#but male validation is a drug for me

[blessedhypocrite]

like mannnnnnnnn. Mannnnnnnnn.

[fuckaperioddrama]

Tom Riddle Headcanons

Warnings: Toxic!Tom | Mentions of Sex | Mentions of BDSM | Mentions of Drugs/Alcohol | Mentions of Emotional Manipulation | Oral (Fem/Masc Receiving) | Orgasm Denial | Let me know if I missed something! Author's Note: Tom's headcanons are going to be a little serious. He isn't as easygoing as the other boys are. Still delulu where it counts.

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Theodore Nott Headcanons Mattheo Riddle Headcanons Lorenzo Berkshire Headcanons Blaise Zabini Headcanons Draco Malfoy Headcanons Regulus Black Headcanons Masterlist

MDNI | 18+

Tom Riddle | Physique

6’3

He is just? Sturdy

Solid. | I don’t know how to define this. He just looks like he’d be hard to push. You need a lot of force to move Tom Riddle

I think he doesn’t have super-defined muscles, but he’s naturally strong. | Something in the Riddle genes, but let's be honest here. Do we really think Tom Riddle is dedicating any time to working out? I don't.

Long

Long arms, long legs, fingers, dick

Looks approachable | I actually feel like his face isn't that off putting. It's his eyes, demeanor, and reputation that make him scary.

Tom Riddle | Personality

I'm not thinking of Moldy Voldy, we are talking about Tom Riddle.

HE CAN ACTUALLY BE NICE SOMETIMES | Oop.

He's never nice to strangers unless he wants something, but can be exceedingly charming when he needs to be.

Very emotional. It's very easy to upset Tom Riddle, but he won't always show it in the moment. Sometimes he waits to strike back.

Extremely manipulative and fueled by quiet rage.

So smart, but that is largely due to the fact that most of his time is spent studying.

Is always top of the class. Especially because he secretly craves validation.

Unintentionally attaches himself to his male professors, always craving their validation more than his other professors. He spends a lot of time after class talking to them about the material and indirectly seeking praise for his understanding of it.

More of a loner, he doesn't talk a lot.

I lied when I said the whole group participates in gardening.

Tom does not smoke at all. No drugs of any kind. No cigarettes and no weed.

He does drink from time to time, but the most he'll allow himself to feel is a small buzz.

Very paranoid, always on high alert.

Hates parties, but he has attended a couple here and there

Tom Riddle | Casanova

Tom does hook up with people, but it's RARE

He'll randomly wake up one day feeling extremely horny. Not his typical horny, this kind is excruciating. He can't think, he can barely eat, and he's constantly fidgeting in his seat hoping that his robe is doing a good job at hiding his problem.

Those are the days he goes to parties and if there isn't one going on he'll find somebody and charm his way into obtaining whatever he wants.

He's Tom Riddle after all.

Sex is only about him. Doesn't care about foreplay. Little to no kissing. Straight to the point.

DOM AND ROUGH

Spanking choking, restraints, very into BDSM

Not so much degrading, but more commanding.

Get on your knees.

Open your legs. Wider.

Take it. All of it.

It turns him on when people obey him.

He won't talk to these people afterward, but he will have sex with them again.

No prior warning. He just suddenly appears and expects them to drop everything for him.

Tom Riddle | Friend

Tom isn't the worst friend??

Closest to his brother

Tom and Mattheo don't talk a whole lot, but sometimes Tom will check in on him.

He'll pick him up from a party if he's excessively drunk or high.

Leave detailed notes in his room whenever he misses class.

He does a lot for his brother but he doesn't talk about it. When Mattheo sees the notes on his desk or suddenly wakes up in his bed after a night out he knows it was his big brother.

He doesn't spend a lot of time with his friends outside of lessons and eating together occasionally.

He has these little moments where he suddenly feels lonely and then he'll show up to whatever outing they're on. It used to freak them out how he'd suddenly appear, but now they're used to it.

Tom does care about his friends, but he doesn't show it. Ever.

He probably never will.

Tom Riddle | Boyfriend

Tom's love is extremely obsessive

He has planned out every second of your lives together. Nothing and no one will come between those plans. Even you.

Quality Time

Everywhere Tom goes you go. He won't talk to you much, but he expects you to be there all of the time.

Genuinely gets upset if you try to spend time without him.

He walks you to and from your lessons, you have to sit next to him if your schedules match up, and sit next to him everywhere else too.

Tom is always nervous something is going to happen to you or that you're going to try to leave him so he keeps an eye on you at all times.

In those instances where you can't be together, Tom would drop everything for you instantly.

Since his love is fueled by obsession he is more than willing to put whatever he’s doing on pause if you need his help.

Tom does a lot for you and has a tendency to buy you things, especially if you’re upset with him in any way.

Intimacy is hard for him so he primarily shows his love through Acts of Service and Gift Giving

Tom Riddle's son vibes, not orphan Tommy

Tom does not give you these gifts personally. He just leaves them in your room. How did he get in there? You never know.

Tom doesn't know what kind of gifts you would normally buy your partner

I can actually see Tom secretly reading a romance novel or two just so he has an idea of what things boyfriends are 'supposed to do'

He thinks the way the characters acted was absolutely ridiculous, but at least he made an effort.

He still implements some of the things he learned about

Tom will buy flowers and jewelry but it's completely random.

He will do it on special occasions after learning that's the norm, but in terms of doing them on any regular day, it's something that just pops into his head from time to time.

He sees a flower on the ground and then suddenly he's thinking about buying you flowers.

Sees a piece of jewelry and so he goes out and buys you some. He needs visual reminders.

Then one day you come back to discover a bouquet or a box sitting on your bed.

You try to thank him, but he is not having it

You'll walk up to him all giddy after noticing the gift

Tha-

Don't mention it.

...

...You're welcome.

Tom would also handle all of your school supplies

He gets ahold of your list | Once again, no one knows how he does stuff. He merely does it | and he'll just go out and buy every book, quill, and piece of paper you need

He's not into PDA, but he would do public services for you.

He holds the door open, pulls out your seat, holds your belongings, and will just randomly help you with things without you having to ask

Very on top of your health.

Will always make sure you're taking care of yourself. He's the 'Did you drink water today?' boyfriend

Tom didn't really start caring about mental breaks before you. He'll work himself till he dies.

But Tom knows you. He knows your mind and your body. He is very in tune with your mental and physical needs.

Tom would study with you and make sure you're on top of your work, but he would implement breaks for your sake.

Tom! I said I don't know! I don't know! Obviously, you're not explaining it to me well enough. Can we just move on?

He just stares at you, not trying to hide his aggravation, and before you get the chance to apologize he's already stood from his seat collecting all of your belongings.

We're going to go get some fresh air.

I don't nee-

Yes, you do.

Tom would be annoyed by the fact that you can't study for 8 hours straight like him, but he wouldn't complain.

He knows he's built different. His girl needs breaks, so she gets breaks.

While walking through the castle from the library late at night Tom will sometimes place his hand on your back, Always saving the Physical Touch for when you're alone.

You would have to initiate most of the physical touch with Tom

He wouldn't reject it as long as it's done privately. Kissing his cheek while he's reading, resting on his lap while he studies, combing your hands through his hair while he's talking

Tom Riddle craves physical intimacy, he just won't ever admit to that.

If anyone were to ever catch you two when hugging or kissing he would obliviate them. Immediately.

Tom always initiates the cuddling when you two are about to go to sleep. Wrapping his arm around you as he pulls you flush against him. He likes to hold you very tightly when you're sleeping just to make sure he knows you're there. It's impossible for you to get up without alerting him first and that's just the way he likes it.

When both wake up you always stay in the position for a while. You both know the other person is awake, but no one is moving or talking.

Tom is most gentle in the mornings because that's when he knows his time alone with you is limited. At night he doesn't feel the same rush.

He always showers with you, washing your body gently and helping you style your hair.

He puts lotion on you, rolls your tights onto your legs, and buttons your shirt. Any excuse he can use to touch you in some way. | Kinda goes in with acts of service too.

Then before you leave for the day Tom will muster up the strength to finally do what he wants.

Holding you tightly as he kisses you, making sure to get his fill.

Words of Affirmation

Tom likes to praise you,

Especially if you're doing what you're supposed to be doing.

He always points out when you're doing a good job. Work-wise, personal goals, whatever. He will always acknowledge when you accomplish something

Looking over your shoulder as you complete your last assignment. Checking your answers as you write them down.

That's it. That's it.

Keep going.

Good girl.

Tom Riddle is another letter man. It's really hard for him to do things like tell you he loves you, call you beautiful, etc

He only gives you these letters on special occasions and hides them amongst the gifts he leaves you.

The main time he will convey his affection verbally is if you're angry at him.

