, though.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you mumble, “besides, what are you doing out here then?”

“Well, you see, I have this controversial little habit called smoking, which gives me the excuse to step out here and hide, without making it as blatantly obvious as you do.”

Billy’s voice is only accompanied by the sound of his zippo and slightly muffled by a cigarette tugged between his lips.

Ignore him, you think.

He’s just trying to push your buttons, like he apparently does with everyone else.

But you’re not in the mood.

And you doubt you ever will be.

Besides, what would Billy Hargrove possibly need to hide from these days?

“Don’t you have people to entertain?”

Or groupies to fuck, you think.

Though, you know that’s quite uncalled for. He’s allowed to do whatever he wants, and who he sleeps with is entirely none of your business. You know you’re in no position to judge or hold grudges.

Still, there’s something unnamed that feels slightly sickly at the memories from last night, and you lightly shake your head to rid yourself of those pictures before continuing to ignore Billy’s presence a little longer.

There’s a silence taking hold of the night. Or as much of a silence as there can be with a party in full swing only a few feet away.

You can still hear the faint traces of music, but unlike before it is now also accompanied by the quick beating of your heart ringing in your ears.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for; the moment you’ve been thinking of all night, the moment you can finally give Billy a piece of your mind.

But now that you have it, now that the moment has found itself within your reach, almost securely held in your grasp, there’s a sudden and unexpected apprehension taking over your body.

It’s almost like Billy’s mere presence has shifted something inside of you. Something that swallows a good portion of your anger, until there’s mostly nervousness left.

Luckily you’re not the only one seemingly unsure of what to do, as Billy keeps shuffling his feet uncomfortably, but other than that doesn’t move or say anything, doesn’t join you at the edge of the balcony where you’re still standing, your back turned against him, trying to feign disinterest.

There’s the deafening silence once more, or maybe it never really left, and it’s threatening to swallow you whole.

With another deep breath you try to steady yourself, about to say all the things you’ve been thinking about.

The things that have been swirling around in your mind all night, the things you’ve laid out neatly like tomorrows outfit on the tip of your tongue, the things you wanted to know since you were a child, the things you thought about all throughout your teenage years, the things that haunt you even now, but Billy beats you to it.

“Why?” he suddenly asks, and you can’t help but furrow your brows.

What?

“Why didn’t you write me a single letter?” His words hover in the air like some kind of U.F.O and their meaning feels almost just as alien.

To say you’re stumped and confused would be an understatement. For a brief moment you’re seriously considering if you’ve been talking out loud, but the voice speaking was unmistakably Billy’s.

You try hard to make sense of his words, but no matter how you twist and turn them, you can’t really wrap your mind around what he’s saying either way.

Billy huffs at your continuous silence, yet it’s not a mocking one, but one with a deep, underlying ocean of hurt that shines through clearly. He stays quiet for a beat longer before he whispers,

“I just don’t understand why…”

There’s an emotionality in Billy’s voice that has something inside of you perk up immediately. Something that longs to comfort him, like you did years and years ago when you were still kids. It’s surreal that even after all this time, that part within you still exists, and you grip the edge of the balcony tighter again, trying to keep yourself from reaching out towards him.

But it’s no use, you’ll have to turn around eventually, and no steading grip on the cold metal of the balcony could have prepared you for the look of betrayal swimming in Billy’s eyes that hauntingly greets you once you do turn around.

“What do you mean?” You state, eyebrows still drawn together, clueless and confused, but the previous anger is back in your chest at the implication that you didn’t keep up your end of the bargain, of the promise, you two shared such a long time ago.

You did all of the things that you talked about back then, all the things you promised each other, yet here’s Billy telling you that you didn’t.

Who does this guy even think he is? Playing the victim as if he wasn’t the culprit, as if he didn’t break your heart into a million little pieces.

Pieces that still cut deeply and sharply, leaving you scarred, and scared, and overthinking for years, what you could have possibly done so utterly wrong as to deserve the silent treatment from the guy you always considered your bestest friend.

The guy you held the most dear to your heart.

The guy who meant more than the world itself to you for the longest time.

“What do you mean I didn’t write you any letters? I wrote you so many fucking letters for months!”

Years even, you think, but you don’t want to get into that now. Instead, it’s time for you to air some of your grievances too.

“You were the one who never answered even once! You were the one who wouldn’t return a single phone call, or good forbid send me a single letter back! You were the one who broke our fucking promise! Not me! And now you have the fucking audacity to accuse me of breaking promises you never kept. That’s a bold move even from you, William!”

With the way his name drips from your lips in pure venom and distaste you might as well have called him every ugly name under the sun, and it would still have hurt less. Billy actually takes a few stumbling steps back, like he’s been shot, his blue eyes wide and full of confusion.

“What?” He whispers, “what are you talking about?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence as the two of you try to make sense of the other. Of the words spoken, and unspoken, and all the little things in between.

“I’ve never gotten a single letter.” Billy’s voice is so quiet and utterly confused, that you’d almost believe him.

Almost.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never gotten any letter either, and I swear I’ve actually send mine, so, since I know I’m not lying…”

You don’t need to finish your sentence, the accusation swimming between the lines is clear.

There a mix of deep hurt and coldness settling in Billy’s eyes as he regards you with a furious stare.

“You think I’m lying?”

For the first time tonight, he starts to raise his voice, and instinctively you take a step back, the cold metal of the balcony suddenly pressing hard against your spine.

“You think I’m fucking making this up? I’ve send you so many letters for so long! Way to fucking long! And to think that I even spend most of my goddamn pocket money on those fucking stamps, and for what? For you to act all clueless, pretending you didn’t get any letters and instead accuse me of lying? I didn’t break a single promise, you did! You never send me anything back! If you didn’t want any contact with me after you left you could have just said so, instead I waited months – months, for any word, any letter, anything from you!”

There’s a light sheen of unshed tears shimmering in Billy’s eyes, magnified only by the moonlight, before he whispers, voice defeated and quiet again:

“You abandoned me.”

A broken heartbeat of silence with the weight of the world hangs between you two before he continues,

“You abandoned me just like my mom did, even though you promised me you never would.”

Being shot straight through the heart, and then some, would probably hurt less than those few words tumbling out of Billy’s mouth, and for the first time tonight, your childhood best friend’s words truly settle in your mind as you actually consider the option of him telling the truth.

The truth of how he’s never gotten any of your letters.

But if he’s never gotten any letters, and you’ve never gotten any letters, yet you’re both adamant about having send them for months and months, what the hell went wrong along the way?

“Billy,” you mumble, voice suddenly thick with emotions as the realization that you both must have been slave to the wrong narrative this whole time takes root in your heart.

“Billy, I’ve never abandoned you. I promised you then that I would never ever dream of doing that, and I still stand by that now. I swear that I wrote you so many letters for such a long, long time.”

Neither of you say anything for another moment or two, until suddenly there a horrible realization falling into place in your mind, and the feeling that comes with it is of such a deep, sickening kind, that you almost feel like throwing up.

“Billy,” your childhood best friend’s name falls from your lips in a quiet whisper, yet the alarm peeking through in your voice, woven into the two syllables is hard to miss.

“Billy, where did you send your letters to?”

The man in question looks at you dumbfounded, like you’ve just asked him if he spells his name with a P instead of a B.

“What do you mean, where did I send my letters to? I’ve send them to the address you gave me.”

“Which address?” You press, and Billy lets out a sigh full of annoyance and irritation.

“The address of your home in Indianapolis, of course. Which other fucking address would I send it to, huh?”

“Oh god,” you mumble, as the first puzzle piece of what must have happened gets officially verified for you.

“What?” Billy asks, “what other address is there? Why would you ask me something like this- where else would I-“

“And you’ve never gotten a single letter from me, not even once?” You inquire again, just to make sure.

“Not a single fucking one. Why-“

“Billy-”

You can’t help the way your body decides to step closer to the boy you once cared so deeply about. Your hand reaching out tentatively as your fingertips gently brush against his.

“Billy, we never moved into that place in Indianapolis. We spend like two nights there before my mom got the call to move to Hawkins instead. After that we packed all of our stuff and drove there immediately. I told you all about that in my first few letters. The new address, the new landline number, everything.

I never even considered the option that you might have not gotten any of those letters, I really thought you knew. But if you didn’t, and instead just kept sending all your letters to the address in Indianapolis, it would explain why I never got any of them ever.”

“You’re kidding,” Billy whispers, but the look in your eyes tells him you really aren’t.

Not even in the slightest.

“So, all the letters I’ve written never reached you because I had the fucking wrong address?”

Billy’s voice sounds almost breathless, like the mere realization has knocked all air from his lungs with a heavy punch.

“But if you didn’t live there wouldn’t these letters just get send back to me with some notice? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten any of my own letters delivered back to me.”

Billy is now talking more to himself than to you, yet his eyes reflect the question as his gaze finds yours again.

“And why wouldn’t I get any of your letters? I mean, you knew my address, and that one didn’t change until many months later-“

“Besides,” you quickly add, “you never did return my phone calls either.”

This time the words don’t leave your mouth in the hue of an accusation but as a simple statement.

“Right, why wouldn’t-“ Billy starts but he suddenly stops and for a second there’s flash of recognition crossing his face, eyes widening as he remembers something, before going incredibly pale.

“Oh no,” he whispers, “but he wouldn’t go that far, would he?”

And it takes you a few seconds longer before the penny finally drops for you too, and it’s the look in Billy’s eyes that mostly gives it away – a look that you’ve only witnessed when he’s talking about-

“Neil.” You whisper, and as Billy’s gaze darts back to you, you can see his answer reflected in them clear as day.

He’s thinking the same thing.

“He never really liked you,” Billy mumbles, and you huff.

“I think that feeling was more than a little mutual.”

There’s the hint of a smile playing on Billy’s lips, but it’s gone again as quickly as it came.

“He always thought you were a bad influence on me, with your dolls, and your shell necklaces, and Mr. Sniffles.”

“Oh my god, Mr. Sniffles!” you exclaim at the memory of your favorite stuffed animal.

The one Billy got you for your fourth birthday - a small rabbit with floppy ears and the softest fur, who shared your bed all throughout elementary and middle school, and secretly throughout high school as well.

Rumor has it actually, that that little bunny inhabits your bedroom even now, albeit on a shelf.

“God! Me, and Mr. Sniffles were the worst influence back then. We, with our dubious shell-necklace business; the true horrors of the whole entire west coast.” you joke lightly and Billy snorts, eyes twinkling with amusement before turning serious again.

“He always said you’d turn me weak and into a girl; that I probably was such a pathetic pussy at least partly because of you.”

“I know,” you state, shrugging your shoulders, trying to fight your heavy heart, “I still remember his tantrum when you came home wearing that flower necklace I made you. He wouldn’t let either of us eat any dinner that night and immediately called my mom to pick me up instead.”

“Right, or the day I got home from your sleepover, and you had painted my nails a vibrant pink.”

Oh god, you remember that day even more vividly. It had been a few days after your sixth birthday.

One of your aunts had gifted you a little make-up set which included three different nail polishes: A vibrant pink, a dark purple, and a green that looked almost toxic.

You had always loved the color pink, and so, naturally, you decided to make immediate use of that nail polish.

When Billy had come over for a sleepover a few days later, he’d been silently eyeing the three bottles all throughout the day, until finally, he timidly asked you if you could paint his nails too.

And you were more than happy to, even though your mom had to help a little, since your motoric skills weren’t particularly your strong suit yet – the vibrant mess of pink stuck all over your little fingers being the best evidence for that.

But your mom was a great teacher, guiding your hand, and even letting Billy try doing it himself for a bit, after he had decided to go with the color pink as well, so you and him could match the way real best friends were supposed to.

That night, you and Billy spend a lot of time whispering excitedly about all the possibilities of sharing nail colors with one another.

Maybe you two could try violet next, or maybe the green, or surely there must be a blue the color of the ocean out there trapped in a glass bottle just like yours, Billy wondered, and wouldn’t it be great to carry the color of the place he called home the most on the very tips of his fingers?

The possibilities seemed endless and the two of you continued to scheme little plans and nail color dreams all throughout the night until both of your eyes grew too heavy with sleep and exhaustion.

But there was a nightmare right around the corner the next day when Billy had to go home, and Neil somehow had a completely different opinion on those brightly colored nails of Billy’s, that the boy previously had been so utterly proud of.

When you saw Billy the next day after that, there was a big bruise on his face, and his fingers were still red, almost bloody even, from having been scrubbed so hard until there were no traces left of the pink nail polish you two had shared earlier.

Billy didn’t have to tell you what happened, the teary-eyed look he gave you was enough for you to get the picture, even though you couldn’t understand what Neil could possibly dislike about such a nice shade of pink on the tips of someone’s fingers.

And Billy wasn’t allowed to visit you after that for at least a month, and future sleepovers were completely out of the window.

You had tried to comfort Billy that day, even though you didn’t understand the reasoning behind his father’s violent explosion. Still, you had scrubbed off your nail polish too, as soon as you got home, a deep shame settling in your stomach mixed with a lot of guilt at the memory of Billy’s tender and raw fingers.

It was your nail polish that had gotten him into trouble.

Your favorite color of pink that had earned Billy a violet bruise on his freckled face.

That incident with Billy left a deep impression on you even as a kid, and for the longest time you festered and grew a deep distain for any nail polish, leaving you to avoid them altogether.

This rather sudden change was something your mom witnessed with much confusion and slight concern, and it wasn’t until many, many moons later at the end of middle school, when you and Chrissy had one of your sleepovers, that you finally decided to give some rosy nail polish another try, after much determined persuasion.

But even now, the memory of Billy and his bruised fingers lingers in your mind with a vividness as if it happened yesterday, and the mere memory has you feeling chocked up again too.

But with it also, as always, bubbles up a deep, deep hatred for his dad.

A man, that as far as you could remember had always been displeased with his son. You never understood why Billy’s father would always have such a furious rage at anything Billy would do or say, or not do and not say.

It seemed like no matter what Billy did, he never did it the right way – at least in the angry eyes of his dad he didn’t.

You never liked his father; something that started out with just a simple uneasiness that you couldn’t quite place, but that quickly grew bigger and bigger into something stronger, as you started to learn about the origins of Billy’s bruises and scabs.

And the older you got, and the more you understood, the more anger would build in the pit of your stomach at the thought of that monster, that Billy had been forced to face all throughout your childhood together.

Especially after Billy’s mom left and your best friend was suddenly exposed to twice as much volatile force, until Susan and little Max came into their lives, but even that never saved Billy from being the scapegoat number one.

And the day you left, you didn’t just cry big tears because you wouldn’t see your Billy again for a long, long time; or because you would miss him dearly, or because no person in the world could surely take over that place in your heart that Billy had occupied ever since you first saw him and his dolphin-decorated lunchbox.

No, you also cried because you were terrified for him.

Terrified, because Billy would now be all alone with the wrath of his father and no one to turn to.

Whose shoulder would he cry into now?

Who would hug him tight and tell him that it’s alright, that he’s loved and strong, and the most special boy in all of California?

Who would reassure him every day that he’s still your bestest friend?

Who would praise his surfing skills now?

Who would tug on his sleeve lightly whenever he’s running off to quickly, about to get into trouble again?

Who would keep him safe from now on?

Because in your mind, you were supposed to protect him; despite being smaller and a little younger than Billy, you wanted to keep him right there by your side at all times, forever and always.

And while fighting his dad was hardly an option, at the very least you were able to dry Billy’s tears afterwards. Comfort him with the help of Mr. Sniffles and your crooked, teethy smile.

Even back in kindergarten you would take up that task, pretending to kiss Billy’s tears away with your stuffed animal the way your mother always did when you were in a teary mood.

And naturally you would do the same for Billy, until a soft giggle would bloom up in his chest and bubble out with a timid laugh and for a brief moment both of your hearts felt lighter, and the world didn’t have scary Neil in it; just you and Billy - and maybe Mr. Sniffles.

“You know,” Billy continues quietly, pulling you out of your thoughts, “that day when you left, I wanted to call you immediately, but my father said that I wasn’t allowed to, and that I’d do better not to speak to you ever again. But a few days later, when he went out on some trip, I saw that as my chance to try and hear your voice again, and tell you how much-“

Billy’s voice doesn’t just crack at the weight of the memory. It completely breaks, and the shards pierce through your heart ferociously.

Like second nature, instinctively, your hand slips into his, giving it a tight squeeze. Trying to reassure him in some way; the only way you’ve ever known: Soft words and even softer touches – the two things that worked like a soothing balm on Billy’s soul back then, and unbeknownst to you still work even now.

“It’s alright, Billy.” You whisper.

I’m right here. the soft squeeze of your hand says.

And I’m not going anywhere.

Billy takes in a deep breath, before continuing.

“He wasn’t supposed to come home that night, and I thought-“

Another timid voice break.

Another squeeze of your hand.

Another silent whisper full of reassurance.

“I thought I could finally be reunited with you again, even if it was just your voice. I was so scared that you might have forgotten me already. That maybe you had made better friends in the few days that had passed, and I just wanted to hear you same my name again once more, just once.”

You don’t notice the tears running down your cheeks until a big sniffle startles you, and it takes you a second to realize that you're the culprit.

“The phone had already been ringing for a while when he suddenly came back. He must have forgotten his hat, or his jacket, or something, and I had been so giddy at the prospect of hearing your voice again, that I didn’t notice it until it was too late, and-“

You feel Billy’s fingers tremble in your hand, as the unmistakably horrifying memories of the things that transpired that very day must be coming rushing back.