He knows that since he doesn't say that kind of stuff often it always catches you off guard and he will use that to his advantage.

I love you.

Any anger you had fading as you stare at him in shock

I don't like it when we fight, darling.

I don't like it either.

Then maybe we should put our energy somewhere else.

Tom Riddle | Committed Lover

Tom was always horny, he just had restraint. That's why he didn't hook up that often.

With you?

He can't control himself and that makes him angry. He doesn't like feeling out of control.

Then there's the added fact that he doesn't like to touch you in public

HE GETS NEEDY

The second he can squeeze some alone time in with you you always end up bent over something, the sounds of your skin relentlessly clapping together and echoing through whatever space you're in.

Don't worry, he took measures to make sure you two have your privacy.

Tom becomes a whole new person when you guys have sex

Every impulse, every greedy touch, everything he has been wanting to do to you just comes out.

Still sticking to the fact that this man is ROUGH

He loves receiving. There's just something about seeing you on your knees, tears running down your face as he shoves his dick down your throat

Tom wasn't big on foreplay before, but he likes it with you because he gets to taunt you. He takes his time with foreplay.

As long as you were willing, Tom would have sex with you frequently and because of that, I think there would be a lot of giving too.

He likes those moments where he's in between your legs as his tongue takes long and slow movement up and down your slit.

You want more. You need more, but he won't give it to you until he feels like you worked hard enough for it.

Tommmmm...I'll be good. I'll do anything you want, just please go faster.

No.

DOM

If being on top is something you really want then he'll use it as a reward.

Still in control, there are bruises left on you from how tight his hands are gripping you.

Ass so sore you can't sit down the next day because he was spanking you the entire time, wanting to remind you who was really in charge.

Sometimes he has those moments where he lets go and allows himself to simply lay back and enjoy, but don't ever get too cocky.

Any teasing from you and you're on your back before you even get the chance to blink

Playtimes over, doll.

After he's done you're regretting everything you said to set him off

Tom can go all night long, he doesn't need sleep.

And after dating him for a while you don't need it either.

[odinsonslut]

Young

⊹ genre: Fluff mostly, minimal angst

⊹ pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin female reader

⊹ themes: Friends to lovers

⊹ summary: Fred rejected your advances, claiming you’re too young. You set out to seduce him, which backfires. Unwarranted comments were made in your presence, and George attempted to comfort you, finally explaining his fears and feelings in the process.

⊹ warnings: Swearing, third-party slut-shaming of the reader, mentions of an emotionally toxic relationship, very brief mention of drugs.

⊹ word count: 1.7k

⊹ a/n:  I don’t know why I’ve chosen to base this whole fic off of rejection yet again, but It’s completely different to the last, trust. A cute Fred one today because I’ve had a recent fixation on the twins and can’t seem to write for anyone else atm. 

Confidence has come naturally to you since the first day you walked through the castle doors. Many would wager that’s why you ended up in Slytherin over Hufflepuff. You’d never had issues letting people know how you felt about them; rejection had never been a concern or a fear simply because your self-assurance wasn’t so easily deteriorated. 

This wasn’t ever in question until two weeks ago. You hadn’t thought twice about approaching Fred after months of mutual teasing, or so you thought it was. You went to his spot on Gryffindor’s table in the morning, greeting him with a single pumpkin pasty. You waited till he took a bite out of it before making some quip that you couldn’t seem to, or rather didn’t want to remember, about owing you a kiss and maybe something more in return for it, to which he painfully, tragically mustered a chuckle past his lips, probably the most awkward position I’ve seen him in, before finally finding the words to let you down easily.

“You know I love you endlessly, but we’re friends” He could’ve just as easily stopped there, but he continued. 

“You’re just a little too young for me.”

Young

He briefly dated Amelia Farrow last spring, and she’s four months younger than you, so obviously, it wasn’t an age issue. He saw you as immature, a kid. He couldn’t even begin to picture you as attractive in any form. Actually, feeling affected as a result of rejection was unfamiliar; it was scary. How had you allowed yourself to feel enough for a man that your own stability suffered? As a result, you didn’t just feel hurt, you felt inferior, and that was harrowing enough in itself. 

You were just beginning to fall into another rant directing every expressional detail from the twitch of his bottom lip to the scrunch in his left brow when you were interrupted by a loud sigh.

“Babe, I couldn’t live a day without you, but swooning over a blood-traitor Weasley is way more than I can handle for the 7th time this morning”, Pansy quipped after a supportive kiss on my cheek.

“Give me a solution then”, you pleaded, faux pouting while hugging her thighs desperately.

“Seduce him, love; you’ve got the best ass on anyone in this entire school. Malfoy tells me he’s got a preference for it, says he lets a lot slip when they’re off smoking muggle grass.”

“Teach me how. You’re probably the only girl in our year every Slytherin male wants to shag a second time.”

-

It was the first quidditch match of the year, so naturally, you put on your uniform from 3rd year to cheer the team on. Malfoy found your overreaction to rejection amusing, like a fish out of water, to use his words, so he didn’t mind playing the role of the pawn in your game. You spent all game cheering Draco on, making sure you were just enthusiastic enough to attract Fred’s attention. 

The game finally came to an end. Gryffindor just barely scraped by, with Harry catching the snitch. I could already see Oliver Wood pushing Fred about, demanding a valid reason for his poor performance during the game. He pushed Wood off of him and stormed off with an exasperated look on his face.

I caught up to him a few feet away, deciding to skip past the jokes, figuring he wasn’t quite in the mood.

“Hey, you okay?” I timidly asked, reaching out to stroke his hand

“You sure move on quick, don’t you?” He spoke harshly, ignoring my question completely

“Are you serious? You reject me, then get mad at my attempts to move past that?” I shoved his shoulder, feigning annoyance. I knew exactly what I was doing, trying to prompt a reaction out of him.

“And what the hell are you wearing? Damn near sent Adrian Pucey spiralling into the benches with your ass out like that.”

“So I had both team’s beaters distracted, huh?”

“I wasn’t distracted so much as horrified.” He immediately followed

You shoved him playfully. “Shut up, weasel. You’re literally still staring at my tits.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t put that outfit on for me to stare at?” He whispered as we came to a halt just outside the quidditch changing rooms 

To my dismay, I couldn’t think of anything to do or say but scoff at him, to which his grin grew even bigger.

He turned to leave, my brain regaining activity without the pressure of his eyes in contact with mine.

“I put it on so you’d have a clearer image to jack off to tonight.”

I headed back to my dorm before he could get another word in.

-

I approached the great hall hand in hand with Daphne Greengrass, completely satisfied with the way I left things with Fred yesterday, convinced I’d won. The smile on my face immediately dropped as I heard the conversation taking place at the Gryffindor table.

“- he’s even got a Slytherin girl in his pocket, dressing up like a little slut just for him.”

“Tell me, Weasley, does she like it rough?”

“Seems like the kind of girl that’d take it in the back.”

Your heart dropped as you heard comments from miscellaneous men in the house, jeering over each other, collectively patting an angry-looking Fred on his back and shoulders in a congratulatory manner.  

We made eye contact. Before the men at his table sensed my presence, too, I broke away from Daphne and sprinted out of the Hall. I sank by a tree in front of the lake as I took shallow breaths.

What hurts is that every assumption they made about my character felt deserving. When did I become the girl so desperate for one man’s attention that I so pathetically made myself more sexually desirable in his eyes? So that his lust would cloud his judgement and throw me lay at the very least? I hadn’t even realised how delirious I was acting and how painfully obvious it was to everyone but me just how much more I clung to the idea of him. It was like a montage of clarity was playing in my brain, of the way I continued running up to the Gryffindor common room every morning, taking every opportunity to make what I thought was subtle physical contact with him. God.

I let out a little yelp when I finally opened my eyes. Fred sat right next to me, leaning his head against the tree the same way I was.

“God, you scared me half to death! fucking cunt” I muttered the last part, allowing my anger to peak through 

“I had Malfoy help me make sure those guys’ mouths stay shut. I’m sorry you had to hear that, and I’m sorry they were able to say more than two words without me hexing them and their mothers, to begin with. None of what any of them said is worth your care. They heard us talking outside the changing rooms yesterday. They’re all jealous little virgins that have-

“They were things I needed to hear” I cut him off before he fell into a rant that honestly wouldn’t have made a difference to the way I felt.

He looked at me incredulously, struggling to find the words to respond. 

“I was seeking your attention so incredibly desperately. It embarrasses me to think about it. You said no; I should’ve respected that and left it as it was. I took your reasoning personally, and for the way I’ve acted since that day, I apologise, truly,” I continued.

He sighed. “I only said what I said out of fear. I’m sure you remember I briefly dated a Hufflepuff girl in your year, Amelia. I made a mistake getting involved with her. She didn’t know how to separate love from attachment, and it got to a point her dependence on me started affecting her mental well-being, along with mine. Nobody saw much of me during the time we were dating because I was just so caught up with making sure she was okay since she relied on me completely. I didn’t realise  I was even allowed to have boundaries at all in a relationship. She constantly made me feel selfish and uncaring for wanting space or even just time with my family. When you told me how you felt about me, I had recovered from the relationship, but I hadn’t yet allowed myself to consider a future relationship with another person. I said what I thought I needed to say to avoid our relationship turning into the one I had with Amelia. But ever since you told me how you felt about me, it made me realise nothing about us has ever been platonic to me. I have never thought of you that way, and even when I tried to, I didn’t know how to look at you in any other way than lovingly. I feel so much for you. I could see myself loving you so easily. I’m just really afraid. I don’t know if I’m ready to navigate that all over again.”

It took me a while to respond, taking in everything he said in a state of such vulnerability. I noticed a stray tear on my skirt; it was his. I immediately reached out to hold his hands in comfort. I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off yet again.

“I will never allow anyone to say a word against you ever again, love.” He added

“I care a lot about you, Fred. I reacted the way I did, with such force and conviction, because it’s unfamiliar to me too, feeling so deeply for someone. Whatever you want to come from this, we can do. I want to learn to keep my independence through my feelings for you. I don’t think declaring something more than friendship will change things between us overnight, and I think all we need to do is keep being us.” 

“Okay”, he responded timidly but surely.

He could’ve just stopped there, but I’d come to learn that’s never something to expect from him.

“I absolutely did jack off to you last night, though.”

I kicked him in the shin as we walked back to the castle, hand in hand. 

End

✩ I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE ANY OF MY WRITING POSTED ON ANY EXTERNAL WEBSITES ✩

[maaarine]

The sexual assault of sleeping women: the hidden, horrifying rape crisis in our bedrooms (Anna Moore, The Guardian, June 15 2021)

"Naming specific acts, rather than using broad – and loaded – terms such as “abuse” or “rape”, her survey asked more than 22,000 women if, for example, they had ever been spat at, or strangled, kicked or bitten.

It also asked respondents if they had ever woken to their male partner having sex with them or performing sex acts on them while they slept.

To this question, 51% answered yes.

This was not randomised sampling – the survey was widely shared online and participants were self-selected. For this reason, it’s hard to extrapolate from the findings.

The results sparked a predictably polarised online response. “This was extremely validating for me after years of thinking, ‘Am I being raped?’ I’m not alone”, tweeted one woman.

“It’s why I now jerk awake if someone even gently brushes against me while I’m sleeping, 13 years later,” wrote another.

Other comments included, “Only chance I get!” and “the other half was OK with it!”

Katie Russell, spokesperson for Rape Crisis, says she was “not massively surprised” by the findings.

“There isn’t a lot of research into the multiple ways women experience violence from known men, but we do know the numbers are so much higher than any official statistics,” she says.

“Rape myths are still incredibly pervasive. It’s commonly believed that if it’s your boyfriend or your spouse, if you’re sharing a bed, if you’re naked, if you consented earlier, then it can’t be rape.

There is a really big difference between gently waking your partner and initiating sexual activity and actually doing something sexual or penetrating someone while they’re still asleep. (…)

In Martha’s case, the rape happened once, but for some men, seeking sex with a sleeping woman is an active preference, a fetish known as somnophilia.

Svein Overland, a Norwegian psychologist, is one of the few to have studied it – his interest sparked partly by his work in prisons, trying to understand the motivations of sex offenders, and also by his work with victims of what Norwegians call “after-party rapes” – attacks on vulnerable women who were either sleeping or drugged.

Overland believes somnophilia is part of the wider growth of what he calls “one-way sex”.

His research into online porn showed a steep rise over the past decade in categories such as “sleeping sex”, as well as other forms of sex that are based on unresponsiveness, on only meeting your own needs.

(“Flexi dolls” is another example – where women pretend to be sex dolls.)

These preferences overlap with porn itself, says Overland. “With one-way sex, with porn, with masturbation, there’s no dance, no seduction, no interaction and no pressure to perform,” he says.

“The more I looked at this area, the more you see that a lot of men are afraid of having sex.

Society is becoming more pornified but, at the same time, many studies show that people are becoming less sexually active. We have young men buying Viagra, unable to keep an erection.”

A sleeping woman is no threat – she’s absent, an object, a receptacle. (…)

“There seems to be a perception that something like this is a ‘lesser crime’ because it might not be at the hands of a stranger but your partner.

But what would feel worse? Being pickpocketed by a stranger or robbed by someone you love and trust?” she asks.

“The idea that you’re asleep so it didn’t require violence is also very dangerous. Penetrating someone’s body without their permission is an inherently violent act.

“Imagine being asleep and waking to find someone going through your personal things,” she continues. “Now imagine it’s your actual body that has been intruded into.” (…)

“When I first left him, I wouldn’t sleep. I’d lie awake all night and have hallucinations – him raping me.

Those flashbacks, that trauma response, was the mind and body trying to piece things together.

Even now, nine years on, I still wake at two every morning. I don’t even need to check the clock.

We know that the body stores memories of trauma – and I think 2am is when it used to happen.” (…)

In February 2020, she told the jury: “There has never been a part of me that has not been profoundly impacted,” and that in the immediate aftermath, she suffered PTSD and had tried to take her own life.

She said she had felt “unsafe everywhere”, frightened to trust anyone, even her parents."

[ash-says]

This one is for my girlies who grew up in dysfunctional families.

Girls who don't know healthy love, care and affection. Girls who grew up watching fights, in violent and stressful environments, being picked on by their peers, their own family members.

Know that it's not your job to maintain peace, people please and accommodate yourself to other people's expectations.

Take this as a BLUNT reminder for yourself:

1) Have strong boundaries. Surprise. I know you read this a thousand times but before you eyeroll read this again.

2) Stand up for yourself. It might be scary but sometimes fighting back against your family can be helpful. Do it strategically. Don't rush in blindly. The main goal is survival afterall.

3) No doing drugs, self harm, compulsive relationships, casual sex, alcohol and many destructive, addictive and escapist behavior won't help you in rebelling against your family. What are you three years old???

4) Establish your relationship with God or whatever the hell you believe in. Have a strong belief system. That's the only way you can save yourself and keep yourself on track. Even if you deter on the wrong path it will swing you back. Trust me.

5) Form strong female friendships. PLEASE. Female friendships are literally holiness in disguise. My girls are my biggest assets. The amount of emotional intelligence and support a female can provide. Chefs kiss.

What ? You can't vibe with girls?? You are more of a girl who vibe with boys?? Girls are secretly jealous of you??

Okayyyyy... I am no one to criticize but I think we need to reassess somethings.

At least one female friend. Won't cost you a fortune. Will it???

(If you think you got no one around you. My inbox + Gossip Box is always open.)

6) Academic Validation>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Male validation. Always.

7) Exercise and work out. Woahh did not see it coming right. Well it's important because it helps you in calming down your mind and expressing those repressed energies. Any anger issues babe in the house?? Guess what it's the best outlet for all your angst.

8) This is for those girls who are into toxic households please find a way to get out of there. I won't suggest permanently cause I believe in mending things and parents are a crucial part of your life. But find a way to live your college life or at least two to three years of your life out of your hometown. A lot of things you will understand by yourself then. If you know. You know.

9) Sharpen your people and survival skills. I hate to say this but we are highly susceptible to attracting people who want to take advantage of us. So listen to your gut the next time it warns you against someone.

10) Tone down your intensity. Not everyone is trying to get you or attack you. Coping mechanisms are great they kept/keep you alive but make sure they won't create trouble for you. Keep them in check. Got it??

[sxtaep]

ALL I WANT - JJK | five

after distancing yourself from jungkook because of the indirect confession you made, you never realised how much you’d miss him, and what better way to show him that than through the phone?

pairing — jungkook x female reader

genre — fluff, smut

word count — 10.5k

chapter warnings/tags — bestfriends2lovers!au, fuckboy!jk, textbooknerd!reader, dom!jk, sub!reader, joon is a drug dealer, tae is a junkie, vmin sideship, soft shower scene, indirect confession, lots of touching, jk is so oblivious, late night texting, jk loves your glasses, explicit content, sexting, mutual masturbation, exchanging of illicit photos, exchanging of illicit videos, teasing, male masturbation, female masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, praise, so much cum +more.

a/n: this is LONG overdue, but the loml loma @velvetwicebang should’ve been recognised earlier when posting this series for her everworking writing skills and input (especially for jungkook’s pov of things) so pls show her all the love 🥹 i swear she doesn’t bite ☹️🫶

also, apologies for the inactivity, your girl was dying in a&e with a cyst (it’s still there) and is now on indefinite sick leave from work 💀😭

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

Oh.