“He caught me with the phone still in my hand, and he was so, so angry. I remember him tearing the whole phone from the wall in his rage and I-“

Billy doesn’t want to rehash all the details of that night, nor do you expect him to, and while your hand squeezes his once more, the urge to really hug close him gets incredibly strong, almost unbearably so. The squeeze of your hand simply isn’t enough anymore, but for now you can hold yourself off, stifle and suffocate the growing need to hold him tight, as Billy continues his story.

“The phone was broken for weeks after that because my dad thought that it would serve as a great additionalpunishment for my ‘crimes’. Besides, this way he could really make sure that I won’t disobey his orders again. And it wasn’t until almost a month later that he got that fucking phone fixed, after Susan brought it up enough times.”

You’re stumped at that story, your heart tightening and breaking at the image of Billy trying to call you, only to be surprised by a monster of a father.

And to think you had been angry at him for so long, always assuming that Billy purposefully didn’t return your phone calls, just to now find out that he didn’t even have a phone to call for a few weeks, just because he had wanted to call you first instead.

“Oh, Billy,” you whisper while stepping even closer to him.

There are no words deep enough to express the profound sorrow you feel at the recount of his story.

No words that could mirror the way your heart is giving out at the things he must have gone through.

All these bruises that no one would kiss better.

All these tears that no one would wipe away with the softest of touches.

All his suffering experienced completely on his own, with no means to share it with anyone else.

No means to be seen with all this hurt.

No one to ease at least some of his pains and reassure him that this is not his fault. Never his fault.

“Billy, I was so angry for so long, thinking you didn’t want me as your friend anymore, but in reality none of it was true, was it? I’m sorry I ever doubted your promises, and I’m sorry I accused you of lying I really thought-“

“It’s quite alright.” Billy mumbles, eyes darting across the tiles of the balcony.

“I thought the same thing; convinced myself that maybe you didn’t want me as a friend anymore. You always had to look after me then, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you were relieved to give that up and find new friends who were less troubled.”

“Oh, Billy, no! There’s no way of replacing you! There never was, and there never will be. And looking after you was never a chore, never a burden; not even in a bajillion years! I just wish I could have done more back then. I wish I would have found a way to take you with me and away from your dad forever.”

For a moment both you and Billy lose yourselves in the idea of what could have been, if you had succeeded in smuggling Billy with you, via your pink suitcase maybe.

Would his path been the same, Billy wonders. Or would he be a completely different guy now? A guy who was free to wear nail polish and flower necklaces, and just be himself from a young age, instead of being molded into something that feels so much like his father to him now.

Would he be less angry, less reactionary, less hungry for love, maybe?

He feels like a monster so many times.

A monster that swallows everything in his path, all the crumbs he can get, and it’s still never enough.

Never enough love, or reassurance, or all the other things he craves but doesn’t even dare to put into words, scared of the power they might hold if he admitted them out loud.

But with you it’s slightly different, because you already speak the same secret language, and it’s easy to fall back into it; let you see things no one else gets to see. Shares things no one else gets to witness.

You’ve always held him so close, that he still dreams vividly of it even these days, so many years later.

But right now, in this very moment, as he’s faced with you, so up close and near, the urge to be held again might have never been stronger.

Silence takes shape between you two for a heartbeat longer until you muster to ask the question that’s been sitting impatiently on top of your tongue for a while now.

“Did the situation with your dad ever get any better o-over time, I mean?”

You had always hoped it did, but the brief flash of pain that crosses Billy’s face tells you otherwise before he softly shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper, throat constricting, as you have to face the truth of your worst nightmares.

And the idea of Billy having to face that kind of monster at home all throughout these years makes you want to rip your own heart out and swallow it whole.

It would hurt less that way, you think.

You can’t hold the urge to reach out and hug Billy close at bay anymore, and in the flash of a second, your arms wrap around Billy’s waist while your face collides with his chest.

The motion takes Billy by surprise, but only for a stumbling heartbeat or two, until he wraps his arms around you securely as well, and for a moment the world feels like it stopped spinning completely.

“Billy I missed you so much,” you admit in a whisper, and Billy, who’s been fighting a battle against his tears for the better part of the evening, ever since confronting you, finds himself conceding as the first few big tears begin to slip out.

“I missed you too.” His voice is soft yet hoarse, emotions thick in every syllable and motion.

You lift your head up for a moment, gazing at Billy who finds himself gazing back at you too.

There are tears running down both of your cheeks now, relief in your eyes mirroring the other, and a sobbed laugh bubbles up in the two of you as the realization of having your bestest friend back in your arms, takes hold on both of your hearts.

Instinctively, one of your hands comes up to wipe away some of the tears running down Billy’s cheek with the uttermost softest touch, and Billy’s eyes flutter shut at the tender motion, something he hasn’t felt in such a long time, but longed for, for so many nights.

After a while of stroking his cheek, your thumb tracing the countless freckles you dreamed so much about, you pull your best friend closer, nuzzling your face in the nape of his neck.

He smells of smoke, his leather jacket, and some expensive cologne, but underneath it all, he also smells of the Billy you remember, and faintly like that one laundry detergent his mom used to use.

You breath him in, and you know he’s doing the same, when you feel hot tears on the bare skin of your shoulder where Billy’s hiding away too.

“I always thought you were angry with me.” Billy whispers, and you can’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh.

“And I always thought that you were angry with me!” You retort, and this time Billy huffs.

“How could I,” he murmurs earnestly, “You were always an angel.”

A guardian angel, Billy thinks, and he hates that he burdened you with such a heavy task from such a young age. But maybe now he can finally make it up to you.

It might take him a lifetime, but at the very least he has to try.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles because that’s a start, right?

“I’m sorry.” He repeats.

For everything, he thinks.

“It’s alright,” you reassure, thinking he’s talking about the bitter words he spat your way hours earlier.

“It was all a misunderstanding, Billy. We were both under the wrong impressions.”

“No, I mean-“

Billy doesn’t know how to say this. How to capture all the things he feels and voice them out loud.

Maybe you forgot how much of a burden he truly was back then. And maybe his admissions will only make you remember more and resent him even stronger.

Feeling that there’s something off, you move your head out of the nape of Billy’s neck, trying to face him while your hands come up to cup his cheeks gently.

“There’s nothing else to apologize for. Nothing else that you need to say sorry for, or feel sorry for, Billy.”

The sincerity in your voice is only amplified by the sincerity in your eyes as you try to really get the message across.

“But I-“ Billy tries once more, “wasn’t I an ugly stain on your childhood? Caring for me, reassuring me, worrying for me…”

What have I done for you, other than cursing you with a heavy duty no child should carry, he thinks.

Billy’s eyes look almost mournful as they regard you, tears once more brimming at the border of two oceans that always held your world.

“Oh, Billy,” you hush, “I meant it when I said that caring for you was never a burden! And you were always the brightest star in my life, not some ugly stain.

Besides, let’s not pretend like you didn’t look out for me too! You were the one who taught me how to surf, how to throw punches, how to tie the strongest knots; how to draw waves and seagulls and dolphins. How many times did you have to help me bandage my foot because I carelessly stepped into a broken glass shard at the beach? How many times did you have to tie my shoelaces because I couldn’t get it right?

How many times did I copy your homework? How many times did you have to dry my tears because I couldn’t find one of my stuffies, or a doll, or one of those many lucky shells I kept stuffed in my pockets? How many times did I tumble out of some tree because I wanted to keep up with you, trying to impress you at least a little bit? And how many times did you have to carry me home after those accidents?”

“You mean I had to carry you and Mr. Sniffles.” Billy teases lightly with a teary laugh.

“Right! Exactly! Me and Mr. Sniffles! And how many times did you have to safe and fish either one of us out of the ocean?”

“Fuck, way too many times!” Billy laughs softly at the memory, and so do you.

“God forbid you had to do anything without that rabbit.”

“It’s because you gifted him to me, Billy. I cherished him so much because he reminded me of you. And I’m sorry I couldn’t keep either of you safe at all times.”

“Not your job.” Billy mumbles.

“Not your fault either, Billy.” you retort.

“Caring for you was never a burden; your father was. What he did to you was a burden, and I wasn’t even one that was cursed to carry all of this throughout all of this time; you were.”

“You know,” you add sheepishly, bonking your head against Billy’s chest, “sometimes when you were cuddled up to me during recess with a big new bruise on your face or your body, I would imagine building a human-sized mouse trap, like they’d show in Tom and Jerry, and I thought that we could trap your father that way and get him to finally stop.”

Billy can’t help the small, disbelieving laugh that bubbles out of him, as he gives you a stunned yet slightly amused look at your admission.

“You fantasized about killing my dad?”

“Well, if you put it that way,” you drag out slowly, before stating a wholehearted and quick, “Yes!”

Billy’s eyes widen once more at your words, but it’s not like the thought had never crossed his mind either, minus the human-sized mouse trap, maybe.

“Although to be honest,” you continue, "as a kid I didn’t think that far yet. I thought he would be alright again after a while, just like Tom is in those cartoons, you know. That cat is always okay after getting crushed by tons of stone, or steal, or some cars. But each time he seemed to have learned his lesson for a little bit, and slow down his torment, and that’swhat I always wanted for you; For your father to stop his torments.” You finish in a hushed yet earnest whisper.

This time, it’s Billy who tightens the hold he has on you.

“I wished for that too.” He whispers back.

But more often than not, I wished for you to hold me again, he quietly thinks. For you to brush my tears away with your soft fingers and the ache of my bruises away with your gentle laugh and loving eyes.

Eyes that never saw him as a monster.

Eyes that held nothing but kindness in them, like they do right now as you pear up at him, before quickly nuzzling yourself closer into to Billy again, letting out a small yet satisfied sigh at the familiarity of it all, and the relief that comes with having solved such a big and heavy misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding that’s been plaguing both of your minds ever since your move to Indiana.

“We could still build that human-sized mouse trap,” you muse, “after everything your father put you through, in addition to the way he interfered in our letter exchange, and considering all that misery that followed, I think he kind of deserves it.”

“Don’t temp me,” Billy huffs, as the grip he has on you tightens again. “I don’t even know what I’ll do next time I see him. Knowing now what he must have been doing all this time back then, keeping those letters; hiding them or throwing them away I-“

Billy feels the rage spread through him like a wildfire. All of this could have been avoided, if it wasn’t for his dad, he thinks.

But instead of letting the rage consume him he takes a steading breath, the way that Eddie taught him to before stating,

“All this hurt my father caused us both could have been prevented, but instead of spending years confining in you, I spend them resenting you instead, and you did the same in return. We would still be in this loop if we didn’t-“

“If we didn’t both hide on a balcony, you mean?” You question with a gentle laugh and Billy nods his head, a soft smile spreading over his face as he watches the way your eyes crinkle slightly.

“Thank fuck for my smoking habit, I guess.” He mumbles, and you playfully poke his side with a scoff.

Just like old times your eyes twinkle with mischief and affection.

It’s like the bond between you two was never really broken, only frozen in ice and time, and cursed by a big, big misunderstanding.

But all of it has lost its power now, as you’re both entangled in one another, soaking up the moment and letting it heal all the little and big cracks in your hearts.

Letting it wash away all of your past doubts, and insecurities, that festered through the years, raised by that grievous misunderstanding that planted ugly spores in both of your hearts, which in turn bloomed into thorny briars, stingy to the touch.

Or the thought.

Or the mere memory of your best friend.

But all of this lays behind you now.

Because you have your best friend back.

Your first best friend; your childhood best friend. The one you always mourned a little, or a lot.

“My Billy,” you mumble, relief etched into every syllable, and Billy thinks his heart might stop altogether at the sound.

Might tumble out of his chest and into the night sky.

Might swell up so big and strong it could swallow the whole solar system like the sun might in a few billion years.

He’s home, he thinks, and for the first time in forever; the first time since he’s been apart from you at least, there’s a restlessness that falls from his shoulders with a silent thud that has the earth tumble under his feet.

You’re the most home he’s ever felt, ever experienced, and you’re right here in his arms.

And it’s the same for you, as you feel like hugging the whole world, and in the eyes of your seven-year-old self you’re doing just that, as you wrap your arms tighter around Billy.

You finally have your childhood best friend back.

Your Billy, and there are so many things to catch up on.

“You know,” you sniffle, because of course you’re both crying again; two sensitive souls reunited with one another. And Billy hums a deep hum to indicate he’s listening, not really trusting his voice right now because that bitch is like Bambi, wobbling helplessly on ice, threatening to crack or break at any point.

“Even when I was angry at you Billy, it never reached or overgrew the longing that I felt for you during all my years of living in Hawkins. You were never gone from my memory; Never gone from my heart. I even kept Mr. Sniffles and-“

At those words you feel Billy shift slightly, as he fumbles and tugs up one of his sleeves, before holding his arm out to you.

It takes you only two heartbeats, maybe three, to identify the small shell necklace you had made him all those many years ago, wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet instead.

It’s been re-tied a couple of times, and there’s a small part missing that must have been ripped off at some point. But upon closer inspection, there’s still that special shell engraved with your initials, a crooked heart, and the childish promise of BF!

Bestest friend!

Obviously.

“You kept it,” you whisper, as your fingers trace the rougher side of the shell carefully.

“I kept you in my heart too, you know.” Billy mumbles, voice teary, before engulfing you in a big hug again.

Please don’t let this be a dream, the both of you think, as you cuddle closer to the other.

“And to think you were so close, all along,” Billy mutters, “when we moved to Hawkins a few years ago, I could have seen you back then if it wasn’t for-“

“Shh,” you soothe, although that realization hangs heavy over your heart too.

And how did you never consider that Neil would prove himself to be the worst dad ever once again, and collect all of the letters you send Billy instead?

“You have me back now, Billy,” you whisper, “doesn’t that count the most?”

It sure does, Billy thinks.

And there’s nothing that counts more.

You’re both so wrapped up in one another, that neither of you notices the balcony door opening, as Steve tries to step out into the night for a smoke too.

But he looks like a dear caught in the headlights when he spots you and Billy, intertwined in the middle of the balcony; and although he’s more than a little confused by the sight in front of him, there’s also such a deep vulnerability in that moment you two seem to share that he doesn’t have the heart, nor the guts, to disturb you two.

He almost thinks that catching you two in a compromising position in Billy’s bed would have been less haunting, less intimate, as opposed to whatever you two have going on right now.

Without either of your notice, he ducks back into the apartment, closing the door softly, trying to figure out what’s going on.

Didn’t you two share some tensions earlier?

Didn’t he overhear Chrissy say something about holding grudges?

Broken promises, anyone?

Steve tries to shrug the odd feeling that’s setting in his stomach off, but he can’t quite shake it.

Not only does he feel like he just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to see, but there’s also something else that has him in a tight grip.

He’s only ever seen you in such a hearty embrace with Eddie, he thinks, and Billy, well, Billy, he can’t say he’s ever seen him look as vulnerable or as soft as he did now.

Or at peace if he’s honest.

And were those tears streaming down that volatiles boy’s cheeks?

Thinking back, the two of you seemed to share a familiarity that Steve’s never witnessed before, not even between you and Eddie, if he’s honest.

What the hell is going on, Steve thinks, as he makes his way back into the kitchen, because if he can’t have another smoke, he at least wants another beer.

What the hell is going on, he thinks once more, as he watches the rest of his friends clown around on the couch, yet there’s a deep, unsettling feeling, that something about that current image is slightly off, slightly wrong.

It’s only when Steve’s past one third of his beer, that the oddity finally hits him.

It’s Eddie, he thinks.

Well, less Eddie, and more that one thing missing next to Eddie. That one person, who’s normally sitting on or near his lap, clinging to him tightly.

You’re missing, but instead of being curled up and tugged away somewhere in the dark, curly-haired boy’s side, you’re out on the balcony in someone else’s embrace. And there’s something about this situation that doesn’t sit right with Steve.

He feels like he's got a glimpse of a storm brewing somewhere far, far away on the horizon, and it’s only a matter of time until the lightning and the thunder is going to reach you all.

And Steve really doesn’t want to get caught by the squall line when that happens.

No, he thinks with a shudder, he doesn’t like that idea at all.

Maybe he’s wrong though, maybe the weather can still turn.

Maybe his prediction is way off.

Maybe there’s no disaster coming after all.

But if that’s the case, why does he feel like he can hear the warning sirens already blaring, loud, and clear, and hauntingly.

Steve downs the rest of his beer quickly, before getting another one.

Please let this be a false alarm, he thinks.

Please let the clouds he feels rumbling in the distance pass away peacefully.

And with the third beer, Steve is almost ready to believe it.

Almost.

#billy hargrove x reader #eddie munson x reader #billy hargrove x you #eddie munson x you #billy hargrove fluff #eddie munson fluff #billy hargrove fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #billy hargrove #eddie munson #billy hargrove imagine #eddie munson imagine

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motownfiction · 1 year

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birthday wish

One week after Daniel makes his birthday wish, a part of it comes true.

Every year, for the past twenty years, he makes the same wish – a wish he previously thought was impossible. He gets around the cake Sadie always bakes for him (yellow with the most perfect chocolate buttercream icing), closes his eyes, and blows out the candles. Year in and year out, he makes the same wish: that his family will be whole again.