So maybe Jungkook didn’t have a valid reason to narrow his eyes once you left him alone after he’d mustered up the energy to sit up on the bed, pouting to himself after he was turned away in the midst of tossing his leg over the edge of the mattress, about to boldly follow your footsteps into the shower until he heard the lock click.

“Wha..” Confusion spilling from his doe eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks and ruffled the back of his fluffy bed hair, staring at the door with his brows slightly furrowed as he made out the sound of the shower from outside the connected bathroom, “Whatever, fuck you.” The man raised his voice to shout the following, already knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hear him, “Not like I also wanted to shower or anything!”

Jungkook was clearly pouting and he’d rather get a hundred carpet burns than let you see that side of him no matter how much it bothered him, so the man ‘brushed it off’ and scooted his bare ass further up the bed, stopping when his back met the wooden headboard behind him.

He figured this would be the perfect time to catch up on his texts, now that you decided to leave him completely alone. (It wasn’t even that big of a deal, honestly, yet the sulking man seemed awfully desperate to look for other ways to distract his brain from thinking about it, naturally tapping on his and the guys’ groupchat).

He always prepared himself for the most chaotic situations, just a few weeks ago the chat went crazy bickering over who would pay for Hoseok’s bail money after the latter got drunk off his ass, and funnily enough, the week before that one Hobi sent a long ass text declaring he decided to stop drinking.

Just like that, out of nowhere.

Of course, no one believed him.

Unlike those times, this morning’s topic of conversation seemed to be…normal, which was rare.

namjoon added ‘chim’ to the chat!

chim: hey guys! 👋

yoongi: holy fuck he’s alive

hoeseok: who💀 jimin or joon?

yoongi: damn both of em😭😭😭 just 30 mins alone w you can’t be easy

hoeseok: fuck u.

namjoon: we all know you want to dude, but he’s happily taken remember??

hoeseok: i’m gonna kick myself out this gc 😭

u guys need to chillllll

jin: just like how jungkook chilled w y/n in your bed last night 😏😏

yoongi: bro 💀💀💀💀

hoeseok: nah bc i’m actually still pissed that fucker offered to buy me a new bed set under 50 bucks????? what world does he live in

namjoon: 😑😑 okay wheres tae? he has to know where jungkook’s at

jin: he’s probably at y/n’s place but there’s also a possibility that he ran back to his dorm like a pussy

namjoon: taetae

TAEEEEEE

namjoon: tae answer or no more hard drugs for you to get addicted to 🙄 your choice

yoongi: dude shut up the guy’s probably still sleeping

jin: tae did you call a chick over after i dropped you off last night?

hoeseok: i wouldn’t blame him

he was babysitting joon most of the night, he had no chance to shoot his shot

tae: fuk no

i dropped dead on the couch as soon as i got home

yoongi: so jungkook didn’t come home last night?

Taehyung chewed on his bottom lip from his bedroom, hesitating on whether he should throw his best friend under the bus just to save himself from any more unsolicited revelations in front of new interest Jimin, or suck it up like a man.

tae: no, he’s still at y/n’s

jin: I FUCKING CALLED IT

jeon: DUDE

Jungkook was never gonna hear the end of it. The guys already teased the hell out of him because of you, and now that he actually fucked you, he would never live it down.

jeon: i’m never covering for ur ass again 🙄

yoongi: ….u guys are such best friends it’s disgusting

namjoon: mf have you been lurking all along

jin: he probably has 💀

hoeseok: PUSSY

jeon: oh fuck off hyung i get more play than you

Maybe that was a little too far, but Jungkook was sticky and sweaty and your bedroom was hot as shit. A nice shower would’ve sufficed.

jeon: respectfully. sorry. ily. pick out a new bed set xoxo.

yoongi: DAMN 💀💀

namjoon: ...

jin: 🙇‍♂️ me bowing bc i taught him well

hoeseok: make it a $100 bed set 😒

jeon: ur crazy if u think i have $100 on me

but deal 🤝

After that’d been set in stone, readying for his pockets to hurt, Jungkook carelessly tossed his phone aside and combed one hand through his oily hair, on his feet and on his way to invite himself into the shower with you.

You wouldn’t mind, right?

It’d only been 5 minutes since you stepped into the shower, just standing under the shower head and letting the steaming hot water run down your body.

What if he left?

No, he wouldn’t leave again.

But what if he did?

The thought left an unsettling feeling in your stomach and you had this sudden urge to hit pause on your shower and check he was still there, lying naked on your bed, but you held yourself back. Caring this much was not a good sign.

“Open up,” Jungkook annoyingly rattled on the doorknob with his forehead pressed against the door, unknowingly soothing your anxiety while acting like a needy child, not once stopping his tugging and turning on the metal knob. “Let me innnn!”

Alright, now he was fucking with you, grinning whilst waiting to meet you face to face.

The constant rattling of the doorknob startled you, but Jungkook’s whiny voice was one you could always recognise, even if he was faking it. At least he didn’t go home, so that was a win for you.

You stopped massaging your scalp, bits of bubbles following your every move as you stepped out of the shower, leaving the water to run. The bathrobe that was hanging behind the door was now draped over your body to cover your front, now holding onto the doorknob and fighting off the hopefulness in your eyes.

“God, I thought someone was breaking in,” you sigh, holding the bathrobe tightly to your chest. “What do you need, Kook?” You try to sound as unamused as you could spotting the stupidly attractive grin on his face, yet the sight of him from the neck down played as a distraction.

“What does it look like I need? A goddamn shower.”

Jungkook was right about a shower. Things got so messy and he was walking around the dorm with his dick out, he probably made more mess for you to clean up.

Pushing past your dumbfounded self, Jungkook didn’t question why you were covering yourself up after what you both just did, but he figured he’d get to see you naked soon enough if you were about to shower together.

Like regular friends did, of course.

“What are you waiting for?” The man turned to look over his shoulder after stepping under the lukewarm stream of water, staring at you past the wet hair that fell over his eyes, “Join me.”

You stared back at him, mouth slightly ajar as your eyes dipped a little too low and met with droplets of water rushing between every crevice of his abs. He had no right looking like a nude model right now

“Right…” you mentally rolled your eyes and let out a huff, pulling the bathrobe off your body, but you felt a little exposed; more focused on the fact that now neither of you were exactly ‘in the moment.’

The bathrobe pooled at your ankles and you parted ways from it, hesitantly climbing in and standing in front of the much larger male so you could also snag some of the water from the shower head. Jungkook had an advantage, being much bigger and taller, most of the water would land on his shoulders and just bounce off, ignoring your presence.

Being this close to him once again; your soaked back pressing against his built chest and practically sticking to him, you felt the urge to apologise because there was absolutely no way you were doing this on purpose. “Sorry, it’s a little tight in here,” you speak up, glancing back at him over your shoulder and making sure you weren’t making him uncomfortable, yet your apology was useless; you were still unknowingly, pressing up against him.

The part of Jungkook that didn’t always think with his dick found your newborn shyness awfully endearing.

‘It was a pattern,’ he’d noticed, ‘after we’re done fucking, she suddenly gets real shy, even avoids looking into my eyes as if she wasn’t just batting her eyelashes up at me minutes ago’.

Sometimes he wished to dive into your mind without any sort of heads up, just him as he came, pocketing a handful of your thoughts and knowledge for himself along the way (maybe then he’d actually know what went on in your head during moments like these, where all that spoke was the running water as it caressed his naked body and shunned yours).

“You don’t have to apologize, dummy,” Jungkook shook his head, although you couldn’t see him, taking a minute to expand his eyes down your unblemished back, not exclusively sexual, but heavily aware of how he was practically hogging the shower all to himself.

“Here,” with both hands clasped over your shoulders, Jungkook stepped back and let you take over his spot, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead and running a hand down his face to get rid of any water droplets.

Grabbing a bottle of soap he found on the side, Jeon thought about washing himself but changed his mind upon realising there was someone else that could do it for him.

You.

Maybe this would help you get over your timidness, and in all honesty, Jungkook felt a little out of place for being so casual and nonchalant about all of this..

“Yo, shower hogger,” the taller tapped your shoulder with his index finger, waiting until you turned around to raise his brows and glance down at his body expectantly, extending the bottle of soap out towards you, “I’m just so tired, help me wash?” He felt like he was quoting the beginning scene of a porno, and Jungkook knew that you knew that he was exaggerating.

You looked up at Jungkook with an ‘are you serious’ kind of expression, raising a brow at him as if he was crazy. “You’re tired? Please,” you shook your head. If anything, you should be the one that’s tired, especially after that mind-blowing head session you have him, but still, you gave into the big man, grabbing the bottle of berry scented soap from his grasp and squeezing a generous amount onto your palms.