He knows what he means when he says that. He means that he wishes his father would rise from the dead, sixteen years later, and make amends with him. Poor Daniel is still that little boy who wants Frank DeLuca to clap him on the shoulder and tell him that he’s done a good job. Even in death, Daniel wants Frank to be the kind of father who takes you on fishing trips and plays his favorite music for you on long car rides to pretty much nowhere. But he never was, and now, he’ll never be. Sixteen years.

When Daniel wishes for his family to be whole again, he also wishes for Sam to rise from the dead. He wants him to show up at their front door one day with colorful stories about what things have been like in heaven for the past two decades. He wants to know how Sam’s getting along with James Dean and Sal Mineo. He wants to know if The 27 Club is annoyed or endeared by his affections (because surely, even in death, Sam is a fan). He wants to have a real friend close by again. More than anything, Daniel wants to see the look on Sadie’s face when Sam shows up at home again. Twins shouldn’t be without each other for long.

When Daniel wishes for his family to be whole again, he wishes for a phone call from Charlie. One where he apologizes for taking his grief out on everyone else. One where he says he’s sorry for putting Daniel in the middle of everything: by ganging up on Sadie in front of him, by confessing his affair with Elenore, by abandoning Elenore’s daughter to salvage a relationship with Carrie and their son. He wishes Charlie would call him. Not so that they could be best friends again but so that they could have some civility … some reminder that all those years were not a waste. Rosemary is fond of saying, Dad, nostalgia is a liar every time he wants to talk about Uncle Charlie. Even Mom’s moved on, and Uncle Charlie is her brother. But Daniel’s pretty sure it’s more than that. Daniel’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to give up on the people who loved you when you couldn’t love yourself. Even if you need to put them away for a little while, it’s not the same as giving up. It can’t be. Daniel doesn’t want it to be.

And then, a week after his fifty-sixth birthday – his fifty-sixth birthday wish – his phone rings.

It’s Charlie.

Daniel takes a very deep breath before answering. He remembers the last time he took a call from Charlie. It was almost nineteen years ago, in the same kitchen where he stands today, back when he and Sadie still had a landline. He remembers meeting with Charlie all night long. He remembers how badly it went. And yet, Daniel knows he’s going to answer. He knows he has to take the call.

They’ve got a lot of talking to do.

(part of @nosebleedclub march challenge -- day viii! i’m really squeaking it in under my time zone to be on time for today, yikes)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: daniel deluca #year: 2023

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inkribbon796 · 7 months

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Egotober 2023 Day 9: Too Normal

Summary: Silver thinks the possible future-Mayor is a bit too normal.

Prompt: Antlers

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Mark was trying to get a read on the new candidates. Malloy had been floating around on the board for a while, another in a long line of councilmen taking Dark’s bribes and acting as his puppets. Normally the city councilmen just drew lots if Dark didn’t pull up and decide who he wanted to pay and threaten more.

So Silver floated around the city hall building trying to think of what to do or how to pry more about someone who just got into the job a couple days ago. He probably wasn’t taking bribes yet. Dark probably didn’t even know he was on the Council and if Silver kicked up a fuss that might get Dark’s attention.

After a bit of thinking he watched Damien walk into the building around lunch time with a coffee. Normal looking black car, normal looking nice suit. Normal looking coffee cup.

Maybe his problem was that this guy seemed too normal. If he figured out he got his rocks off to something really, actually weird. Or there was some picture of him doing a kegstand in college. Something that made him seem less normal, and if Silver knew about it he’d be less creeped out.

This city had demons and magic and corrupt politicians. Maybe Silver just needed a vacation and a nap.

It took Silver and bit to go in, and security didn’t stop Silver from going into some random office with the name plate: “DOOMSTRUM” on it. Which maybe that was the problem, he had a villain name.

Doomstrum, despite having one of the most foreboding names, seemed to be new to the Council. He was really new, as in he was a new replacement to the dead mayor on the council.

His smile was disarming and he seemed to be on the level.

Neither of which Mark trusted for a second. He had been doing superhero work for a good while but the city was only starting to shake the iron grip Dark had on it. And even then it only did a little bit of good.

Silver lightly knocked on the door and Damien called for him to come in.

The councilman seemed to be reading through some papers, glancing up at him.

“Silver, to what do I owe this visit?” Damien said.

“Come off it, what are you hiding?” Silver looked around the office. A small bookshelf, some degrees on the wall. A nameplate on his desk, along with a snow globe of a house in the middle of snow. The snowglobe sat in a curved antler horn. Silver didn’t know what type of horn it was. Deer maybe?

“You still don’t trust me, I can understand that,” Damien said. “This office had a black mark on it. Something I’m hoping to change.

“I don’t know, you’re too normal,” Silver said.

“The only personal thing you’ve got in here is this thing,” Silver gestured to the snow globe. “You don’t have any pictures in here.”

“I don’t want to get threatened quite so easily,” Damien said. “Give that grey brute the faces of all of my children?”

“Right,” Silver accepted. That much he understood. “So the snow globe have a story or is it one of those tacky rich people gifts?”

“A little bit of both, it was a gift from my sister,” Damien said. “A birthday present.”

“Are those real horns?” Silver asked.

“Yes, she had them done after a hunting trip,” Damien’s fingers moved along the prong of the antler. “Our father was always incessantly proud that she inherited his skill and proclivity for hunting. And that I didn’t.”

“Yikes, sounds like father of the year material,” Silver said.

Damien was quiet for a little bit. He plucked the snow globe orb out of the antler and shook it to start the faux snow falling. “Yes, I suppose one could say that.”

Feeling a little bit bad, Silver let Damien enjoy the rest of his lunch. To enjoy looking at the snow globe cradled in the antler. The instant Silver walked out the door and began leaving, Damien gave the hero a little smile.

It had been so long since any part of Dark had truly been human, but it was so nice to know that he still could act the part.

#Egotober 2023 #Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Silver Shepherd #Darkiplier #Damien the mayor #Damien wkm #suspicion #secret identities

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winetae · 2 years

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⇾ plums & melons | 04

gif © parkejimins (deactivated)

— jimin x female!reader

— drama, smut || brother’s best friend!au

— the sexual tension is real and insane, dick pics, tit fucking, oral sex, dirty talk, cum marking, the fear of getting caught, bits of possessiveness, uh also they kind of play no nut november but in august and it lasts a total of (14 hours) yikes

— 15.8k

The long running game between you and your brother’s best friend started when you noticed his fascination with boobs—yours specifically. It was never supposed to amount to more than harmless flirting and lingering glances, but now, one year later, Jimin was ready to change that.

↳ alternatively : Jimin and you play a game. the loser is fucked. metaphorically. literally. all of the above??

01::02::03::04::05 (final)

SUMMER ‘18

During the late hours of the night, right before wishful thinking bled into dreamless sleep, there was no one to witness his slow descent into depravity. In the darkness and solitude of his room, Jimin had envisioned this precise moment innumerable times. It was a shameful secret - a weakness he didn’t want brought to light.

How many restless nights had he spent, pictures of you cloaking his vision? He’d visualized it all so clearly - from the unspoken challenge in your gaze to the muffled moans you’d unwittingly let escape from between clenched teeth and red-bitten lips. At times, you enticed him with sweet words and wide eyes, nimble fingers already halfway down his pants. In other scenarios, you moved as if there was no second to spare, every gesture rushed and heated.

And each time, Jimin drowned in your ocean, every breath of air endlessly replaced by you, you, you.

When he broke from slumber, sweaty, the taste of sin still dripping off his tongue, all he was left with were the memories of clothes haphazardly strewn around the bedroom floor, phantom kisses, and a hard, throbbing ache between his legs.

And yet - none of those infinite variations had managed to encompass the depth of his reality.

Unlike the countless fantasies that lived in his mind rent-free, the flow of time hadn’t ceased. Around him, the lights hadn’t dimmed. The world hadn’t faded into a black backdrop and there was nothing to distract him from the very imminent threat of being discovered thirsting for his best friend’s little sister.

Instead, he was painfully aware of his surroundings - everything from the faint scent of sunscreen and sea salt lingering on your skin to the itchy feeling of sand stuck between his toes. Jimin was uncomfortably aware of it all.

He wet his lips, feeling parched. Hungry. On the cusp of damnation.

The corners of your mouth pulled into a knowing smirk. It was smug, victorious - like you knew he was only heartbeats away from declaring defeat.

Jimin wanted nothing more than to wipe the look off your face. He wanted -

He wanted to kiss you, he realized with sudden, frightening clarity. The fact that he was sitting in the backseat of his friend’s car, with said friends chattering beside him, held little importance. All of the self-restraint he’d exercised this past year had worn thin. He wanted you. He’d always wanted you, even during the times he swore the contrary.

Distantly, he heard Yoongi let out a groan. For a split-second, Jimin flinched, afraid Yoongi had somehow been privy to his thoughts and that the disapproving noise was meant to chastise him.

“Don’t pretend like it wasn’t funny!” Seokjin huffed from the passenger seat. “He loves to act like he’s above my jokes in public but, hah! I know the truth.”

Jimin saw Yoongi roll his eyes through the rear view mirror. “Hey, don’t blow my cover. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Reputation? What reputation? Even the freshmen call you cute behind your back. You’re really not as intimidating as you think.”

Jimin blinked slowly, feeling out of place.

“Yeah.” Next to him, Kiki giggled in agreement. “You’re more like a stray cat everyone wants to take care of.”

If this had been any other day, perhaps Jimin would have joined in on the conversation. Supplied a joke or two of his own. He would have, at the very least, laughed along, but the way your hips shifted every so often over his cock hindered his basic ability to function.

He felt his lips part, a silent groan in his throat.

With great effort, he gulped down the lump arousal and shook his head. If he kept this up, he’d either get found out by his friends or cum in his pants untouched. Both options were terribly unappealing and Jimin categorically refused to pick his poison.

By some miracle, just as he was about to lose his mind for good, Yoongi pulled up in front of Kiki’s house, the car stuttering to a stop. The girls exchanged goodbyes and the momentary distraction gave him the reprieve he’d desperately been looking for.

Keep your fuckin’ chill, he berated himself. They only had Heeyeon left to drop off and then it’d be his turn. In just a few minutes he’d be home and the longest twenty minute car ride of his life would finally be over. Yeah… He relaxed, letting his weight sink into the leather seat. That sounded perfect.

After today’s events, he couldn’t wait to wash off the thin film of sunscreen, perspiration and sand adhered to his body like tape. He needed a good rub down. And so what if he spent an extra fifteen minutes in the shower getting rid of his...pent-up frustrations? That was no one’s business but his—

The pads of your fingertips glided over his exposed forearms, leaving ripples of goosebumps in their wake.

Jimin sat perfectly still, wondering, perhaps, if his mind was fucking with him. Maybe he’d become so horny that his brain had begun supplying fantasies in real-time just to see how long it would take for his sanity to turn to dust.

But no - any doubts he had were erased the moment you threw him a glance over your shoulder. The gleam in your eyes made it clear that you were well aware of his current predicament. His gaze then flitted to the pretty curve of your mouth and he found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could lean in and kiss you.

The moment you realized he wasn’t shying away or ignoring your subtle advances, your movements grew bolder. Jimin gulped, expecting the worse. You’d always been fearless and brazen, but up until last year, Jimin had never realized how dangerous that overflowing confidence could be when used against him.

A nervous thrill ran through his body, from one extremity to the other. Not even the early 2000’s hip-hop song pulsing through the car speakers could drown out the thud of his anxious heart thumping against his chest.

It felt like last summer all over again - the sneaky glances, the wandering hands, the perpetual fear of getting found out. The familiar rush went to his head - or heads.

Lips quirked into a smirk, you seemed to revel in the hold you had over him. Your nails outlined nonsense patterns on his skin, the teasing, feather-light touch enough to make his dick twitch in his swim trunks. With every new stroke, Jimin felt his self-control spiral further. Unable to do anything else but endure the sweet torture with gritted teeth, he shivered, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing straight.

Sweet Jesus.

You leaned in closer, close enough for him to notice the small mole on your left cheek.

“Been a while?” you crooned sweetly, raising a brow in a way that made it seem like you already knew the answer.

Incapable of forming a witty reply, Jimin settled for a pout.

Truth be told, it had been a while… Despite the abundance of available pretty girls he could hit up at the push of a button, casual one-night-stands had never done it for him. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t occasionally accepted their advances, too horny and flattered by all the attention he’d received when he hit college. But the immediate pleasure would always fizzle out too quickly to sate the hunger he’d buried within.

So - despite the veracity of your taunt - Jimin knew that the reason his dick throbbed wasn’t due to his lackluster sex life. No, that was all you.

His expression must have been telling because laughter tumbled from your mouth, loud and pleased. Jimin shot his friends a worried look but they hadn’t spared the two of you a second glance, too absorbed in their latest heated argument.

“For the last time! A burger is not a sandwich!”

“But both are made with two pieces of bread, lettuce, meat, tomatoes, ketchup—”

“Be real. You put ketchup in your sandwich?”

“Well, no… But it’s possible!” Seokjin spluttered, defensive.

“Yeah and a burgers are meant to be eaten hot,” Heeyeon chimed in.

“Invalid argument,” Yoongi dismissed. “You can eat hot sandwiches.”

“You can. But do you want to?”

“Who doesn’t like paninis?”

Heeyeon pressed on, scandalized, “so paninis are sandwiches but burgers are where you draw the line?!”

“What if we’re going about it all wrong?” interrupted Seokjin, sounding very much like he was going through a midlife crisis. “What if it’s the sandwich that’s a type of burger and not the other way around?”

Jimin tuned them out with ease, much more interested in the way you had just readjusted yourself over his lap.

He tried not to be obvious about it, at least. It wasn’t easy by any means. He tilted his head back and looked up, pretending to be taken by the very uninteresting interior roof of Yoongi’s car. His brows scrunched up, eyes squinting at a speck of dirt on the roof liner. Yet nothing could distract him from the way the cleft of your ass nestled the outline of his swelling erection. Had his jaw not been clenched, he would have whimpered.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. God, he hadn’t felt this embarrassed over a boner since he was 15. For someone who wasn’t ashamed of his body and sex in general, he kept losing his composure around you like an inexperienced schoolboy getting head for the first time.

It was laughable. In a sad, pathetic way. And all this because of what? A few coy glances and a damned bikini! Even his teenager-self would groan out in mortification over the state he was in. At least back then he could blame it all on teenage hormones and his lack of experience. But now?

In his defense, your swimsuit had been tailored to fuck with his brain. Earlier he’d tried not to blatantly ogle, not wanting to make his interest too flagrant, but even the few furtive glimpses had been enough to make his head spin with desire.

Jimin knew from experience how soft and big your tits were, how they spilled between his fingers when he cupped them in his palms. And although the bikini you’d chosen today wasn’t the most outrageous one he’d seen you don, it drew attention to your supple curves all the same. When he’d seen you running around the beach earlier, your wet t-shirt doing nothing to conceal your curvaceous figure, he’d almost popped a boner right then and there.

But honestly, could anyone blame him? The sight had been so tantalizing, it’d been impossible not to imagine how you’d look riding him, head thrown back in rapture. Maybe he’d even let you keep the bikini on, just so that he could watch your breasts jiggle free the harder he fucked you.

Shit, shit shit.

Sweat beaded at his temple. His cock was now undeniably half-hard.

Every so often the car jounced as it rolled over a rough patch of road causing your body to rock into his. The delectable undulations made it impossible for him to keep his head on straight; all he could think about was burying himself between your soft thighs. It didn’t matter if it was with his fingers, mouth, or cock. He was open to anything. He’d do anything you asked for - and he knew he’d be able to deliver. His mouth dried up just thinking about it - how pretty you’d look with his cum painting your tits, how satisfied he’d feel wringing sounds of pleasure from your lips, how good you’d look cumming around his dick.

Fuck.

Any last minute attempt to channel Mother Teresa would no doubt be a wasted effort. The longer this went on, the more tainted his thoughts became. Jimin grit his teeth and held back the strong urge to buck his hips and chase the friction his cock needed - no, demanded.

You shot him a look, amused, perhaps, by his obvious struggle to retain his composure.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you inquired, all smiles.

The question might have seemed innocuous to some - but Jimin was no fool. Well. He was, just not when it came to dissecting your intentions. This longstanding game between the two of you had made him an expert at reading your body language and right now you looked like you wanted nothing more than to eat him for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was evident - from the smirk that never left your lips, like it belonged there, to the way you circled your hips with purpose - that you sought his demise.

If candor had been his strong suit Jimin would have no trouble admitting that he enjoyed your habitual teasing and subtle provocations. No other girl had managed to push all of his buttons so effortlessly like you had.

Perhaps that explained why you had terrified him for so long… Whenever you were around, his control slipped through his fingers like sand and the harder he clenched his fists, the more it leaked through. The ceaseless push-and-pull routine that now defined your relationship had always left him to deal with a myriad of emotions, too vast and vague to make sense of.

Looking back, he realized what he’d felt had never been a fleeting, surface-level attraction. Nor was it anything close to the rose-tinted love depicted in movies. What consumed him was darker, tinged with shades of obsession, and its hold on him was absolute. It was the addictive rush gamblers felt when they went all-in during a risky venture, the thrill adventurers searched for when they stood on the edge of a precipice.

His chest tightened when he looked at you. It was almost surreal holding you like this after trying to ignore the way you made him feel.