“Since when did you need help taking showers? Last time I checked, babies needed that.” you lather the soap in your hands, rubbing them together to create more bubbles before taking a step back and looking the man up and down, deciding where the hell to even start. “You’re a big baby, aren’t you, Jeon?” you tease, finally deciding to set your palms flat on his chest as you kept your eyes trained on him, very much mocking him with just your eyes.

Jungkook was definitely not built like a big baby, but there were times where he’d do the most endearing things that made you wanna squeeze his cheeks and gauge out his doe eyes. Like, when you’d upset him over little things, he’d sit around pretending he wasn’t upset but you would clearly see the pout on his face, with the added crossing his arms over his chest (exactly like a child).

You grabbed onto his bicep, pulling his body closer to yours a little and snaking his arm around your waist just to keep a secure hold on you so you both could catch some of the water running up above. You wondered about your next move. It seemed a little unusual, massaging his chest under the shower, but then again, you’d already done far from appropriate things; including sweaty bodies, someone’s tears, and a shitload of cum.

Despite all that, you gently caressed the damp skin of his chest, awfully slow and counting each tiny little bubble bursting against him. “Like this?” you prompt, gliding your fingers across his chest and the action itself left your own chest tingling.

This was next level intimate.

Jungkook hadn’t said anything else after childishly puffing out a, ‘I’m not a baby’ with a comical roll of his smiling eyes, studying your face and changing expressions in comfortable silence whilst you roamed your hands over his soapy chest, the arm that curled around the you holding you securely with one palm pressed flat over the small of your back.

Fuck, Jungkook hoped you couldn’t make out how fast his wild little heart was beating even behind all those bubbles. You couldn’t… right? It would quite literally kill the man to try and explain himself out of that one because— he didn’t fucking know why his heart was running laps either!

He already worried enough that he made himself look dumb in front of his super smart best friend; he wanted you to think he had the brains of goddamn Einstein, like yourself, and looking for the right words to explain himself wasn’t going to do him any justice.

Either way, Jungkook just knew it was nice having someone else wash him up… like a servant.

A pretty servant with great tits, at that.

“Yeah..” Jeon finally breathed out another word, unaware that he was inching in towards your face quietly enough that you didn’t catch on and stop your scrubbing, “Just like that.”

He had to uncomfortably tip his neck down a little to reach you, but when his parted lips were merely inches away from yours, Jungkook didn’t waste any time and trapped you in a surprisingly slow moving kiss, raising one hand to cup the side of your face as his thumb traced over your cheekbones.

‘He kissed me first!’ was all you could think about right now. And the kiss easily held a deeper meaning behind it, one that didn’t scream ‘we’re kissing because of sex’. Unless Jungkook thought exactly that..

Then that would be a lot of damage.

Were you hearing yourself right now? You felt pitiful; falling for him after fucking him and now you were head-over-heels for the man just because he kissed you first.

What were the chances of him deciding to settle down? And would Jungkook settle down with you? It was a question you never wanted to answer, or hear the answer to, because there were very high chances the answers to both those questions wouldn’t benefit you. You did hold a tiny bit of hope, only the tiniest, that maybe, just maybe, Jungkook could be feeling the same way. His heart literally on the verge of bursting against your palm struck up a couple questions in your mind, but you easily dismissed them, using the water as an excuse to cover for him.

Yet, with all those doubts, you didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. God knows you wanted to kiss him and he was merely doing you a favour by getting Jungkook to make the first move. It was unexpected, but that’s what made it all the best.

When he did finally pull away after a full minute of tasting your soft lips, his tongue cheekily swiped over his bottom lip while still cupping your face in his big hands, looking into your eyes with that endearing smile that made your heart jump.

You stopped moving your hand, leaving it to rest again his chest whilst your free hand made home on top of his, your fingertips briefly brushing over your cheek as you intertwined your fingers, pulling his hand down to your chest.

Right over your beating heart.

“You don’t realise it, but you have my heart running laps,” you whisper softly, squeezing Jungkook’s hand and suddenly releasing him from your hold, doing your best to turn your back on him and bask under the warm water raining above.

Good idea, leave him confused with words.

Jungkook wasn’t that stupid though, he was perceptive only when it seemed advantageous to him, which was something you picked up on over the years. He’d be able to crack this one. Surely.

You groaned quietly to yourself, lulling your head back a little to have the water slip down your front, but you were too distracted by the warmth to notice your head falling back against his chest, your body relaxing as you released a soft breath.

Nothing outright witty or smart-assy slipped out his mouth during the shared, tender moment between you both; Jungkook acknowledged your words within his own mind, quietly, digesting whatever it was that that had the back of his neck and tips of his ears drowning red.

The man thought about your— ‘you have my heart running laps’ —for quite a while now, a week to be exact, and sometimes it’d pop in his head at the most random times, it was lowkey starting to freak him out.

Wherever Jungkook was, so were you. Figuratively.

In his mind that was usually blank, you were there, present as always while prompting his heart to beat recklessly and his lungs to stutter whilst they filled with air, often catching him off guard.

Truthfully, Jeon had been too busy battling it out with noobs on Call of Duty, to really question what you meant that day. You weren’t making it easy for him to talk to you either. You completely shut him out after the shower ‘incident’ (which was approximately 2 days ago) and used the excuse of ‘I need to catch up on my assignments’, to avoid him.

Obviously he didn’t know that, but he wasn’t suspicious either. It was normal for you to go radio silent for a couple days to focus on your studies, and Jungkook respected that. Normally he’d bug you, but not this time around.

Which was weird.

Even Taehyung found it odd, coming back home and finding Jungkook still playing his game. He was high as hell, but he knew something weird when he saw it.

Slumping against the empty space beside Jungkook, Taehyung carelessly throws his arm around the younger’s muscly shoulders. “What’ve you been up to, then? You been sitting on your ass this whole time?” he asks, eyeing the TV screen and seeing that he was currently in the game lobby, waiting to start a new match. “No girls over tonight? Not even Y/N?”

Even though he was high, a part of him wanted things to set sail between you and his roommate.

“Were you too shy to call her? Or did she just reject you when you tried?” Taehyung’s assumptions weren’t impossible. He’d been around long enough to watch Jungkook’s countless invitations to hang out or get something to eat, get straight up rejected by you because you were too busy studying.

“Ah, Y/N?” No use in brushing it off now.

Two days without seeing you or talking to you, felt like an eternity, but Jungkook was determined to stay quiet. Ever since you both hooked up for the first time, he’s mostly been the one to text or call to ask if he could come over and y’know what, that is if Jeon excluded the times he’d just show up at your doorstep unannounced.

Point was.. he was waiting for you to need him, not the other way around like it often was.

Now, Jungkook wasn’t expecting you to text him and blatantly say how much you needed him to come over and fuck you so good you’d forget about everything you studied (even if that would make him harder than anything else in the world), but even just an ‘i miss you’ or ‘i’m done studying, come over’ would make him drop anything and everything for you.

It was a new and weird feeling, thinking like this. He never waited around for a girl, even if he had a line of them waiting to get dicked down by him.

“I’m not shy, we’ve just been busy doing our own thing.” He huffed out at Tae’s assumption, not daring to make any eye contact since being best friends with Taehyung since middle school meant the latter knew when he was bullshitting, always. It was weird as hell and even more impressive when Tae could point it out when he wasn’t sober..

Jungkook was looking straight at Tae now with big eyes and his teeth busy nibbling at his lip, like he was caught red handed and it was too obvious that that’s been something that’d been on his mind for a while.

With a low groan, the younger ran both hands down his face and slid down the couch, muscly legs lazily spread as he leaned his head back on the headrest and remained silent. Until he didn’t; Taehyung had a way of getting information out of him without barely saying a word. Something about his deadpan gaze…

“I know she’s not the type, but a text saying that she needs me- if you know what I mean, and not the other way around? I’d give her my kid, man.”

That was a complete reach and even if Jungkook did chuckle a little at that, his feelings and everything else he said were true. The younger shrugged and played off those strong feelings, “It’s whatever, though. You probably felt the same way about a girl you hooked up with at some point in time, right?”

All Taehyung could think about was ‘who the fuck possessed his roommate?’ No, even better question; ‘why is a girl making his best friend feel like this?’ In all the years Taehyung knew Jungkook, never had he ever seen the younger male care so much about a girl he fucked.

But… there was a difference. You weren’t just any girl he fucked. You were Jungkook’s only girl friend that he fucked.

Given the history between you two, things obviously felt more fragile and more… intimate? At least that’s what Taehyung thought. He wasn’t even part of the relationship, but because of the younger being so new to experiencing such feelings, it was almost second nature for him to feel the same way (out of sympathy). “I don’t know, dude… I’ve never felt like that, but you sound like you’re having withdrawal symptoms being without her for so long,” he shrugs, eyeing the male who looked like he was so far down the ‘I’m in love with her, but i’m gonna act like I don’t care’ hole.