For months he had attempted to work out why you, of all people, had to make him feel this way. Why couldn’t it have been the hot waitress at Home Slice he’d crushed on when he was sixteen? Or the first girl who had handed him a love letter that one time after Sunday School? It could have been anyone. So why did it have to be his best friend’s little sister? The same girl he had one teased for knowing the words to every single Hannah Montana song in existence? The girl his own parents doted on as if you were one of their own?

Maybe the answer to that question had never mattered. In the end, no matter how far and hard he’d tried to distance himself from you and deny his attraction, his thoughts would always circle back to you.

Jimin swallowed. Admitting that to himself was strangely…liberating. Two years of self-denial and running away hadn’t been enough to escape for the cold, hard truth.

It would always be you.

“Hm? Cat got your tongue?” You tilted your head and nudged him with your elbow, oblivious to the way his world had just tilted on its axis.

Your question registered - but just barely. His thoughts raced alongside the rapid pulse of his heart. He’d resisted the temptation many times before but…

What if he went all-in? Consequences be damned? He’d always been stuck between what he wanted to do and and what he thought he should be doing. But what good had that done? He hadn’t been able to keep away and he hadn’t been able to give you the attention you needed either, not fully, not the way you deserved.

His heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears, hesitation crossing his features for a split-second. It felt like teetering on the brink of a steep cliff overlooking surging, foam-crested waves. There was no safety net beneath to catch him, nothing there to ensure you’d both make it out okay.

“Jimin?” you whispered his name, brow creased in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He breathed in, his eyes locked on yours. There, he found what he’d been subconsciously searching for all this time - confirmation, validation, reassurance.

Nothing held him back anymore from taking the plunge. Jimin felt himself free-falling, face first, and the ensuing rush of exhilaration was intoxicating.

He leaned his head back, somehow more relaxed around you than he’d ever been.

Jimin knew the angle looked good - something about it always made girls go feral when he uploaded post-workout pics on Snapchat.

Your breath hitched. It stroked his ego, knowing that you craved him as much as he wanted you. He’d always known, of course. Unlike him, you were easy to read. It had always been that way. Back when the two of you had been kids and you’d tried to cover for him and Taehyung after a prank gone awry, no one had believed you because you were shit at lying.

“If I told you…” he said, remembering the earlier question. His tongue traced the seam of his mouth. You tracked the movement, swallowing audibly. “Would you be able to handle it?”

“I’m a big girl,” you managed between a stuttering breath, not expecting his question. “I can take it.”

Jimin bit his lip, refusing to let his mind wander off. He only had around two functioning brain cells left and he didn’t want to make a fool out of himself again.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for...”

You maintained eye contact, refusing to back down. It was adorable, really.

His amusement quickly died out as you shifted your hips over his lap, reminding him that he was still sporting a semi.

Your tone was challenging. “Don’t I, though?”

“Don’t tempt me more than you already have.” As much as he’d love to pull out his cock and tug aside your swimsuit, he knew that it wasn’t the right time or place. Things had already spiraled out of control.

You blew out an irritated sigh and turned back around, thinking the conversation over. Jimin leaned in, lips ghosting the shell of your ear and uttered words for only you to hear.

“You’ve heard the rumors, right? I only play around with good girls.” You shuddered in his hands. His palm skimmed your torso, stopping a safe distance below your breast. He could feel the beat of your pulse under your rib cage. “And, well... You haven’t exactly been the poster child for model behavior, have you?”

It was impossible to miss your sharp intake of breath and the way your thighs squeezed together in response. Jimin hid his satisfied grin behind your shoulder, happy to have such an effect on you. He wished he could see your face, just so that he could catalogue your expressions.

Surprisingly, you stayed quiet. He had expected you to provoke him further, push him to his limits, but you remained docile and sweet in his lap. Almost like you were trying to prove his earlier words wrong.

He smirked, tightening his hold around your waist, and pulled you closer. Cute. He wondered how fast the facade would crumble if he kept riling you up with his words alone. A few minutes at best? He was confident he could get you to break before then, if he put his mind to it.

“Okay.” The car slowed to a halt and Yoongi glanced back at them. “I’ll let you guys off here. Is that okay?”

Even with the sky painted black, Jimin recognized his surroundings like the back of his hand. They were a block or so away from his house and the visual reminder that your time together was up made his insides twist. In the car, the two of you had been living in your own bubble, but Jimin had no idea what would happen from here on out.

“Yep, that’s fine,” you chirped, reaching forward to pat Yoongi’s shoulder. “Thanks for the trouble, oppa.”

“Ugh. Don’t call me that.” Yoongi cringed. Jimin silently agreed.

“I know how to respect my elders,” you insisted.

Jimin scoffed, “you?”

“Shut up. The rule doesn’t apply to you.” You opened the car door and hopped out before he could get another word in.

“That brat,” Jimin grumbled under his breath as he grabbed his bucket hat that had fallen to the floor earlier.

He was one foot out the car door when Yoongi’s voice stopped him short.

“Hey, Jimin.”

“Yeah?” He stilled, hand on the door handle.

Yoongi waited a few seconds until you were out of earshot. “For the sake of our friendship, I’m gonna pretend like I didn’t see anything earlier.”

Seokjin let out a strange noise - a cross between a snort and a chuckle. He chided, “they’re kids, stop pestering them.”

Jimin smacked his lips together.

“See what?” he asked, the lilt in his voice betraying his nervousness.

Yoongi turned around in his seat and smirked. “Are we not gonna acknowledge there were two available seats for her to use once we dropped off Heeyeon?”

“But, you have to admit that Jiminie’s thighs are yum,” Seokjin argued, coming to Jimin’s defense. “I think most people would enjoy sitting on them.”

Yoongi shot Seokijn a look, exasperated.

“What? Are you saying you’d turn the offer down?”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point.”

Seokjin sighed wistfully, ignoring him. “Don’t they look cute together, though?”

“Cute? After we dropped off Kiki, I had to roll down the window because it stank of pre-nut. You call that cute?”

“Well it’s cute if you compare it to that time we gave Jungkook and his date of the week a ride home.” Seokjin crossed his arms. “Ok, so my standards are low, sue me. I blame Kook and his horny troll dick for ruining my conception of young love.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Yoongi gagged, his features scrunching up in disdain. “That little shit almost permanently ruined the seat back there. I had to get a professional cleaner to fix it.”

Jimin quickly got out of the car, grossed out by the idea of having sat where his friend had gotten a backseat hand job. Distantly, he realized that he was kind of being a hypocrite, considering what had transpired on the way back home, but his body moved on automatic.

“Hear that Jimin-ah? Just as long as you don’t get cum stains on the seats, we’ll support all of your romantic endeavors.”

“Yep. Even if you are getting it on with Tae’s baby si---”

“Bye guys,” Jimin forced out from behind a strained smile. “Thanks for the ride, hyung.”

“Oh I’m sure I’m not the last person you’ll be thanking for a ride tonight.”

Jimin shut the car door with more force than necessary. He winced. Seokjin’s distinct laughter was audible, even as the car drove off into the distance.

Jesus. Even his own parents never went out of their way to embarrass him to this extent.

“Huh. I didn’t realize we were being that obvious.”

He jumped, his head whipping in your direction. Jimin had expected you to head home, not wait for him.

“You heard that?” He groaned.

“Seokjin’s voice carries.”

You shrugged and put away your phone, seemingly unbothered by the conversation.

He scratched the back of his neck, wishing that he could mirror your nonchalance. He didn’t know what to think. Despite his worst fears, Yoongi and Seokjin hadn’t seemed disgusted or horribly shocked by the revelation. Ribbing aside, they’d appeared surprisingly okay with it… But, then again, the duo was known to not engage in unnecessary drama. Despite their slight age gap with the rest of their friend group, they’d never lorded their seniority or experience over others. They dished advice when it was asked but generally preferred to watch things play out on their own.

Now that Jimin thought about it, his friends’ propensity to stay out of drama probably explained why they had never staged an intervention for Jungkook’s rampant manwhore tendencies which had grown worse as the years went by - but that was an entirely different problem, one that would have to wait for another time. Jimin had enough on his plate as it was.

“Come on,” Jimin sighed, choosing to put his worries to rest for the time being. “I’ll walk you home.”

You nodded, following after him with light steps. He realized, now that the car had disappeared from view, how peaceful his neighborhood was at this time of night. Only the occasional lights could be seen behind drawn curtains. He’d missed this. There was comfort in the quietness, safety in the recognizable.

“It’s been a while, huh?” You kicked at the ground, a wistful smile soft on your lips.

Jimin tilted his head.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear self-consciously. “I mean-” You cleared your throat. “It’s been a long time since someone walked me home. It hasn’t happened since...freshman year of high school, I think. During homecoming.”

“Ah!” His eyes widened as the memories trickled back in one by one. He teased, “how could I ever forget that puffy, yellow monstrosity...”

You nodded, serious.

“Yes, my Belle dress. I’d taken ages choosing it. Even though you said it looked like I had thrown up omelets over a wedding dress, I loved it.” You giggled, the noise echoing in the empty street. “I’d been dying to wear it. Only for my date to stand me up at the last minute... Mom felt so bad for me she rang Mrs. Park up to ask if you could take me instead.”

“Guys in high school are so dumb.” Jimin ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t remember his name but he was a dickhead.”

“Mhmm. But it wasn’t all that bad, was it? I ended up having a lot of fun. And all my friends were so jealous! That you were my date, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” He tried not to look too pleased.

“Definitely. All the guys in my year were going through the first and second stages of puberty. Next to them, you were, like…” You gestured around, words failing you for a second. “Anyways. It’s a nice memory. Although maybe at the time I didn’t think so.”

He hummed in agreement.

Jimin also remembered that night. You’d looked so disappointed, sitting on the staircase in that extravagantly ugly dress you’d spent weeks boasting about, that Jimin had found himself willing to do anything possible to cheer you up. Even if it meant accompanying you to homecoming instead of playing the new COD game with his friends like he’d originally planned. It had been a tiny sacrifice in hindsight.

To be honest, Jimin couldn’t recall much more of that night. It seemed like a lifetime ago. There was a vague memory of being forced to link arms with you so that your parents could snap a commemorative picture that now hung over the mantelpiece. Everything else was a blur. The awkward dancing, the food platters and the cheesy set list were just nebulous recollections he couldn’t put into focus.

“Here, hold this for me?” you said, handing him your jacket.

“Oh.” He startled, so lost in his own mind he hadn’t realized they had reached your front door. “Sure. Let me help you out.”

Jimin used the flashlight function on his phone so that you could rummage around your purse for your house keys. His gaze was glued to your profile, yearning tugging at his heartstrings.

This was his cue to say goodnight. It should have been a simple affair but hesitation rooted him in place. Crickets chirped in the distance as his feet remained planted on the spot, refusing to budge. He shifted his weight, stalling, searching for an excuse to linger.

The tension he’d felt earlier in the car was back again and this time, with mounting urgency.

He didn’t want this moment to end, he admitted to himself. He didn’t want to go back to pretending like you didn’t exist. And he knew that if he said goodbye now, he’d always wonder what would have happened if he had chosen honesty over his own pride.

“Thanks.”

Jimin nodded and pocketed his phone. His pulse raced, his body buzzing with restless energy.

You stepped inside, blindly patting the wall for the light switch. A few seconds later the overhead lamp flickered to life, its quiet hum harmonizing with the sound of late night nature.

“So…” You started, hovering in the doorway.

This was it. He felt it, deep inside. Everything that had occurred for the past two years - the stolen glances, the arguments, the constant yearning - had culminated to this.

Perhaps he had always known it was only a matter of time before his weakness consumed him.

You had been right about one thing - there was nothing righteous about him. A year had passed and his attraction hadn’t dwindled in the slightest. Physical distance had done nothing to erase the lustful images that plagued his mind. If anything it had delayed the inevitable. Jimin was convinced that all other roads would still have led him here, standing on your front porch, the same one he had been in and out of all his life.

For a brief moment, silence engulfed the two of you. The summer air was warm, even at this time of night. Yet Jimin shivered, his body missing your heat.

You peered up at him. From this angle, the porch light cast shadows across your face making your lashes seem longer, your rounded features sharper. Unable to settle his gaze, Jimin’s focus flitted between the smoldering look in your eyes and the sensual purse of your mouth. There was nothing innocent about your appearance, the raw expression of desire impossible to mistake for anything else.

He gulped audibly, feeling surprisingly shy. Jimin had never felt this nervous before kissing anyone. Even back when he’d been dared to kiss a girl for the first time in Yoongi’s basement, his heart hadn’t been on the verge of bursting at the seams. Back then, his mind had been too wrapped up in the technicalities of the kiss itself, constantly worrying he’d fuck things up by inadvertently knocking his teeth against hers or chomping down on her tongue by surprise.

This time the butterflies in his stomach weren’t linked to performance jitters. Jimin leaned in, slow enough to commit every detail to memory. If this was a dream, he wanted to remember it.

Right before your lips touched, you sighed, the corners of your mouth stretching into a smile. Almost as if you’d been waiting for him all this time to come around.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said quietly, like it wasn’t obvious.

“Good. I want you to.”

Talking ceased and you leaned in, bridging the minuscule gap between your bodies. Jimin let his eyes fall shut, his hands reaching out to settle around your waist.

In his dreams, kissing you was always overwhelming. Your scent, your touch, your taste. Like a tsunami, you barrelled your way through his walls, broke them down, until he had no choice but to surrender.

This first kiss wasn’t anything like he had imagined it to be, however. Your lips were gentle, soft. They moved tentatively against his own, almost like you were afraid that any brusque movement would shatter whatever spell had been cast.

He understood the feeling all too well. Jimin wanted time to bend to his will, just so he could stay suspended in this moment forever.

Jimin lost track of time. He loved - this. Not having to rush through the motions. Taking the time to learn the feel of your lips against his own. As much as he got off the thrill of sneaking around in plain sight, there was something about kissing you like this that made his head spin.

Warmth pooled in his gut, its heat simmering right beneath the surface. As it begun to spark into flames, he could tell your patience was beginning to wane. Several times you tried to gain control only to grow more frustrated when you failed to do so.

His hands tightened around your waist as he brought your body flush against his chest. He tried not to focus on how soft and ample your breasts were, how putty you were in his hold. It only made his greed grow tenfold.

“My parents aren’t home this weekend…” you said between two breaths, lips wet and swollen. “And you know Tae won’t be back before sunrise.”

Jimin groaned, tempted by your proposition. It was an enticing offer. He felt his eyes flutter shut, his imagination getting the best of him. Jimin could already imagine himself stripping you bare and spreading your legs wide.

There was so much he’d fantasized doing with you and to you; he wasn’t certain one night would suffice to sate his seemingly endless list of desires. Since they had the whole house to themselves, Jimin wondered if he’d be bold enough to eat you out in the open, where anyone in your family could walk in. Although he liked experimenting and venturing out of his comfort zone, he didn’t think he’d be able to casually bend you over the kitchen table or the living room couch. His cheeks flushed just thinking about it. Damn… Even the thought of fucking you on your small twin bed seemed…risqué? Taboo?

Kissing you wasn’t helping him keep his thoughts on track. You shivered as his tongue traced the roof of your mouth, moan stuck in your throat. Jimin didn’t know if you were fully aware of the delicious sounds you were emitting, but he sure was; every single one of those cute, muffled moans went straight to his dick.

Damn it. Was he really going to turn down your proposition because he wanted to prove a point? All of his friends would call him a grade A dumbass if they found out what he’d done and why. Even he was starting to second guess himself...

Shit. He clenched his jaw and forced himself not to think with his dick. Giving in right now might ruin everything. Besides, after all the teasing you had subjected him to, wasn’t it your turn to suffer in horny hell for a bit?

With a great deal of restraint, he pulled back, hands still balanced on your hips.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, fighting through the kiss-induced haze.

“Mmh?” The look in your eyes made him want to kiss you senseless again. Jimin held back, but just barely. He licked his lips, already missing the taste of your peach-scented lip balm.

“I’ll take you up on your offer next time.”

The corners of your mouth downturned into a frown. “What - Jimin, are you serious? This isn’t Pride and Prejudice. You don’t need to protect my - my virtue, or whatever. In case I didn’t make it clear enough - I’m down to fuck now.”

He tsked, his grip around your middle tightening. He was trying so hard to show you that he was different from your other flings but you were really out here testing his limits.

“That’s nice... But I told you, didn’t I? That I only play with good girls.”

Your lower lip jutted out into a betrayed pout. “I can be good! I can show you how good I can be.”

“Yeah?” Jimin’s voice lowered, husky. “A good girl knows how to wait, though.”

“I can… I can wait,” you managed, frown still marring your pretty face. “I’m...good at waiting.”

Jimin smirked, satisfied with the way he’d turned things around. He’d seen some of the guys you dated in the past and how you interacted with them. Around you, men fell like flies, bending to your every whim, adjusting their schedule and preferences to cater to your needs. He knew you were the type who loved to take the lead in relationships but Jimin refused to be put in the same category of all your other boy toys.

“Why don’t we play a game and test that theory out.”

Your eyes widened at his words. Jimin could sense the idea excited you terribly.

“And how do I win?”

“It’s simple, really. You can’t cum. No toys, no hands, nothing.” You gulped audibly. Jimin closed in, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “The guys before me probably gave in to you easily. But I’m not like other guys.”

“And if - what if I win? What’s my reward?”

Jimin pulled back to fix you with a knowing look. He raised an eyebrow. “If you win… I’ll give you what you want. But you have to earn it first.”