Taehyung could’ve easily lied and told Jungkook that it was normal for him to feel so attached to his girl friend, but who was he kidding? It wasn’t normal to feel so attached unless you were deeply in love.

“You sure you’re not… in love with her, dude?” he teases, ruffling Jungkook’s hair in the most brotherly way possible. He was only trying to scare the im younger male and make him overthink a little. “I’m kidding! Just stop being a pussy and go to her. Tell her what you want. Like, straight up. I’m tellin’ you, girls dig that. There’s nothing girls want more than a guy being straight to the point.”

Jeon Jungkook was most definitely, most surely not in love with you. What even was love? He could think of a few examples..

His dad cutting off the crusts in his mom’s sandwiches, Hoseok babysitting Namjoon, Mrs. Kim working hard to make sure her small, country-boy Tae went off to a nice college (and got away from his ego-filled dad. Jungkook met him a few times and he was an A class asshole).

Either way, the younger never really saw that kind of love for him. It all seemed unattainable and whatever Jungkook was feeling towards you, it couldn’t have been love. Maybe lust, just in his own special way..

“I’m not in love with her, are you crazy?” Jeon sighed out loud and considered taking Taehyung’s advice for real, just maybe not at 12:30 in the morning.. “Okay, fine, but,” Jungkook turned his body to chuckle at the irony in his roommate’s words, “When have you ever been straight up with a girl, Tae? Was it when you asked her to give you that fresh hickey on your neck tonight?”

It was huge and Jungkook had been eyeing the red bruise just underneath Taehyung’s jaw for a few moments prior. “Was this before or after you went to meet up with Jimin because damn,” the younger was laughing now, inching to take a closer look at possibly the biggest hickey he’d ever seen, unaware it was Jimin who left those very marks.

As if he couldn’t be any more skeptical than he already was, Taehyung’s palm was quick to smack against his neck, making himself wince in the process as he discreetly rubbed the bruised area and avoided all eye contact with Jungkook. His jaw tensed as he tried to stop himself from blushing. Remnants of tonight’s events were running through his mind, and he had to stop before his dick got hard again. But that seemed impossible. Jimin was just this ultra, superior, ethereal being with the superpowers to keep his dick hard and heart fluttering for days on end. “Hey!” Taehyung scowls, smacking Jungkook’s head (not too hard) and pulling away from his susceptive gaze.

“Firstly, mind your own, secondly, I got bitten by a mosquito.” That was the lamest excuse in the book, but once again, this is where Jeon’s cluelessness played at his advantage. “Jimin lives in this whole other area, like expensive apartments and neighbourhoods and shit. There’s palm trees everywhere, too so there were a lot of flies,” Taehyung explained; sounding as brief and unbothered as possible. In case Jungkook didn’t believe him, he added, “Seriously, It felt like I was in another country when I arrived.”

Hopefully he played it off well. The man was pretty good at acting, especially when it came to promising girls he’d spend another night with them. It never happened.

“Whatever, man, turn the game off. I need the couch,” he yawns dramatically whilst stretching his arms above his head. “I can’t feel my legs.” It was a natural occurrence for Taehyung to sleep on the couch after a night of non-stop drugs. He would quite commonly complain about not being able to feel his legs because they’d be so numb, thus deeming him immobile until sober the next morning.

Taehyung executed the lame excuse perfectly, Jungkook completely brushed it off.. right after he finished tending to the minor concussion from his roommate.

Annoyed but kind, he ran off to the kitchen and paired an Ibuprofen with a tall glass of water to sit on the coffee table at an arm’s reach for the other male to quench his fleeting sobriety with, taking his earned title of ‘best friend’ extra seriously while throwing a spare blanket over Tae’s limp body on the couch, turning off the TV seconds later and going into his room.

Throwing himself to lie on his bed, the sudden urge to send you a text loomed over. He knew, he knew… he was supposed to let you reach out to him, but maybe you were just busy and forgot about him. Plus, waiting around was boring and nowhere near as exhilarating as—

jungkook: you haven’t forgotten about me yet? 🤓

Was it super obvious you was avoiding Jungkook?

Maybe.

What’s the best way to avoid someone?

Drown yourself in your studies.

It was probably advantageous to you now, since studying was always the excuse you used to get yourself out of unwanted situations. And this wouldn’t be a surprise to Jungkook. He had the shorter end of of the stick when it came to wanting to hang out, you would always reject his pleas.

This past week, you needed to ‘get back on your grind’ and all this faffing about with Jungkook left a lasting impact on your daily routine.

Every time you sat on your couch (which was often) you’re reminded of the very first night you both laid hands on each other. How could you forget? There was probably remnants of that night still burnt into your couch. Every time you’re sat at your desk, you’re reminded of the little note Jungkook left the following morning, apologising for leaving so early.

Hard to believe, your poor self displayed the note at the corner of your desk, right in front of your old textbooks. It seemed cringe, but you found it cute and got some sort of serotonin looking at it while you were studying. Every night when you go to bed, you mindlessly stare at the empty space next to you for at least an hour before falling asleep, thinking how it would’ve been Jungkook next to you.

And the shower… where you indirectly confessed to him, but instead, only confused yourself, and you had no doubt you confused him too (he wasn’t any smarter than you were).

In all honesty, you were waiting for Jungkook to approach you first, which was too much to ask for since he always texted first. But, you were hoping he’d say something about your last interaction. Was the “you got my heart running laps” not enough for him? Or was he really that clueless?

Whatever it was, you didn’t dwell on it, almost jumping out of the comfy seat at her desk and lungeing to reach your phone off the bed. Your heart was doing that annoying racing thing and your fingers were twiddling at your screen.

you: y’know what?

i completely forgot you existed for a sec

what was your name again?

john?

Damn. Jeon was torn between laughing or having a go at you for that line as he laid out sprawled over his bed thinking of what to make of it, a tight lipped smile settled things and pushed through Jungkook’s efforts to take small offense to what you said.

“Pfft, John?”

However, that sly grin always appeared whenever you were confident and smart-assy with him. With shame lesser than -10000, Jungkook could easily admit he found it hot. He could stupidly stand in the middle of a street with both arms outstretched and yell, ‘I find it really hot when Lee Y/N gives me a taste of my own medicine, so what?! She’s very hot to me!’

Obviously that wasn’t going to happen, but trust that he would if it came down to it.

jungkook: john huh? who’s that, textbook #1? 😕

but uh. how’s jerry doing?? yknow. textbook #3 😉

It was the highlight of his night; Jungkook hadn’t even realized his cheeks were turning sore from smiling so big. If any of the guys walked in they’d think he won the lottery and then some, but no, it was just you.

It always seemed to be about you— is what the guys would say, surely. No one else.

jungkook: and i doubt you forgot about my existence, you like me too much

hell, you probably even missed me, i know i missed you

Anyone could bet you were forcing yourself not to break out into a fit of giggles (resulting in you just writhing in your seat) because there was no way a man was suddenly making you laugh this hard. Jungkook was making you laugh so hard.

It took you a couple seconds to regain your composure before tapping at your keyboard again.

you: john and jerry are doing good

they’ve been keeping me company and treating me well

i wouldn’t have it any other way 😩

Having Jungkook keep you company would obviously be better, but you can’t always get what you want.

You didn’t catch the next couple messages he sent, instead opening your camera and snapping a quick photo of the mess of scrap papers and opened textbooks lying on your desk, not even realising the note Jungkook left you a couple nights ago was peeking out in the corner of the frame.

You attach the photo to your next message;

you: this sums up my week

you know the drill

As you waited for the attachment to deliver, you scrolled down to finally see the recent message he sent, and you swore your heart skipped a beat.

Jungkook missed you?

A faint hint of pink drowned your cheeks as you contemplated on how to respond?

Do you reciprocate, or just be passive and ignore him? The second option seemed pretty appropriate, because if he missed you so much, why didn’t he do anything about it?

That option however, would just open up a whole other can of worms and would probably end up with the pair bickering until the early hours of dawn.

You missed him so much this week, you didn’t want this interaction to go to waste.

you: i think YOU like me too much since you missed me so bad

are you obsessed with me?

it’s okay if you are, but you’ll have to wait in line for your turn

That joke was no longer valid ever since you guys fucked.

you: if it makes you feel better, i guess i missed you too

Unlike you and your adorable stickling for structure, it was a shock Jungkook waited until all the blurbs of texts were done coming through considering how restlessness was naturally wired in his veins, but he preferred to indulge in each individual bubble once they disappeared from the bottom of his screen.

He didn’t want to take the risk of saying something stupid and fucking everything up, not after so long (2 days), so for you, he’d learn to be patient— even if that sounded difficult to actually go through.