“Anything?” When he nodded, you frowned, unconvinced. “How can you promise something like that when you don’t even know what I want?”

“The way you were grinding your snug cunt over my cock earlier was pretty telling.” He chuckled, not bothering to conceal his amusement. “Did you want your friends to see you bounce on my cock that badly?”

Warmth bloomed across your cheekbones as you sputtered out, “I - I wasn’t --”

“It’s okay, baby.” His thumb traced the curve of your jaw and he tilted your head back so that he could stare straight into your eyes.

It was cute how you still tried your best to keep your composure. Even in the semi-darkness, Jimin could easily see past the flimsy mask you wore. The signs were all there - the way you leaned into his touch, your shortness of breath, those fucking bedroom eyes. Jimin could practically taste your desperation; he didn’t even need to look down to know you were rubbing your thighs together. It made him fucking crazy, knowing that you wanted him that badly.

He kept eye contact as his voice turned silky.

“I’ll fuck you nice and hard once you’ve shown me you’ve earned it. Be good and you’ll have a nice, thick cock to cum on.”

You bat your lashes. “Promise?”

“It’ll be all yours, baby.”

“Hm. Seems like you’re getting the better end of the deal to me...” you challenged, your hunger momentarily veiled by a mask of confidence. “You shouldn’t be able to cum either.”

“I don’t know what kind of guys you hung out with before but I won’t cum that easily.” Honestly, Jimin wasn’t sure if he was bluffing but he’d seen first-hand how dangerous you could be when you set your mind to it. If he wanted to win this new game he had to cover any weaknesses otherwise you’d pounce on him like a tiger being fed fresh meat.

“Uh huh...” You raised your brows, dubious. “I’m not even going to ask what’s in it for you...”

“If I win, you can grant me a wish.”

Crossing your arms, you mulled it over. “Fine. What if I lose though?”

“I don’t think you want to find out...” He mirrored your stance, refusing to back down from your dare. “Why? Scared?”

The sides of your mouth pulled into a sly smirk, your eyes impossibly bright from the thrill.

“Game on.”

When Jimin woke up the next day, he suppressed the instinctual urge to peel off his blanket and slide out of bed. Instead, he buried his head into his soft cotton pillow, eyes shut, hoping that maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he’d sink back into the dream he hadn’t been able to see through.

It had been such a nice dream, too. Even if he couldn’t recall it clearly, the memory faint but delicious, his body still hummed pleasantly from the aftereffects.

His brows bunched up in frustration when it became apparent that he wouldn’t be returning to dreamland anytime soon. The more time passed, the less defined the images and lingering sensations became. He grunted low in his throat, irritated because what remained were mere wisps and shadows of a feeling.

Being blue-balled right off the bat was a shit way to start anyone’s day. Cold showers usually helped him take the edge off but they failed to solve the root of the problem. The restlessness, the longing, the greed - those feelings that refused to be washed away - they’d keep itching away at him all day. He was prickly when horny, he’d discovered. Snappy for no goddamn reason.

Today, however, was different.

Jimin rolled onto his back, a small, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The discontent he’d felt earlier melted away as he let his thoughts drift off to last night. Why bother wasting his time in pursuit of a fleeting fantasy when the reality, for once, was so much sweeter?

The images came flooding back one by one - the softness of your lips against his own, the slope of your waist beneath his hand, the curve of your shy smile when he kissed you good night. He swore he’d seen the look on your face before, in a distant dream, but that version paled in comparison to the real thing.

Everything about you was addictive, unreal. Of course he’d wanted more - but the need to prove himself won out. Jimin wasn’t anything like those frat boys that hovered around you like flies or even the string of boys you’d brought home to meet your parents over the years. He wasn’t someone you’d be able to play with and discard after a day or two, bored once the novelty wore out.

And he was determined to prove it to you.

It hadn’t been an easy decision. When he’d forced himself to pull back and walk away from your enticing figure, Jimin hadn’t been able to put the longing tugging at his heartstrings into words.

“Jimin-ah!” His mother knocked on his door impatiently, the sudden noise making him jolt. “It’s past 9 already.”

His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, heavy and useless, and it took him several long seconds to get it to work and formulate a proper sentence.

“I’m awake!” he assured, forcing his eyes wide open. Immediately he regretted his decision and groaned in pain. He’d visibly forgotten to shut his curtains when he’d stumbled back into his room last night, too dazed and overwhelmed by the turn of events.

Bright morning sunlight trickled in and bounced off the white walls, momentarily blinding him. Jimin squinted, disoriented. If he hadn’t been awake before, he sure was now.

“I left you some breakfast on the table,” his mom called out, waiting for a reply.

“I’ll be right down,” he assured, his voice but a croak. “Thanks, eomma.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her. Jimin waited until he heard her retreat before sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Grabbing a clean shirt and throwing on a pair of shorts, he tidied his bed and then walked over to the window to let some fresh air in. His thoughts settled down as he went through the motions. Routines gave him stability. And after the roller coaster ride of emotions he’d gone through this past year, he needed something to ground him, to remind him that he still had control over the little things.

When he made his way down to the kitchen, his stomach rumbled as soon as he caught whiff of the meal that had been carefully prepared for him. Although he hadn’t been particularly hungry up until this moment, the sight of the warm, home-cooked breakfast made his mouth water. Ever since he’d left for college and had been forced to eat out of ramyeon packets, meals like this never failed to stir up his appetite.

“Smells good.”

“Eat up. Appa already ate his share before leaving for work, so eat as much as you want,” his mom said while she continued to wash a basin of potatoes in the sink. She glanced up when he opened the fridge to look for the water pitcher. “What time did you come back home last night? I didn’t hear a thing…”

“Ah... Around midnight, I think?” Jimin hummed in thought as he sat down at the kitchen table and picked up his pair of chopsticks. “I’m glad I didn’t wake you.”

Conversation flowed easily, as it always did.

He did his best to focus on innocuous subjects while he ate. The food, the weather, his personal summer reading list.

It worked - for the most part.

Because as much as he tried to ignore it, his mind kept circling back to last night, you, and everything in between. Even eomma had picked up on his increasing noncommittal replies and spaced-out gaze.

Next to him, his phone pinged.

When Jimin glanced over at the lit up screen it was more out of habit than out of curiosity or the pressing need to reply. His mother didn’t fuck around when it came to table manners so he knew better than to answer phone calls or texts during meals. Even if they weren’t currently eating together, the habit had been so well hammered into him that the thought of responding hadn’t even crossed his mind.

However, when saw your name flash across the screen, his heart lurched dangerously in his chest.

“How much did you have to drink last night?” she chastised, pouring him another cup of tea. “Go wash up once you’ve finished. A shower will do you some good.”

She gathered the empty bowls and took them to the kitchen sink. As soon as her back was turned, Jimin reached for his phone and opened up your message without thinking twice about it.

He choked on his tea, hot liquid spilling down to his chin.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

“Jimin.”

Eomma turned around and wiped her hands off on her apron. Jimin’s heart thudded nervously in his chest but to his relief, she didn’t look suspicious just reproachful. “The Lord’s name should not be---”

His phone was dropped into his lap, the screen back to black. The message was now out of sight, yes, but the image had imprinted itself in his brain for good. All he could see, even behind closed lids, was the shape of your---

“Sorry, sorry.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand and licked his lips clean. Despite the tea he’d chugged down, his throat was unbearably dry.

“Do you need help with the dishes?” he offered, weakly.

“No, go wash up. I’ll take care of it.”

He helped her anyway, hoping that it would force him to take his mind off the content of your text message. It was a futile attempt but at least he could say he had tried.

Once the dishes were dried and put away, he scurried past his mother, partly in shame, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. He almost tripped up the stairs in his haste to get to his room, his eagerness getting the best of him.

Jimin locked the door behind him, a grimace marring his features. Honestly, he was glad no one was there to witness him acting like a fool in his own home because he’d never live down the ensuing taunt.

What the fuck had you just sent him and how had it managed to single-handedly reduce the number of his brain cells to the double digits? Now that he was guaranteed privacy, he finally dared to open your message.

YOU bbq at 1. Bring your swimsuit ! ;)

The message itself was harmless. The picture that came attached to it was not. Well - it could have been innocent, had it not been for the extremely skimpy swimsuit you had meticulously picked out.

The picture was a simple, full-body mirror selfie. There was nothing particularly provocative in the way you posed, or your expression, but Jimin knew you had sent this to him to fuck with his head.

Christ...

Jimin closed his mouth and gulped, unsure of where to settle his gaze. He started with the safest zone - your face. He drank in your pretty doe eyes and long lashes, your soft, pouty lips. The sight made him recall the taste of your mouth, the fluttering of your heart beneath his fingerprints, the musical lilt in your voice when you had gasped out his name.

As his eyes traveled down the slopes and curves of your body, his mind began to wander. He could have easily gone further than kissing last night… Both of you had wanted it. It wouldn’t have been a spur of the moment decision either - you’d both been dancing around the idea for months, flirting with the possibility without actually taking the big leap. He was sure that if he’d crossed that line last night it would have ended with a mind-blowing orgasm but - that was the problem wasn’t it? Jimin didn’t think he’d be able to let it stop there.

His train of thought was cut short as he finally allowed himself to shamelessly stare at your body.

Damn.

Saliva pooled in his mouth and his dick stirred in interest. This was... He really had no words to describe how fucking hot you looked. He swallowed but the lump of arousal remained stuck in his throat.

Although he had seen you scantily clad before, this bikini looked like it had come straight out of a Swimsuit Illustrated cover. Jimin wasn’t even sure the models in that magazine had ever worn a swimsuit this indecent; your breasts looked like they were about to spill from your top if you so much as bent over.

Jimin bit his lip, holding back a groan.

Could it even be called a swimsuit? Small strips of material criss-crossed your chest, doing a piss-poor job of concealing your cleavage. The bikini offered no support whatsoever. There wasn’t even enough fabric to cover you up completely; you basically had your tits out for his viewing pleasure. He could see the faint outline of your nipples poke through the fabric, but that and your pussy were the only parts left up to his imagination.

Arousal started to cloud his vision. He couldn’t stop fucking staring. He felt like a perv but - seriously? You couldn’t have sent him something like this without expecting him to lose him fucking mind.

And this was just one picture. What would he have done if he’d seen you in this get-up for real?

Easy. He would have said ‘fuck the game’ and bent you over the nearest flat surface to feed you his cock.

Jimin whined, annoyed. He was supposed to be showing you how experienced and mature he was compared to your regular hook-ups and occasional boyfriends. Instead, he felt himself unravel at the seams, desire threatening to render him as dumb as the beefy jocks you usually fucked around with.

It took him a great deal of self-control to calm down and stop thinking with his dick.

Huh. So when you’d said you wouldn’t make it easy for him to win, you’d meant it. Your strategy would have worked if Jimin’s restraint had been any weaker than it already was. No wonder guys crumbled so easily around you, he observed. Any run-of-the-mill college fuckboy wouldn’t stand a chance.

Jimin collected himself. He was better than this, he reasoned. You deserved better as well.

JIMIN you’re wearing that today?

YOU why? don’t you like it?? :(

He was surprised by your immediate reply but he refused to let it distract him. Jimin reread your answer, imagining your teasing smirk in his mind’s eye. He scoffed, scrolling back up to look at the picture you’d sent.

JIMIN it looks a bit..tight

YOU really? it’s so comfortable though :D

The following reply was accompanied by a new picture and Jimin wasted no time opening it, greedy for everything you were willing to give him.

He groaned and cursed under his breath, blood going straight to his dick. The visual was driving him fucking crazy.

This time you were sitting on all fours. Your breasts looked even bigger from this angle, all soft, push, and round. Jimin’s hand slid down his torso to palm his hardening cock through his shorts, his gaze permanently focused on the screen.

Jimin had never had a ‘type’. Brunettes, blondes, short girls, tall girls, small tits, big asses - he didn’t have a clear-cut preference. But - “Fuck.” Even soft core pornographic material wouldn’t be able to get him this worked up.

JIMIN did you wear that hoping i’d fuck you as soon as i saw you?

YOU if you aren’t going to, i’m sure someone else will be willing. don’t you think so? :)

Your ploy was damn obvious - but effective nonetheless. The idea of you flirting with someone else caused sparks of jealousy to flare up inside of him but you weren’t his girlfriend, he reminded himself. If you wanted to fuck other guys, who was he to tell you not to? It still pissed him off, though - which was ridiculous and uncharacteristically possessive of him.

Last summer came back to him in flashbacks. The low-cut shirts, the tight shorts, the constant bending down and leaning over whenever you were near him. Everything from the obscene popsicle sucking to the invitation to rub tanning oil onto your back had destroyed every last bit of his sanity. You’d toyed with him in such an obvious way but Jimin had willingly shut his eyes and followed your lead.

Hah... He ran a hand through his hair, angry that he was letting himself get riled up so easily. He needed to get it together - and quickly. He wasn’t going to give you a repeat of last year. If you wanted to play dirty, he wouldn’t let you one up him.

Determined to prove his worth, Jimin yanked down the waistband of his shorts, letting his cock spring free.

A few angry strokes later and his cock was fully hard, the sensitive skin at the top flushed pink. He reached over to his nightstand and rummaged around until he found the bottle of lube. It had been a while since he’d last used it and for one, frightening second, he worried he’d emptied it out and forgotten to replace it.

Thankfully there was plenty enough to go around. He squeezed the bottle a little too tightly, thinking he needed to force the last drops out, but the liquid came out faster than expected, clear and watery all over his palm.

He wrapped his lube-covered hand around his hard cock and a quiet hiss escaped his parted mouth at the contact. With every upward tug, Jimin felt himself throb. The slide was now undeniably better, wetter. And although it didn’t beat a clever mouth or the hot, slick gummy walls of a pussy, it beat the dry friction of his hand by a landslide. It felt damn good, even if the lube was getting everywhere. In his haste, he’d poured out too much earlier and it now dripped down to his balls and onto the bed sheets under him, making the damp fabric stick to his thighs.

It was easy to ignore the mess as he let his eyes flutter shut, imagining you were there in front of him. The image came to him easily, a replica of the picture you’d sent him earlier - on all fours, tits out for him to play with, smouldering gaze fixed on him. Only this time, you’d lean down to mouth at his cock, lips and tongue soaking the entirety of his length until it glistened with saliva and precum.

Jimin blinked his eyes back open and the fantasy ceased. The pleasure was still very much present, his cock so hard it was starting to become painful, but Jimin had the presence of mind to pick his phone back up.

Right away he noticed you’d sent him a text while he’d been...occupied. Like an addict promised his fill, he wasted no time opening it up, half-expecting another salacious image.

YOU cat got your tongue ? ;)

Jimin huffed under his breath. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the teasing lilt in your voice tickle the shell of his ear. He was going mad, and you weren’t even there to witness his demise.

His thumb went straight for the camera app.

It wasn’t his first time sending dick pics - not that he’d ever go around boasting about it - and he had enough experience in the matter to know which camera angle was the most flattering. Low angles definitely made his dick look bigger, especially when he wrapped his fist around the base. His hands were smaller than the rest of him and the visual contrast never failed to work in his favor.

He contracted his stomach, the lines dividing his six-pack becoming more prominent, and snapped the shot. He gave it a quick once-over before sending it off, satisfied with the result.

JIMIN [10:49] if you do

JIMIN [10:49] will you fine with missing out on this?

Admittedly, the line made him cringe as he typed it out. Jimin was regrettably aware that it sounded like it had come straight out of a How to be a Fuckboy Manual but he just didn’t have any brain cells left to wax Shakespearean sonnets commending your beauty. A dick pic would have to do for now. He made a note to self to make it up to you later.

YOU [10:52] fucklfkjdf

YOU [10:53] fuck jimin

YOU [10:53] that’s not fair

JIMIN [10:54] i’m being unfair?

YOU [10:54] isn’t that against the rules????

JIMIN [10:55] as long as you don’t cum anything goes :)

He saw you typing back a reply, then stop, only to continue to write again. The cycle continued for a moment and as much as he was flattered that the sight of his dick was distracting enough to make you lose your train of thought, he grew restless as he waited for a response. Finally, after several minutes of drawn out silence from your end, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

This time around, he shot a short, 10 second video of his hand moving slowly up and around his hardened length. His skin was on fire and he hissed as his palm brushed over the sensitive head, his stomach contracting with pleasure. Self-handjobs were mostly perfunctory on his end, but the knowledge that you’d carefully watch this video over and over, perhaps imagining your own hands or mouth on his dick instead of his own… Now that was what got him going.

The god of nudes was clearly on his side when a bead of precum leaked from the tip of his cock exactly on the 9 second mark. He sent the video, knowing it would send you straight to the pits of horny hell.

JIMIN [11:02] so cat got your tongue ? ;)

Your lack of response told him everything he needed to know.

Now... All that was left for him to do was take a freezing cold shower and wait for his erection to die down. Yay.

Jimin found himself standing on your porch two hours later, a pack of beer cradled under each arm. He’d had plenty of time to wash up and make himself presentable, even going as far to make sure his hair was combed through and his shirt was ironed.

It was a strange feeling, this nervousness that buzzed inside of him like a beehive one gust away from catastrophe. It made him stupid. Again and again, he caught himself double-checking his appearance in the mirror, on the hunt for any possible defects. He soon gave up, however, when it became apparent that physical perfection wouldn’t suffice. How exactly was he supposed to impress you when you’d witnessed first-hand at least 6 out of his Top 10 Most Embarrassing Moments? Like, okay, he now had a six pack, but would that magically erase that time he’d flicked his nose boogers at you and then ran away cackling?

Jimin tried not to let his disappointment show when the door swung open and revealed his friend instead.

Taehyung stood in the doorway, wearing the same swim trunks as the night before and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt that was wrinkled around the collar. Judging by the size of his eye bags and his greasy, tousled hair, he had probably stayed out all night long. Jimin wondered fleetingly what would have happened if he had decided to stay over last night instead of turning down your proposition. Could they really have gotten away with it?

“Ah, it’s you,” Taehyung drawled out, unimpressed, the sound of his voice bringing Jimin back to reality.

“Were you expecting someone?”

“Dude.” Taehyung crossed his arms, suspicion etched into the lines of his frown. “Since when do you knock on the door?”

Oh. Jimin hadn’t even realized he had.

He stayed silent, knowing right away he’d been caught acting out of character. If he tried to justify himself now, it would only arouse more suspicion. He settled for a noncommittal shrug, hoping the nonverbal response would be enough to explain away his odd behavior.

Taehyung stared at him for a long moment, his expression blank. Anyone else wouldn’t think much of it but Jimin knew his friend was silently observing him, cataloguing away any abnormality and saving it to scrutinize for a later date.

He tried not to let his discomfort show, grunting, “you gonna let me in?”

“Put the beer away in the cooler for now,” Taehyung finally relented, glancing at his watch as he directed him inside.

Jimin breathed out a tiny sigh of relief. He was in the clear for the time being, although he wasn’t sure how long his luck would last. Taehyung was curious by nature, always asking questions, never giving up if something or someone intrigued him. It was only a matter of time before his friend decided he needed answers.

“I’m gonna head out to get some more food. We won’t have enough if Hoseok and Jungkook come over later.”

“You need help?”

“Nah.” Taehyung sighed and reached over to pat Jimin’s shoulder. “I’d much rather you stay here and set up the grill. My sister would probably burn the house down if I let her handle it by herself... I can’t trust her dumbass with anything, honestly.”

The mere mention of you made his palms clammy. The muscles on his face felt stiff and unnatural as he tried to school his expression into one of neutral disinterest.

Taehyung took his silence as consent and beamed, teeth on show. “Great. You know where everything is, right?”

“Think so, yeah.” Jimin looked away, pretending to observe his surroundings. “It’s been a while but I got you covered.”

“Alright, thanks. Knew I could count on you.”

Jimin nodded mutely and did his best to ignore the growing unease. He didn’t want to second guess his decision concerning you but seeing Taehyung in front of him made him waver. Standing in front of his lifetime friend, he felt no different than a fraud or a thief in the night. For a suspended second, he fought the impulse to word vomit over the welcome mat, confess his long list of sins and beg for forgiveness.

“Jimin?”

His head whipped around so fast, he thought his neck would snap. Then, trying to act natural he greeted, “oh, hey.”

To his relief (or was it disappointment?), you’d changed out of your earlier outfit, opting for a less revealing garb. This black bikini still showcased your assets, reminding him of the daring selfies you’d sent him earlier, but this time the view was partly obscured by a flowery skirt and a white, unbuttoned chemise.

“You’ll help Jiminie prep the food, yeah?” prompted Taehyung, who’d crouched down to lace up his shoes. “If you plan on drinking or eating anything you’d better pull your weight, freeloader.”

“I’m sure I can be a big help.”

You shot Jimin a knowing wink and he, heart in his throat, had to double-check Taehyung hadn’t caught on. He hadn’t - but the split-second of panic reminded him what a bad fucking idea this whole thing was. A thrill ran down his spine, powerful enough to zap away the guilt. He knew it was wrong but he was in too deep to get out now.

Taehyung straightened his spine and pursed his lips. “Just don’t make trouble for Jimin.”

“I won’t. I’ll be good.”

Your brother pulled a face, looking disgusted and mildly disturbed. “You? Don’t make me laugh. All my friends say you’re a problem.”

“Eh.” You shrugged and stared at your nails, unperturbed.

Stuck between the two siblings, Jimin stiffened. He urged his lips to twist into a facsimile of a smile just so that he could blend into the conversation without having to participate.

Taehyung shook his head before looking back over his shoulder as he opened the door. “Play nice, kids.”

“Sure thing, Gramps.“

Taehyung flipped them the bird before the door shut behind him. Although his tone had remained light-hearted and playful, those parting words felt less like a joke and more like a warning. They lingered, haunting.

“This is a bit anticlimactic,” you pouted, after a few beats of silence had passed without anyone taking off their clothes.

He snorted, the muscles in his neck relaxing. “What did you imagine would happen?”

Truth be told, he hadn’t known what to expect himself. Maybe in some recess of his mind, he had imagined sexual chaos to explode the moment the door closed - for clothes to be strewn around, discarded, and someone’s cum to irreversibly stain the carpet or the couch. With you, such extremes were always a possibility. You were a wild thing, cute but feral around the edges, like a cub in a zoo. You were capable of playing nice but only because it was imposed, and your compliance was the fragile and temporary kind. Jimin had never deluded himself into thinking otherwise.

“I dunno.” You tilted your head, pensive. “Maybe... Something more along the lines of you and me, in my bed, with your head between my thighs?”

The proposal, tempting as it was, didn’t shake him. Jimin had already prepared himself for your worst.

His eyes narrowed as he worked out his next move. He knew that you were the kind of player who had no qualms resorting to underhanded tactics in order to win. The number of times the two of you had played Monopoly told him all he needed to know about your playstyle.

He needed you frustrated and needy. Desperate. All semblance of control gone. Giving in now would be playing right into your hands. The only way forward would be to keep denying you over and over again until you had no choice but to declare defeat.

“Nice try. You heard Tae, let’s go set up the grill before the others arrive.”

“Oh that? No need. I got Namjoon to take care of it.”

“He’s here already?”

“Yeah, he and Yoongi arrived a while ago.” You crossed the kitchen to peer out the glass door. He followed closely behind, all too aware of the distance between them. “Oh. Looks like they’re still at it. Whatever should we do?”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and hopeful. Jimin almost felt bad for denying you when you looked like this, all sugar and no spice. Deep down, he knew that it was just another ruse - that you alternated between coquettish and lovely until you got your way.

Jimin gulped, knowing he was damned either way.

“You’re a menace,” he growled, annoyed with himself for almost falling for it.

If you kept this up, he’d probably end up with your legs spread wide open on the kitchen counter, his mouth on your weeping cunt. Jimin liked to believe he was above the college guys he’d seen tagged in your insta stories all throughout the year - but the truth was far from it. It hadn’t been a full 24 hours since the start of their little game and he already wanted to surrender.

His weakness was you and you exploited it every chance you got. He needed to stop you now, before you made him lose his mind for good. Jimin wracked his brain for any ideas that would work. Rules meant nothing to you and the threat of punishment only seemed to spur you on. No, what you needed was an incentive to be good and play nice.

A smirk crossed his face as he came up with a new action plan. Yeah, he thought smugly. This could work.

Making you putty was children’s play. If he had known it would be this easy to tame you, he would have done this ages ago.

A little touch here, a few filthy whispers there. That was all it took for you to turn to goo. Every time he found a new way to make you gasp or shudder, he knew he was this much closer to victory.

For someone who had been so careful around you for so long, he was proving himself to be just as bad as he’d feared. Had he possessed any actual morals or guilty conscious, his friends’ presence would have made him stop a long time ago. If anything, sneaking around in plain sight only made his pulse accelerate.

He really needed to stop. But every new sound you made was addicting; Jimin wanted to commit each one to memory. He hunted after them, intent on wringing them out of you one by one.

“Ah, Jimin, oh god -” your breath hitched, hands gripping his shirt like it would somehow help tether you to reality.

His fingers stroked your clit, the slide wet and slippery. A few caresses was all it took for you to unravel like a ball of yarn. You gasped and shuddered under him, small gasps of pleasure filtering through your glossy lips.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he admonished with no real heat to his words. His hand snaked up your torso, fingers wrapping around your pretty throat just to feel your pulse jump. No pressure was exerted but the weight of his hand against his skin was enough to make your legs quake. If you had been wet before, you were soaked now.

He smirked, high from the power he had over you.

“I’m not even touching you properly. How are you going to keep quiet when I let you have my cock?”

“I guess you’ll have to m-make me.” Despite the slight quiver in your voice, you stood your ground.

Jimin licked his lips, intrigued. He hadn’t expected you to last this long, in all honesty.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he sighed. “Hm? I know you do it on purpose. Wearing these tight tops and bending over in front of me. You think you’re subtle? You thought you could play me? You’re just a kid. You can’t handle what I give you - look at you.”

You trembled, deeply affected by his words alone. That, coupled with his teasing touches and a few well-placed neck kisses, was enough to make your knees buckle.

Still, despite the overwhelming pleasure inflicted on your body, you refused to back down. Embers blazed in your eyes when you stared back at him. It was as if you were silently challenging him to do his worst. He raised his brow. You wanted to raise the stakes? Fine. But he wasn’t going to go easy on you if you lost.

Thankfully, the perfect opportunity presented itself earlier than expected.

Jungkook had joined the group a few minutes ago and was currently animating the conversation outside while the rest of his friends took care of the food.

Taehyung had texted them in the meantime to inform them he’d be running late. When he’d gone to check out the groceries, he’d realized he’d lost his wallet the night before and had gone back to the beach in panic. By some miracle, a local surfer dude had helped him find it, free of charge, but his absence from the group explained the lack of edible condiments.

“Damn, how old is this thing? It’s like frozen solid.” Yoongi shook the bottle of mustard a couple of times before giving up.

“Hyung, let me help.” Jungkook flexed his biceps in emphasis. “I’ve upped by reps recently and now I’m all muscle.”

“You were already all muscle.”

“Yeah, but now I’m buff-buff. Man, if you could see the snaps I get when I post a workout selfie... Insanity. Here, give it here. A bottle of mustard is nothing. I’ll revive it from the dead,” he boasted as he took the mustard and squeezed the life out of it. “... Oh shit.”

Jimin stared down at his shirt and bit back a sigh.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jungkook winced and hurried to grab some napkins nearby.

“So it wasn’t all solid...” commented Yoongi conversationally, staring at the blob of yellow orange condiment dripping down Jimin’s ironed shirt with interest. “Who would have guessed?”

“In any case, it probably wouldn’t have been safe to eat,” Namjoon observed while squinting to read the expiration date printed on the back of the bottle. “________, maybe you should throw this one out? I’ll text Tae to grab some extra mustard on his way if he’s still at the store.”

“We also forgot the pickles,” added Yoongi.

“Anything else?” Namjoon surveyed the table and scratched the back of his head. “Maybe we should have planned this out before sending him out to the store.”

“It’s all good.” Jimin dabbed at his shirt with a tissue, trying not to enlarge the stain as best he could.

“I can put your shirt in the wash,” you proposed, your tone sticky-sweet. A deceptively helpful smile sat on your lips. “And you can wear one of Tae’s shirts while you wait for it to dry.”

He glanced back down at the mustard spatter.

“Yeah - if it’s not a bother.”

“I’m on laundry duty this week anyway.” You shrugged and took one last bite of your hot dog before you set your plate down. “You coming?”

“That’s what she said,” Jungkook snorted from behind him.

“You really should stop saying that,” Namjoon lectured, but his voice had already been reduced to white background noise. “Remember when you let it slip during your job interview last---”

Jimin tuned his friend out, his attention eclipsed by the way your hips swayed from side to side in front of him. Fuck, okay. Once this dumb game was over he was going to eat your ass out, he promised to himself. Or like. Let you ride his face until you fucking creamed. At this point, he wasn’t too picky about which hole you’d let him fuck first. He’d let you cum as many times as you wanted. No - twice as many times as you wanted. His skills were already top-tier (this claim being fact-checked numerous times by his past hook-ups for anyone asking) but Jimin was ready to surpass his past performances just for you. He’d give it to you so good you wouldn’t remember what fucking year it was.

Sheesh.

Maybe all the earlier teasing had gotten him too worked up for his own good... He shook his head, trying to free his thoughts from the clutches of depravity, but it was useless. As they made their way up the stairs towards the laundry room, Jimin couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter no matter how hard he tried distracting himself. Every time new, wicked ideas popped into his mind unsolicited more and more of his rationality and level-headedness flew out the window.

You closed the laundry door behind them, sending a smirk his way. For a fleeting moment, Jimin expected you to pounce on him right away as would a lion around easy prey - but, surprisingly, you kept your distance. For now, anyway. He knew you better than to think you’d let him off this easily.

The two of you alone? In a room far away from every one else? This opportunity was too perfect to let slip by. If Jimin was a betting man, he’d wager you had orchestrated everything from the beginning.

“Give me a sec,” you hummed, looking too pleased for Jimin’s liking.

While you emptied out the hamper into the washing machine and measured out the laundry detergent, Jimin pulled his shirt up over his head and dropped it in with the rest of the dirty clothes. He paused, feeling the heat of your gaze scorch his skin like wildfire.

Your eyes slowly trailed up his torso, drinking in his figure with a degree of intensity that he wasn’t used too. Sure, he’d been shirtless around you more times than he could count, but this was the first time he felt genuine interest behind your stare. Even after he’d glowed-up post-puberty, you had remained unmoved and unimpressed, always there to remind him he’d forever be Taehyung’s weird sidekick who ate grass when he was a kid. Not damaging to his ego in the least, really.

Under your scrutinizing gaze, he resisted the urge to flex his stomach muscles, suddenly self-conscious. He felt like a born-again virgin, unsure and nervous and awkward.

“I think I get it now...” You teased, hesitantly reaching out to touch his chest. The pads of your fingertips ran down the lines of his abs, curious in their exploration. “My friends always talked about you - how crazy I was for not jumping on the opportunity to sleep with you.”

“What changed your mind?”

You quieted for a moment, mulling it over. “I’m not sure how it happened but - I don’t think it matters. Not anymore. Not when I know I want you more than anyone I’ve ever wanted.”

The grin on your face widened as you stalked closer. It was as if you could smell the weakness off of him, like a predator out for blood. He eyed you warily but didn’t push you away - his first mistake.

When Jimin breathed in, the familiar notes of fresh citrus and amber that clung to your skin intensified, making it hard to think straight. Something in his chest stirred but he couldn’t place it.

"Such a shame for your shirt, though,” you pouted, slinking your arms around his neck. “I kind of liked it.”

“Kind of?”

“I like this look better, though.” You giggled, glancing down at his abs in appreciation.

When Jimin kissed you, tongue sliding against your own, it was wet and messy. There was nothing refined about the embrace; lips bumped into each other with no finesse and nails scratched at exposed skin. Both of you were here to prove a point and neither were willing to back down.

He nipped your bottom lip and swallowed your groan of pleasure, too aroused to pace himself. Unlike the previous night, Jimin knew time was of the essence. The two of you could only disappear for so long before people started asking questions. They had maybe fifteen minutes on hand - twenty, at the most.

Jimin was on a time crunch. As much as he’d love to take his time savoring you and making you fall apart layer by layer, he was currently a man on a mission. He needed you to submit and declare forfeit so that you could both just end this madness once and for all.

“Ah,” you moaned as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his lips searching for your weak spot. “J-Jimin, you’ll leave a mark...”

“So? Isn’t that you want?” He paused, his breath fanning the hollow of your throat. “People will see what a good girl you’ve been for me.”

Shivers ran down your back and you trembled.

“So good,” he continued between kisses, his tone mellow and hypnotic. “You’re fucking perfect.”

“Jimin.” You tugged insistently at his hair before finally he let up, meeting your glare. “You got me all wet. Take responsibility.”

He hummed, pensive. Deciding to toy with the idea, he taunted, “do you deserve it, though?”

Your eyes lit up with sudden interest. “Let me prove it to you, then.”

Jimin stayed quiet, enjoying the way you squirmed in his hold. There. He could feel you reach your boiling point, all you needed now was a little -

“I want to suck your cock,” you reiterated, glancing up to see how he’d react. “Let me show you how good I can take you in my throat. Come on.”

The last words ended on an audible whine.

Jimin grinned, instinctively knowing he had you right where he wanted you. Desperate. Horny. Willing to give him everything.

“On your knees, then. Show me why you deserve it.”

In mere seconds, you sank down to your knees and looked up at him with a glint in your eyes. Hesitantly, you reached out to pull down his swim trunks, like you’re worried he’ll reprimand you for doing something unprompted.

Jimin remained quiet, trying to steady his breathing even though it felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. He’d dreamt of this for so long, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

The first skin to skin contact with his dick made him shudder like a schoolboy getting head for the first time. Jimin never knew his dick could be this sensitive but he swore he felt every damn thing that you were doing right now - from the way your breath tickled the head of his cock, to how your tongue tentatively licked out to taste his skin. He felt all these minute movements like zaps of electricity running through his body.

What the hell had you done to him?

He looked down and cursed, overwhelmed by the vision at his feet.

At once, he was struck by the difference between a photo and reality. No picture could properly encapsulate the sight displayed in front on him, he concluded. There was no denying your sensuous beauty and appeal on screen but the vibrant energy you emitted in real life got lost in translation.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he couldn’t help but exclaim, his fingertips tracing the curvature of your jaw in reverence.

You pulled back from his cock with a roll of your eyes. “It took a dick in my mouth for you to realize that, huh?”

“You’re always pretty,” he amended, even though he knew you were only jesting. You enjoyed the praise, he observed, making a note to do it more often.