Almost immediately his eyes widened at the amount of individual texts that finished pouring in (he always had a way of knowing if you were mad at him. If you sent him no more than three individual texts at a time, that meant he needed to hide).

But more than taken aback, Jungkook had an idea of what that meant on a deeper, more obvious level. It was so clear that you missed him and if his heart didn’t pound enough at the idea of it, the beating organ nearly jumped out of Jeon’s chest when his eye accidentally skipped down the list and landed on the last text, confirming that what he thought was true.

Now he had the urge to giggle.

The male didn’t know what the fuck was going on or why he felt this way towards simple texts that were meant to come off as light teasing and nothing more. All he knew was that if he kept this up, his head would swell because of all the confusion going on inside it..

jungkook: jesus nerd, how you’re still breathing surrounded by all that paper is beyond me

smh don’t get too ahead of yourself tho 😒 i like you a very small amount

and that joke is no longer valid ever since we fucked

Jungkook was still thinking about the fact that you also missed him and for that reason, he failed to catch his little note in the corner of your attached photo, for now.

His mind was just… focused on something else.

You missed him!

jungkook: that does make me feel better, god what would i do without you? 😫

but truth is… i won’t really believe it unless you go into detail, miss lee. tell me, what did you miss about me?

OH! and i know that there’s a long list so take your time

Seriously, Jeon Jungkook never took a break from feeding his ego. You sat there wondering how you managed to put up with him all these years. He had a cute face back then, for sure, but now he looked like a hot hunk of goodness and everything nice, unfortunately.

you: for starters, i missed you blowing up my phone with hundreds of texts

surprised i didn’t even get ONE annoying text from you

It was almost tradition for Jungkook to spam your phone with nonsense texts and silly pictures of himself whilst you were studying. It only became a problem when he started spamming you with tiktoks, distracting you from your studies because after you’d watch them, you’d end up scrolling on the app far longer than anticipated.

you: i guess i missed your stupid face too 🙄

and the way you’d come over and inhale all the food in my fridge

and how you’d mark your territory on my couch

i also really miss our movie nights, it was the only thing that relieved my stress 😔

and, believe it or not, i miss arguing with you

i could say so much more, but i don’t think it’s appropriate unless you wanna hear?

You paused for a second, seeing that your list had taken up the entire screen.

Damn, you really missed him, huh?

you: why did we stop talking?

you know my door is always open for you, jeon 😕

Whether it be to pester you, hang out, or fuck, Jungkook was always welcome.

you: but enough about you, stink

what did you miss about me? 🥰

It’d been eating him up inside long before this special moment, gnawing away at his core and causing Jungkook’s blush to deepen in color and expand vastly over the smooth canvas of his cheeks that were puppeted by two strings pulling hard at the apples of his cheeks whenever his heart went crazy drumming to its own, particular beat. It was a type of drumming that was so rare, he worried it was an actual heart attack at its beginning stages…

jungkook: you’re making me and my “stupid face” blush, lee 😵‍💫

But he never dropped down to the ground dead—it was worse— Jungkook was left with the continuous stinging in his chest and a conscious mind full of consuming thoughts.

Jeon Jungkook never skipped out on an opportunity to feed his massive ego, but you never missed the cue as his ‘special best friend’ to always give in and singlehandedly create an even cockier version of the man; just for the moment you were together, be it over text or in person.

Truth? Jungkook would rather hear you say these things to his face, then he’d be able to show a more genuine reaction to how they made him feel— a kiss spoke volumes, for example. He was never the best at saying things the way he wanted to say them— but on the bright side, Jungkook was glad you couldn’t see him and his flushed being.

That seemed to be his thing; go big or go home.

jungkook: that’s a hell of a long list for a girl that said she forgot about my existence 👀

sure you weren’t thinking about me everyday, pretty?

He liked to think he was in control; he enjoyed being in control, but when his skin was lit up because of a few sweet words from you, confidence didn’t come as easily and smoothly as it usually did. So, Jungkook settled for playing a front over text.

Not like you had any way of seeing him.

jungkook: but hmm, what did i miss about you? 🤔 well for starters, i like it when you let me raid your fridge and let me mark my territory on your couch ;)

how you call me “stink” or “idiot” with a smile on your face after i say something stupid because deep inside you find it endearing 👀

your random fuckin GORY murder cases that always stick with me. a man is scarred

when you’re super concentrated while studying and quietly mumble to yourself under your breath. it’s cute

you in glasses. that’s it

our movie nights, especially when you let me pick ironman for the 100th time

i also miss arguing with you and proving your ass wrong

your ass.

sleeping with you in the way that you keep me warm during the night and you rest your head on my chest. i like feeling like i’m keeping you safe

and sleeping with you in the way that i can make you feel really good, help you relieve stress. feeling closer to you is being inside you

Fuck, did he go overboard?

Jungkook was only trying to match you in terms of quality, but now looking back at all the sent messages, he couldn’t help but cringe at himself for saying all that.

He should’ve taken quality over quantity more seriously..

“Damn,” He ran a hand through his hair and quickly got back to typing so that you wouldn’t sit on the last part for too long.

jungkook: and wdym “when did we stop talking” 💀💀 y/n, it’s only been two days 🙄

im coming over tomorrow tho, can’t have you missing me anymore 😉

For a brief second, you thought you were reading texts from the boyfriend you never had. It was worse since you were going overboard with the blushing, but how could you control that? His string of texts were like… a confession.

Could he possibly be in love with you? Never.

Jeon Jungkook was incapable of feeling such things, and having said that out loud, all your hope had disintegrated. Jungkook was too clueless, he probably couldn’t even remember what you said in the shower.

you: i’m starting to think you missed me more than i missed you

You stayed giggling quietly to yourself, reading on each line one by one and feeling the butterflies in the pit of your stomach erupt. If Jungkook were here right now, he’d probably tease the hell out of you, use it as a way to boost his inflated ego.

you: my fridge has been restocked for you, so you won’t have to bring over half-eaten pizza like last time 💀

ALSO

IM ALWAYS RIGHT! you have never ever proved me wrong in your life

you argue with bs, i argue with FACTS 😌

What’s something that would make the Jeon Jungkook fold?

A selfie.

But not just any odd selfie.

It was a blessing in disguise that you had your glasses on right now. A little selfie wouldn’t hurt anyone (but deep down you wanted to gauge a reaction out of him, for your own satisfaction) so you opened your camera and angled your phone up in front of you, your eyes peeking up from behind your lenses, unknowingly pulling off the whole ‘innocent, but not-so-innocent nerd’ look paired with a small pout.

The raised view might be familiar to him.

You were satisfied with the first picture you took so you sent it through to him, with another message following right after;

you: my glasses miss your face 😔

they’re tired of looking down at textbooks all day

When did Jeon become so totally and utterly fascinated with the casual sight of your dorky frames sitting high up on your cute nose, framing your face and making you seem even smarter and a bigger nerd than you already were?

He had no fuckin’ idea.

Glasses never looked as good on anyone else than they did on you— something about how your smartness aligned with the vivid image in his head of a sexy, intelligent librarian just did it for him without any misses.

Was it a fantasy or just simp behaviour?

Whatever it was, you had the brains and the looks; Jungkook honestly thought you were extremely cool and he could only dream to be as smart and dedicated to learning as you were.

Jungkook saved the picture to his camera roll after staring at it for a few moments in silence, lured in by everything from your puckered lips to deer-like eyes as they drove him wild in a manner he was way too familiar with.

“Fuck,” Jeon tipped his head to the side to take a look at the expected erection in his sweats, the bulge pitching a big tent against the bare material of his pants since Jungkook rarely wore anything underneath whenever he was alone.

None of this was fair.

Deciding to play your game his own way, he tapped on the camera and angled it towards his growing erection after pressing record, shamelessly zooming in on his bulge whilst breathing out a low, “This isn’t fair, y’know. Rubbing one out at 12am wasn’t on my list of plans for the night.”

Jungkook sent the video without another thought and added a provocative text to go along with it, his bottom lip close to going numb from biting down on it so hard.

jungkook: instead of looking down, how bout you look up at me? i think you’ll find that more fun

This was much more than the reaction you expected from Jungkook. You expected a little “you look pretty” or a “you look like a nerd” type of text from him, one that could stem as serious or just playful teasing, but watching the short clip and being met with his inane bulge, an overwhelming sense of pride took over.

You had awoken the beast with just a mere selfie?

No physical touch, no overly suggestive text message?

You had every right to believe you were capable of more. Maybe not right now since you had the clip on loop to bask in his ragged, deep voice, which gave you the most uncalled-for flashbacks to those nights where he’d praise you for taking him so good.