Your lips stretched into a smile before taking him back into your mouth. You kept eye contact as you took him deeper. By now, his cock had been coaxed to full hardness and he could feel it pulsing on your tongue.

He groaned, getting lost in the feel of your wet, hot mouth. It was better than any fantasy by far. Your lips, plump from all the kissing, sucked on his length expertly. He appreciated the way you went slowly, letting him feel every hum and every roll of your tongue. His cock was so sensitive at the moment, he’d probably actually find it painful if you had decided to deepthroat him from the get-go.

Jimin laughed, sounding incredulous. He pushed your hair back from your forehead, stroking your head. “Look at you. Doing so good, I don’t even have to teach you anything.”

You hummed out a reply, the vibrations going down to his toes.

“You like my cock? Yeah?”

You moaned openly, going deeper, as if to prove your sincerity. It killed him, the way you sounded so fucking greedy, even though you had a mouthful of cock and spit drooling down the sides of your mouth.

“You like that? All our friends will take one look at you and know what a cute little slut you are. How fuckin’ thirsty you are for my cum.”

“Please,” you gasped, pulling off his cock to plead at him. Your hands gripped him by the base as you guided the head of his cock over the seam of your lips. “I want your cum. Shit, give it to me.”

Jimin reached down to wipe at the drool by your mouth, the gesture at odds with the filth tumbling from his lips.

“Want me to fuck your mouth, pretty girl?”

You shook your head and shimmied out of your chemise. Jimin’s gaze flickered down, drawn to the way your breasts looked from this angle - full and plush. Fuck. You really knew all of his weaknesses, huh?

“I know you’ve been dreaming about this.” You smirked, undoing the knot of your bikini. He watched, transfixed, as the slinky material came loose and revealed the tits he’d fantasized about for months.

Jimin gulped, frozen.

“Cum on my tits, Jimin.” You bat your eyelashes at him as if he needed you to sweeten the deal. “Make me yours.”

This had to be a dream... There was no way in hell this was real life. Jimin stood in a trance, unable to look away from the tantalizing sight of your breasts.

They were fucking perfect. He’d never seen a pair like that before, even in porn or on underwear models. He wanted to sink his teeth into them, fuck them with his cock, see them bounce as you rode him to completion. He wanted and wanted and wanted.

The sound of your pleased giggles broke him out of his reverie. Your lips tugged into a smirk and you guided the tip of his cock over your nipples before burying his length in your juicy cleavage.

“Holy fuck,” he cursed, still refusing to believe any of this was real.

“It’s okay - you can fuck them. Here - let me help.”

You spit onto your breasts, letting the saliva trickle down your cleavage. Jimin could feel it run down his cock and he shuddered again, his hips pressing forward.

“That’s it,” you egged on, your eyes hooded with desire. “Fuck my tits.”

You rubbed your breasts together, spiting a few more times into the line of your cleavage to make the slide smoother. Jimin groaned in pleasure each time you squeezed your breasts together, the sensation of your warm and soft skin against his shaft incredible. Jimin’s hips twitched and after a few hesitant thrusts, he began to roll his hips, his cock almost entirely engulfed by your tits.

As he got used to the feeling, Jimin felt himself gradually snap out of his earlier stupor.

The next time he blinked, his hands were wound up in your hair, and he used that as leverage to tilt your head back. From this angle, he could see the dark of your pupils and the way the bottom of your mouth was covered in slick.

“Messy baby. You do this for a lot of guys?” he asked, eyes dark. “Let them use your tits like your pussy?”

“N- no, only you...” You whined, meeting his gaze head-on. “I only want you to cum on me.”

“Yeah?” At this point, Jimin didn’t care if you were playing him. The words were exactly what he wanted to hear. “You want me to mark you up that bad, huh? Want to walk back out with my cum splattered all over your tits. Show all the guys you belong to me.”

“Yes! Please Jimin, give me your cum.” You rubbed your breasts together faster, making the flesh jiggle enticingly. His gaze flickered down, mesmerized by the sight of your tits hugging his cock. When he looked back up to your face, he swore you’d just smirked. “Fuck yeah. Give me more.”

He thrust his hips harder, feeling his balls clench up. Shit, shit, shit. He hadn’t lasted as long as he usually did but honestly, he didn’t have it in him to give a fuck.

“Show me your tits. Yeah, just like that.” He pulled away, his hand jacking off his length, and stared.

You, knelt between his legs, holding up your slick-soaked tits for him like an offering to a god.

“Please, I’ve been so good,” you pleaded again, squeezing your cleavage together.

“Yeah, shit. Could fuck you like that all day.” His hand sped up his length. He could feel it throb, aching for release. “Good girl, did so well. Gonna take it all for me, baby. Oh fuck--”

He clenched his eyes shut as the first ropes of cum exploded all over your chest. The force of his orgasm was enough to make his knees buckle.

“Holy shit.”

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was you, still kneeling at his feet, covered in white. Cum splattered your chests and a few streaks had also hit your cheek. He worried it might’ve been unpleasant for you, remembering he hadn’t warned you before shooting off.

“Sorry about -” His voice died down as he watched you run your fingers through the mess. What.

You licked the cum off your fingers, smiling wide. “So - does this mean I win the game?”

Fucking hell.

Jimin ran his fingers through his hair in a bid to make himself more presentable. Once, twice - before giving up. The hair wasn’t the problem. Sure, it was messier than it had been before you sucked his brain out of his dick, but it looked passable. Nothing too noteworthy to be suspicious about.

Still - as he continued to observe his face in the mirror, he could tell something was off.

“C’mon, you look fine.” Next to him, you groaned as you inspected your reflection in the mirror. “I, on the otherhand, look like I’ve been spitroasted at a fiji frat party.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You came so much!” you protested. “Like a gallon’s worth of semen gone to waste.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hear any complaints when you ate up my cum.”

You shot him a glare, unable to think of a witty comeback.

“Whatever,” you huffed. “I still won your stupid bet.”

“That you did.”

“You - don’t sound so smug! You’re impossible. The game was unfair to begin with, anyway. If I win, you’ll fuck me? Wow. I can’t think of a worse punishment for you.” Sarcasm dripped from your words in buckets.

“You can punish me whichever way you see fit.”

Your eyes narrowed, full of suspicion. “I can?”

“Winners make the rules, right?”

Jimin watched your pout morph into a sly smirk. Whatever nefarious plan you were currently concocting made him equally parts terrified and excited.

“You better not regret your words, Park Jimin,” you threatened. “Ok. I think we’ve spent too much time out here already. Can you go down now? I’ll be with you in a sec - I need to change. There’s no way they won’t notice the stains... Or the smell.”

“Sure.” He leaned in to press his lips against yours, sweet and fleeting. “Take your time. I’ll keep them occupied.”

He pulled back, knowing he had to leave now before he got caught up in your web again. If it was up to him, he’d stay holed up with you in your room all day.

Jimin sighed as you pushed him out the door. “Go! My pussy will still be yours later.”

Yeah, so he’d lost. A game he had initiated.

And he wasn’t even mad about it. Admittedly, his pride was a bit bruised. All that big talk about being different from the average guy - and for what?

Jimin would probably be more embarrassed by the turn of events if the loss hadn’t been so damn worth it.

“Oh, Jimin!” Yoongi looked up and wiped his brow. “Can you take over for me? I need a break.”

“No problem,” he replied easily, feeling a little guilty he’d left his friend do all the work since he got there. “Go rest, hyung.”

He took the spatula from Yoongi’s outstretched hand.

“I’ll leave it to you, then.” Yoongi patted his shoulder. “I don’t trust Namjoon around fires and Jungkook can’t cook anything other than instant ramen.”

“Hey! I heard that.” Namjoon’s voice carried over.

“Well, it’s true.”

“Yeah that’s why I’m not mad about it.”

The two left Jimin alone after a few moments of idle chatter, deciding they wanted to take a swim to cool down. Jimin wished he could join them; the sun was beating down hard and that, coupled with the heat wafting from the grill, made sweat trickle down the sides of his face.

“You don’t want to join?”

“Not now, no.” Jungkook shook his head before shifting his attention on Jimin.

“Suit yourself.” Namjoon shrugged and left the two of them alone.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Jungkook rounded on Jimin, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Hyung.”

Jimin grunted in acknowledgment.

Jungkook circled in, like a shark to blood.

“Hyung—”

Jimin sighed, exasperated. “They’re not done yet. You can have one in five minu—”

“How long have you been fucking Tae’s sister?”

“Huh?” Jimin froze in the process of flipping a patty over. He tried to play it off but even he knew his performance had convinced no one.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, clearly not buying it. “The eye fucking you two have going on is not exactly subtle. Did you reallyyy think no one would notice? Especially me?”

Jimin frowned, refusing to accept that Jungkook’s fuckboy disposition had gifted him a sixth sense able to sniff out every horny person within a one mile radius. Still, a nervous tingle ran down his spine. He shot the rest of his friends a cursory glance, intent of making sure they were all well out of earshot.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Next to him, Jungkook hummed, deep in thought. “Oh! Was it since Jackson’s party last year? I knew it!” He bounced on the soles of his feet, excited by his discovery. “Damn, I didn’t take you for the type to have sex in public, hyung. You always struck me as a missionary only, lights off kind of guy.”

Jimin gave him a look, silently willing his friend to shut the fuck up.

“Wow. Wow...” Jungkook trailed off, unbothered and visibly immune to death stares. “It all makes sense now! When you roughed me up last year for messing around with her I thought it was just you being overly protective. But---”

“Jungkook,” he grit out between clenched teeth, his patience running thin. “For the last time would you---”

“Don’t worry!” A grin lit up his face and he waggled his brows. Choosing to completely ignore Jimin’s poisonous glare, Jungkook slapped his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I can keep secrets. I won’t tell Tae hyung!”

“Tell Tae hyung what now?”

masterlist

author’s notes | it’s been so long since i wrote anything so pls be kind bc the long ass break made me forget how to english (╥_╥) on the bright side, only one chapter left until it’s over. the end is finally in sight !!!! ♡ thank u for reading

#my birthday gift to u ! enjoy #it s not halloween anymore but this fic is back from the dead #bts fic #jimin x reader #bts smut #jimin fanfic #jimin #jimin smut #btw need to go back and edit the smut scene bc it is not edited

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zoe-oneesama · 3 years

Note

I'm interested in the Lila exposed au about your akumasona. What's that?

For those who don’t know my OC (self insert) akumasona Zoe Rapporte (The Enchanted Florist), but her family owns a flower shop that is pretty successful - think “This florist does the arrangements at the Grand Paris and for High Profile Events” - so she’s mildly acquainted with Adrien from some of those events. Maybe not friends, but like when you frequent a coffee shop so much that you learn all the staff’s name and they all remember you.

So Lila is not above dropping lots of money to sell her lies (hello Gabriel Collection Fox Necklace) and one of her lies to her mother is that Adrien is her boyfriend. And what boyfriend doesn’t send his lovely girlfriend flowers, especially one as well off as Adrien Agreste? And really, as long as his name is on the card when her mother accepts them at the door, that’s all that matters, right?

So Zoe takes note that once a week this prissy girl with a bizarre hairstyle comes in to place a rather pricey bouquet order under Adrien’s name and has it delivered to the same address that’s on the credit card bill - doesn’t take a genius to figure out this delusional weirdo is pretending a celebrity is sending her flowers weekly. It’s a little strange because Zoe could’ve sworn she saw on TV that this chick had done photo shoots with Adrien before and based on his Instagram she was his classmate, so it’s kinda concerning that she’s going this far to burrow her way into his life. Still, she’s dropping quite a bit of coin and it’s really none of Zoe’s business, yeah?

But then imagine there’s a class event - maybe a dance, maybe a teacher’s appreciation week, maybe an alumni reunion - that needs our favorite class representative and her deputy to order a large amount of flowers. And Adrien, ever desperate to do his part, takes it upon himself to help with the budget. And maybe Nino decides to come for no particular reason lol.

So the four walk into the Rapporte Flower Shop and Adrien is so excited to introduce his friends to one of the familiar faces from his VIP world. And he’s just so exuberant as he brags about his friends and is so wholesome and different from the put together boy Zoe would briefly meet at those stuffy events that this surge of sisterly affection makes her completely forget her usual “none of my business” attitude. She’s got to let him know what it going on behind his back, especially if there’s a chance that he has no idea what kind of girl “Mlle. Rossi at the fifth story walk up” was.

And who knows? Maybe this was a misunderstanding, a weird arrangement Adrien had with his secret girlfriend to make sure she gets exactly the type of bouquet she wants? Zoe recons she’s had stranger requests. Welp, no better way to clear the air than to just ask.

“Hey Adrien, you know there’s this weird girl that comes in once a week and has flowers delivered to herself under your name?”

Adrien paused in his rant about Nino’s music mixing skills (having already left Alya puffing her chest in pride and Marinette a red puddle of embarrassed goo) to stare blankly at Zoe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh yeah.” Zoe leaned into her palm, looking way too relaxed considering what she’d just dropped on him. “For, like, the two months at least. Always has us address her card ‘Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder, Ma Belle, from Your Loving Boyfriend Adrien Agreste’.”

“What the heck?!” Alya exclaimed from beside Nino who’s jaw was dropped in disbelief. “That’s crazy messed up. Adrien doesn’t even have a girlfriend, what does this psycho think she’s doing?!”

“Right? I don’t know who she thinks she fooling. What kind of boyfriend needs to sign his full name?”

“It is pretty weird.” Adrien said, rubbing his neck in discomfort. “But it’s not the strangest thing a fan has done. It’s not that big a deal, right?”

“Dude.” Nino started, staring at his best friend in mild horror. “Just because you don’t know this girl doesn’t make it ‘no big deal’.”

“Oh no.” Zoe pipes up again. “He knows her.”

“What?!” All of Adrien’s friend’s exclaimed. Even Adrien looked a bit shook by her admission.

Alya zipped over to the counter, leaning dangerously close to Zoe’s remarkably unfazed face. “What do you mean ‘he knows her’?! How do you know that?! This sounds like a creepy fangirl but you’re telling me she’s actually in Adrien’s life?!”

“I should say so. I mean, it was even on TV that she was modeling with Adrien and she’s made a few appearances on his instagram.” Zoe brought out her phone, casually thumbing open Instagram. “I would’ve just ignored it, but if she’s going around pretending she’s dating Adrien then he has the right to know.”

“Modeling with....and you said on his instagram...?”

“Are...” Marinette piped up, voice dripping with trepidation. “Are you talking about Lila?”

“Marinette,” Alya gave her friend a withering look. “Just because you don’t like her doesn’t mean you can just accuse her of-”

Zoe cut her off, flashing her phone screen at the group to present a photo, having found the image she was looking for: a brunette with a straight fringe and her forelocks in twin tails leaning possessively over an uncomfortably smiling Adrien.

“Yes, Mlle. Rossi! I’d recognize that crazy hairstyle anywhere.” She turned the phone back to look at it herself. “Pft, Adrien, what’s with this caption? ‘Lila insisted I take post this picture?’ Yikes, man, learn to say no.”

Alya waved her hands in front of her, eyes scrunched closed in disbelief. “Hold up, hold up, hold up. You have GOT to be getting this twisted. Lila wouldn’t do something that like this, that’s just...wrong!”

“I mean, this is definitely the girl I was talking about.” Zoe said slowly, raising one eyebrow at Alya’s response. “And Rossi is the name on the bill. What exactly am I ‘getting twisted?’“

“Because!..Because Lila just wouldn’t!”

“Yeah!” Nino shouted from behind her, shaking himself out of the stupor this whole situation left him in. “She said she wasn’t into Adrien like that!”

Zoe snorted. “And you believed her?”

“W-well yeah, why would she lie about that...?”

“You guys are so cute. And definitely need to watch more True Crime shows.”

“What-?”

“Sorry Adrien.” Zoe lofted over Alya’s shoulder, cutting off another defensive quip. “I know she was your friend. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Ah, no, she’s not really- I mean, I’m not that surprised to be honest.” Adrien offered weakly.

“It sounds right up her alley.” Marinette growled, fingers digging into her crossed arms.

“What...” Nino and Alya turned to their friends, confused and anxious. “What are you talking about? This..this is Lila we’re talking about!”

“The same Lila who got Marinette expelled?” Adrien stated, face grim and tired.

“That was rescinded, it wasn’t her fault-”

“The same Lila who sent everyone in Adrien’s contact list picture of her kissing Adrien?” Marinette ground out, aggravated.

“I mean, that was weird, but I’m sure she didn’t mean-”

“The same Lila who got my bodyguard and Natalie in trouble with my dad?”

“Or maybe the same Lila who stole Adrien’s dad’s book and threw it in the trash?”

“She did WHAT-?!”

“I-I fished it out for you!”

“Wait is that how you knew about Lila-”

“Wow.” Zoe whistled, again cutting the group off. “What a class act. Sounds like a great friend you got there, Adrien.”

“Oh trust me.” Adrien growled, eyes never leaving Marinette who steadfastedly refused to look at him. “After this we’re NOT friends.”

Alya held her head with one hand, staring at the ground. “Wait, wait, this...this can’t be right, Lila isn’t...she wouldn’t do this, she wouldn’t, she’s...cool! And nice! And-! She just can’t!”

Zoe cocked her head toward’s Alya, leveling her with a patient stare. “Well, then what is she doing?” Alya looked up blankly at her, prompting her further. “The truth of the matter is that Lila Rossi comes in once a week, and has been for at least two months, buying flowers to be delivered to her own address (which I know because it matches up to the address on the card with her last name on it), but dictates that the card say it was sent by Adrien. If she’s not faking that Adrien is sending her flowers, what is she doing?”

“I...I don’t...” Alya floundered. They were just supposed to order some flowers, how did the day turn like this?!

“You’re an investigative reporter, right? What’s that old Sherlock Holmes saying? ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth’?”

Alya leaned into Nino, staring out at the shop, searching for something to make some sense. She thought Lila was nice, was her friend, was everyone’s friend! But this stunt with Adrien...what does it even mean...?

Everyone looked towards the employee door as footsteps could be heard approaching. A moment later Tama, Zoe’s younger sister, stepped into the shop, pausing at the door when she realized five pairs of eyes were staring at her. She looked over the customers, taking in Marinette’s slight glower, Adrien’s tight jaw, and Nino and Alya’s devastated posture.

“Soooo, are you here to buy some bouquets?”

#lol I didn't know how to finish this off though #I always imagined it as a 'wake up call' fic rather than a 'and then everyone told lila how awful she is'#could use some refinement #lila salt #zoe rapporte #my oc #my fic #ml salt fic #akumasona #miracusona #a-bitchtm

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typical-simplelove · 2 years

Note

Thank u so much for the long weekend writing😊 I love you writing. I have a request. For Matthew Tkachuk and his best friend. Who he’s secretly in love with. She gets in a car accident on way to his game, seriously hurt but not fatal. Or she had to have an emergency appendix surgery.

#8 fluff- I’d do anything for you.”

#46 fluff- “You’re hurt. Please just let heal it.”

#49 fluff- “You’re the only thing that matters.”

#38 General - “Don’t let go.”

Thank u so much. Happy Writing❤️

Requests currently aren't open; I'm just getting to the ones sitting in my inbox (all the way from Labor Day, yikes!)

Warnings: pain, car accidents, surgery implications to death

A murmur spread across the Saddledome as the fans watched Matthew Tkachuk get ushered off the ice. He wasn't injured or hurt, it seemed. From what a few onlookers could tell, a trainer gestured for Matthew to skate over to the bench. The trainer passed on a message, and Matthew proceeded to step off the ice and down the tunnel. For many of the C of Red, they waited all season for when the Battle of Alberta came to town to watch Matthew Tkachuk beat the shit out of Edmonton, so when they saw Matthew step off the ice without help, they were worried but disappointed.

"They're awake, right?" Matthew asks, worried, as he quickly changes out of his hockey gear.

"Yes but going into surgery soon," the trainer answers. "I'll drive you."

"Surgery? Isn't really bad?" Matthew's worried. This wasn't supposed to happen. Your car wasn't supposed to get hit, and you were supposed to be safe at the arena ready to watch the game with your friends.

"It's superficial injuries, but the doctors need to extract some glass shards from their body. From what I heard, everything should go well. You can be there when they wake."

Within minutes, Matthew and the trainer are en route to the hospital. Matthew's leg is bouncing up and down as he thinks of all the worst-case scenarios. What if it wasn't just superficial injuries? What if something got cut or torn and it meant a bigger surgery? What if you made a turn for the worst while in surgery?

Once the pair got to the hospital, they were told to sit in the waiting area and to wait until you'd be out of surgery. It was only going to be a short while longer, so Matthew told the trainer he could head back to the game. The train bid Matthew adieu and promised someone would drive his car over to the hospital.

For that half-hour where you were in surgery felt like the longest half hour of Matthew's life. He let his mind go to a world where you weren't there. He let his mind wander to the worst-case scenarios and he hated that he was having those thoughts. Thankfully, though, a nurse comes and says that you're out of surgery, and he's allowed to see you. Matthew rushes to the room you're staying in and gasps at the sight of you. He knows you're on pain meds, but you look like you're in a lot of pain. He can't imagine that you're all that comfortable.

"They should wake in a bit once the anesthesia wears off," the doctor states before leaving as Matthew sits in the chair next to the bed. He takes your hand in his and waits. He sits there and waits. His phone is sitting in his back pocket. He's not listening or watching the game. He's sitting there and waiting for you because he knows that you'll wake. You have to wake because you had so much more life to live both with and without Matthew.

"Hey, you came," you say with a rasp in your voice as you open your eyes and let your eyes settle on Matthew's.

His eyes whip to yours and he smiles. "Of course, you're the only thing that matters."

"Yeah, but you had a game, so-"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Matthew interrupts. "You always have been and always will be more important than hockey. None of it matters if the person I love can't be there by my side. You know I'd do anything for you."

"I'm so glad that you're the first face I saw when I woke," you and try to shift in the bed. When you do, though, you wince as a jolt of pain echos through your body.

"Hey, careful now. You're hurt. Please just let it heal."

You nod and let yourself settle into the hospital bed. Matthew tells you that he's going to get the nurse or doctor to check on you. When he starts to get up, his hand leaves yours. You immediately grasp it. "Don't let go, please."

"Hey, hey, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."

"You promise?"

"It's going to take more than getting into a car accident to get rid of me," Matthew reassures. With that, you knew that Matthew was the one. You weren't going to spend another day without him, and that was the best news you've heard all day. "You're stuck with me."

#matthew tkacuhk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk imagines #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk x reader #claudia writes #hockey #op: 2022

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Text

Stares

Horrortober Day 5: Disturbance “Nothing can interrupt us now.”

I will admit I wrote this one way too late into the night. I should go to sleep yikes :’D Enjoy!

Warnings: Yandere, Body Horror, Kidnapping, Molestation, Harrassment, Sexual Innuendos/Actions Characters: Sukuna x Reader

It was rare to see the King of Curses calm and even a little approachable.

Not that you liked seeing him at all, but you preferred it this way than any other. Ever so often, he peeked out of Itadori Yuji’s face, taunting you, belittling his host. However, you were just glad to get through with your work that day, teaching the boy the necessary theory he had to learn. You’d be gone before you had to deal with the host or the curse inside of him, just like every day. Routine, that’s what Nanami called it. Routine would benefit all of you, but you still hadn’t come around to like what you were forced to do.

Morally, it was wrong to call the boy a curse. He ate something cursed, and now he was beyond screwed, but still… Whenever you saw him, pure survival instinct ran through your veins. You wanted to defeat him, end this miserable life, but you weren’t allowed. Sorcerers weren’t supposed to teach curses, just kill. But you were torn between your orders and duty, looking at what was sitting in front of you.

Asking other sorcerers for their opinion on the matter, and you were faced with the same responses. The same struggle and conflict you were facing, except, maybe, Gojo, who seemed to be unbothered by what he dragged into your holy halls. However, the most unnerving thing that came up in conversation was how often Sukuna showed himself in your class… but not in the others. Given, they did see the casual third or fourth eye, or one mouth too many. Still, even if the others were unnerved, they chose to ignore, while you were the only one to actually have spoken to the king—though it was no honor.

“Brat, the teacher’s staring.” Instantly, Yuji’s attention shifted to the extra mouth on his cheek and then to you, expecting you to say something. You quickly caught your composure, not having realized you’ve been staring - probably in disgust - at him, almost feeling bad. Clearing your throat, you picked up your book again, shaking your head in denial before continuing to monotonously read the text inside of it out loud. Sorcerer history hadn’t been your favorite subject either, but you were stuck with it, unfortunately. Yuji was diligent enough, but even while you read, you couldn’t get your mind off the threat in front of you.

Especially not when long, clawed fingers gripped your book by the spine, lowering it with surprising force.

“No, you’ve been staring. There’s no denying it, Sorcerer, spit it out,” Sukuna grinned at you cheekily, having temporarily taken over your real student.

“I was trying not to vomit looking at you,” you snarled back, slapping his hand away that he retracted in fake hurt. “Bad liar,” he called you before the marks suddenly faded, Yuji going back to being himself.

“Ah, sorry about that,” he muttered apologetically like so many times before. And you sighed, assuring him it wasn’t his fault.

»»————————

It wasn’t his fault either when Sukuna cornered you in one of the hallways around the school. Being cornered by strong two arms did not give you the butterflies that all these novels always tried to sell. Granted, you flinched pretty hard, but once you were face to face with him, your anger far outweighed your fear. He was scary, no question asked. Sukuna could destroy you with a flick of his finger. But somehow, naively so, you didn’t believe he would. Something about ‘he could have, but he hasn’t’ made you bold apparently. Stupidly so.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you hissed, and he rolled his eyes. Yuji’s body looked stupidly wasted on him, the boy being such a ray of sunshine in contrast to his evil counterpart. Sukuna didn’t become him. His attitude didn’t.

“You’ve been staring at me,” he repeated. Why was the topic so important to him?

“So what? What is it to you?” you returned snidely. Lips curling into a grin, you felt like you had actually humored him. Not the direction you wanted to go with the King. “Well, I wanted a good look at you…” he mumbled, his eyes driving from the shirt on your collarbones to the shoes you were wearing slowly, noticeably, and… lusty.

“...too,” he finished his sentence before licking his lips.

“Disgusting,” you whispered dryly, staring at him perturbed, and Sukuna chuckled at your obvious rejection.

“Well, I have what I wanted.”

Before you could repeat, he disappeared, leaving behind a slumping student of yours, and you cursed the King of Curses quietly, dropping everything to had in your arms to support Yuji. “Asshole,” you mumbled, and for a brief moment, you thought you heard him chuckle again, but you couldn’t be sure.

»»————————

It was him. He was planning something all along, and you knew it.

But no one could see it since this plan almost exclusively involved you.

“Shrivel and die,” you told him through gritted teeth, pushing at his chest as hard as you could. Sukuna was undeterred, pressing you against the old chalkboard and nibbling on your earlobe. Why did no one believe you when you swore up and down that he wasn’t just a quiet bystander? That he indeed was trying to do something—or someone?

“I do love a filthy mouth,” he sighed, making you want to throw up just from the implications alone. Even with your elbow between you, there was no movement. The other sorcerers had told you about Yuji’s strength, but you didn’t think you couldn’t handle it. Apparently, however, you couldn’t, and it was infuriating. While Sukuna was doing as he pleased, you decided on a different approach, opening your mouth to scream.

Finally, it caused some reaction in him, his head recoiling at the jarring sound, but before long, your lips were captured with his, a fight breaking out between your mouths. He was trying to silence you efficiently with his tongue in your throat, the mere thought of kissing a student repulsing you, and you were biting at his lips which didn’t seem to bother Sukuna at all.

“Someone will come,” you reminded him fiercely as he broke away to give you some air.

“Silly,” he only commented before kissing you again. You were hammering at his chest, trying to make your disapproval evident, but it was to no avail. Sukuna wouldn’t budge. Only when he, mercifully, allowed another breath, you screamed again, using your palms to defend from his face closing in to shut you up. The weight of his body was pressing you into the wall painfully, but realizing your powers simply wouldn’t show no matter how hard you tried was even worse. Did he have some kind of ability that stole your energy from you? Was it fear that blocked you from using it? Were you afraid?

You were.

It was indeed silly, even if it was painful to agree with Sukuna. You never feared for your life, taking every day and mission as it came. But you were scared now because of the monster in front of you. You had been right: you should have killed him when you could. Stupid! Absolutely stupid to keep around!

Even you understood that it wasn’t death you feared. You feared Sukuna’s presence and the effects it had on you. How defenseless you were suddenly and how, even though he always disappeared in the end after annoying you, he just didn’t seem to let go of you now.

“Scream some more,” he taunted, and you weren’t going to object. Immediately, you put up the fight again, feeling your lungs clench when you robbed them of all the air to get some help. But nothing happened. “I like it when they struggle,” Sukuna laughed, crazy, madly, victoriously. As if he won a war you didn’t know about.

“Come, open your eyes! Look where you are!” he encouraged you, grinning from ear to ear. Confused, you looked around, seeing the same old classroom that you always had when teaching Yuji. The sight slowly began to shift, fog collecting at your feet and the walls moving unnaturally under your gaze. You’ve been scared before, but it was nothing compared to what you felt as everything shifted.

You hadn’t realized it.

Not for one moment did you know he activated his domain, something no one had been able to explore until now. It was different from what you expected, much more vast and deadly. But you also saw the remainders of the classroom, and you wondered how much of it was taking up the actual reality. Horrified, you looked around, now knowing your screams wouldn’t echo for no one but you two here. You always thought you were a decent sorcerer but maybe… maybe you were nothing at all. At least not in the eyes of Sukuna.

“Finally,” Sukuna sighed, satisfied and seemingly exhausted by effort you didn’t know he was making. “Nothing can interrupt us now. I just needed you to lower your guard.”

“You…” Your mumble was met with deafening silence. Not even Sukuna’s breathing made a sound in this space, and you immediately felt claustrophobic in the pitch black that encased the realm. His realm.

“I was nice. I waited. Those… manga said it was proper in these times, though, I don’t care for them. But you kept staring at me as if you were trying to kill me. Do you know how hard it was to wait? A king shouldn’t have to wait-no. I shouldn’t have to wait for you when you are coming on to me.”

Blinking a few times, you looked back at him. Perhaps, for the first time, you were truly meeting his gaze, always finding a reason to not look at him directly before. But not anymore. Now you were indeed looking at him, not remembering those times he said you stared when this was the first and only time you really saw him. “It’s been too long that I had company. How nice of you to offer yourself up to me~”

“I never did-” you tried to argue, but you were swept into another kiss, flailing in his arms as you feared falling. Endlessly. You could no longer discern where the realm started and ended. “You’re mine now,” he growled, unhinged.

“I will devour you, Looker. It’s punishment for not welcoming me sooner. There’s a lot to make up for.”

You’ve never seen Sukuna calm before. Because if what you had witnessed was what you called calm, it had been because he was waiting for the right moment. The right moment to pounce, and to your misery, it was now. Stares could kill, people said. It was true, you found out, as you killed yourself with it by making the King of Curses recognize you. Though, you wished you were dead.

You merely killed your freedom with your actions, as there was no way Sukuna would let you have that ever again after you piqued his interest unwillingly.

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inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit

characters: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay

words: 11k

synopsis:

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.

“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”

The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.

Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.

You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.

You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.

“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.

Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.

The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.

Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.

Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.

You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.

But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.

Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.

“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”

“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.

You suppose he has a point.

The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.

Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.

Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.

They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.

Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.

✰ ✰ ✰

Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.

Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.

“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.

Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.

But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.

His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”

A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.

✰ ✰ ✰

Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.

“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.

It’s a mirror.

A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.

Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.

He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.

He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.

No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.

But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.

Don’t fucking start.

So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.

✰ ✰ ✰

He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.

Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.

He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.

Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.

You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.

The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.

Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.

You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.

You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.

“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”

You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.

“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”

“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.

Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.

You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?

And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.

Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.

“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.

“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.

“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.

He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.

He shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.

Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.

Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.

Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.

Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.

Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.

“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”

You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.

Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.

He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.

It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.

“Does that include Natsuo?”

Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.

“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.

✰ ✰ ✰

Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.

And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.

“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.

You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”

A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.

“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.

“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”

“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.

A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.

But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.

The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.

The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.

You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.

“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.

“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.

“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”

Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.

A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.

“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.

“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”

“No,”

“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”

Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.

“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.

“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”

You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.

And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.

The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.

His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.

Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.

He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?

Yes, niichan, of course you do.

His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.

It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.

And then doesn’t fucking move.

Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.

“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”

“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.

“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.

“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”

And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!

Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.

“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”

And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.

You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.

He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.

Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.

“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”

Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.

“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”

“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”

“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”

His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.

“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.

He needs more.

You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.

“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.

“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.

He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?

“M-My panties, niichan,”

Oh.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.

“What about them?”

“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”

“Oh, and why not?”

You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?

“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.

People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.

He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.

A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”

“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,”

“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.

“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.

It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.

“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”

And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.

Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.

You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.

Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.

“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.

He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.

“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”

You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.

“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.

Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.

“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”

Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.

Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.

Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”

And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.

Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.

Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.

“You have no idea,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.

It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.

Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.

You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.

You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.

You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”

And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.

It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.

✰ ✰ ✰

A party.

Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.

“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.

Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.

But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.

As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.

Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.

You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.

“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.

He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.

And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.

You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.

Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.

And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.

Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.

But it doesn’t happen.

Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.

“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”

Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.

“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.

And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.

“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.

Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”

You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.

“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”

You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”

No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.

“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”

But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?

Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?

You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.

Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.

“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.

“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”

You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.

Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.

“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.

Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”

Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.

“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”

His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.

“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.

“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”

You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.

But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”

They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.

That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.

Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.

“That’s what this is about?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being silly, princess,”

It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.

“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.

His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”

Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”

You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.

He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.

“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.

Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.

“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”

That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.

It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”

“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.

He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.

“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”

You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.

Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.

He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.

But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.

You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.

At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.

The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.

It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”

You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.

But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.

You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.

The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.

You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.

“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”

“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.

Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.

Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.

You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.

“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.

Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”

And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.

“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.

“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”

Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.

“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.

“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.

“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.

They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.

You want to be his good little baby girl.

But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).

No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.

Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”

“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.

“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”

“Yes,”

“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”

“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.

Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”

Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”

You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.

“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.

It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.

It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.

Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.

Hey. Let’s hang out.

Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.

“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”

You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.

Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.

“Good.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #no idea how this MONSTER grew so much???#big apologies #part two is DARK and it is coming tomorrow!!!#tw pseudo-incest #tw toxic relationship #tw dubcon #tw drugs #tw cheating

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