You quickly saved the video (for your own pleasure) and got to typing with your sweaty thumbs and clenching thighs.

you: life isn’t fair, sorry about that

Reading his last text message, your poor self had fallen into daydream mode. All the endless possibilities of you being on your knees and staring up at the man, doing God knows what. But you knew exactly what he meant, and you were not against it…

But you could always play dumb.

you: but why would i do that, koo?

enlighten a dumb girl like myself, would you?

Jungkook was this close to giving up on the sexual bantering over text and get up from his bed, go out his front door, hop on his motorcycle and drive the short minutes to your apartment just to show you what he meant— even if it was clear enough that you were only playing games with him.

jungkook: does acting clueless help you ignore the fact that you want me rn? bc let me know how that works out for you ;)

Before Jungkook could even acknowledge it, one hand extended downwards to grope his own cock, the firm contact pressuring a deep grunt to exit past his parted mouth and into the privacy of his bedroom where the darkness failed to conceal the slight twitch of his dark brows, the screen of his phone highlighting every minor gesture on his face as a response to him touching himself. His palm smoothed over his bulge time after time again as his heavy eyes stayed set on the picture before him— your selfie, breathing becoming just as unsteady.

Needy for something else, Jungkook eagerly slipped his fingers past the waistband of his sweats and pulled out his cock in one go, coming face to face with its angry tip that oozed precum moments before bucking his hips into his fisted hand, clearer groans and deeper moans making themselves known as he messily pumped his cock within his tight, slippery grip.

“Fuu-fuck.. shit,” for the first time, he looked down at the way his latched hand moved seamlessly down his girth instead of your picture, allowing his mind to run wild and imagine his slick fist was you, the tightness making him dizzy. His hips impulsively used the mattress as drive to thrust themselves upwards and fuck into his hand, his tip coming out the top drenched in more precum after each plunge.

Deciding it’d be selfish of him to keep you in the dark whilst he got off because of you, Jungkook opened his eyes and despite the minor shakiness, angled the phone above his face and started recording.

All he allowed you to see was his slack face, moderately sweaty and flushed at the cheeks, a glint of shine peeking past his hooded eyes and kissable lips split as his ragged breathing was heard. His messy hair fell over his forehead and brows just right, clenched jaw locked in place whilst his nostrils flared, the phone in his deadly grip shaking even more now that Jeon grew restless and pumped himself even faster— his arm was aching.

Finally, the man spoke, smirking lazily at the camera. “Does a dumb girl like yourself know what’s goin’ on right now? Don’t play stupid, hnghh— doesn’t benefit anyone, baby.”

Being the tease Jungkook was known for, he flipped the camera but didn���t show his cock by covering the lens with his fingers, hovering the device close to his dick for you to be able to clearly hear the wet sounds of his built-up precum sliding up and down his lathered shaft as he went crazy pumping himself to the sticky base, his grunts playing in the background.

He was so close, but all that was left was a push from you, and so Jeon sent the video straight away, going easy on himself for the time being.

You had never clicked on a video so fast in your life, and God, did Jungkook serve. The phone had been brought even closer to your face, as if trying to hide from anyone that could see (you still needed to get used to living alone) and the moment your ears picked up on his heavy breaths and flushed state, only a child would guess wrong about what he was doing right now.

Your eyes stayed glued to Jungkook’s face, admiring the sharp slate along his jaw and his parted lips, imagining just how soft they would be if you had the chance to kiss him again.

The ongoing ache between your legs remained steady (with a lot of self control) but you were crumbling by the second.

“Fuck’s sake,” you curse under your breath, forming a tight line with your lips as you watched on, suddenly having little time to process that his face was no longer in the frame. The video was still going on and you sat there with your knees up to your chest, putting the volume up to the max to hear just how sinful and erotic his actions were playing out to be.

So much for self control, you failed to keep your body temperature at a norm along with your blushing cheeks (which felt like they were on literal fire) hearing such dirty sounds.

You could make out the image in your head; Jeon sprawled out on his bed, sweating with one muscular arm between his legs and his cock vigorously pumping between his fist.

It should’ve been your fist getting him off, but the circumstances deemed that to be difficult.

Was it possible to want to suck someone off more than just sit down and study?

you: fuck you, jeon

The throbbing between your legs was beginning to grow unbearable, so you did what you were best at.

Repaying him in the most unexpected way possible.

With your phone clutched in your hand and legs brought down to dangle off your seat, you opened up your camera, switching to video and hugging the phone close to your chest, with the lens facing up towards your chin. You made sure the lower half of your face came into view before pressing record.

You didn’t say a word; simply letting your actions speak for themselves as you slipped your middle and ring finger past your plump lips and letting your tongue rest flat along the base, trying to slick them up a little before wrapping your lips around your digits completely.

This was totally out of character for you, but Jungkook wasn’t making it easy. The thought of him shoving his fingers down your throat edged you to push your own digits a little farther and then pulling back in a constant motion. Each time your fingers would come into view again, they’d be ten times more soaked than before, and just to spite the man, you would zoom in on your glistening digits and force him to watch on, slowing down the pace of your fingers so he could really cherish the sight of your fingers disappearing past your lips.

“Bet you wish that was you, huh?” you whisper softly, pulling your fingers out ever-so-slowly and then adjusting the angle of your phone, pulling it away to give him a view of the oversized shirt you were wearing which he left a couple nights ago.

You set your phone down to lean on the pile of textbooks on your desk, wasting no time in setting the heels of your feet on the edge of your seat and lifting the hem of his shirt over your stomach to reveal the lack of attire underneath.

Just a pair of simple lilac coloured underwear.

You gave the camera one last look before following Jungkook’s train of movement, slipping your glistening digits past the band of your panties, and as much as you wanted to touch yourself right now, you paused.

You weren’t giving in that easily, so you reached over for her phone with a teasing grin on your face, making sure only your face was in the shot before your fingers lightly feathered across your untouched core, eyes fluttering shut and back now resting slack against the chair.

“Koo..” Shit, you’d barely done anything.. It took you a moment to regain your composure and you stopped the video, free hand still sat between your legs and digits seamlessly running up and down your slit as you rushed to send him the video.

That should do it.

And that fucking did.

He should've known, he should’ve known that you would one-up him at his own playing field because— when did you not constantly surprise him with whatever skills you kept in your pockets, only choosing to show them off at the right time?

Your head game? Fucking awesome. Handjob? He swore he saw a goddamn angel last time. The best pancakes in the world? Only at your place.

Everything you did was irresistible and for someone like Jungkook, nothing in the world beat not ever knowing what to expect, that was partly why he slept around a lot. But you… you were a total freak.

Which is why Jeon should’ve busted right then and there after watching the video all the way through, he almost did, but instead of shooting his cum into the air, now he was angry at himself for even tempting such a mouthwatering, captivating response out of you while being stuck where he was. Not being able to actually do anything about it, he groaned to himself and wished it was his fingers that dipped past the warmth of your mouth, collecting your saliva to use as a lube to relentlessly finger you until your legs shook..

“Fuckin’ shit..!” Jeon threw his head back whilst his wrist flicked around the base of his cock, dragging his palm upwards to do the same to his red tip. Once those long drags began to lose their heavy momentum, that was when he used his other hand to text you back, his lower stomach muscles flexing as a sign that Jeon was extremely close.

jungkook: dirty girl getting her fingers dirty for me

looking so pretty in my shirt too? fuck you’re so good, wanna fuck you

gonna come a shit ton bc of that video. sucks it won’t be inside that pussy fuuck

Throwing his phone aside for the time being, Jungkook focused on getting himself off with the image of you fresh in his mind, his buff arm cramping up but he persisted nonetheless, abusing his twitching cock with all his strength until long ropes of white erupted from his tip and onto his sweats, his hand, his stomach, the sheets—his fucking foot?

“A-ahh..hmpph-hmm.. ah.. ah, fuck,” just when he thought he was done, his cock twitched and added on to the pool of creamy white on his sweatpants, “Shit..”

The man took the messy opportunity to snap a quick photo of the mess that was his stomach and sheets, ensuring his dick was in the frame this time before sending it to you with a cheeky—

jungkook: this could’ve been all yours baby

You continued your miscreants against your aching cunt, sliding your middle finger in completely and exhaling softly at the familiar feeling. Many of your nights were spent alone, mindlessly fucking yourself for relief (though it barely helped since you could never finish alone) but now masturbating seemed so… out of the ordinary.

You never felt the need to touch yourself since you and Jungkook started whatever this whole situation was. In all honesty, you were ashamed to admit you could no longer please yourself without your best friend by your side, whether it be him guiding you with words, or straight up doing the job for you. It sounded wrong on so many levels, but you couldn’t help what your body yearned for.

The thought only frustrated you since you were alone and nowhere near close to relief, but you continued to tease and toy with yourself, occasionally pinching your sensitive bud and then breaking out into short, fast-paced rubs where your fingers would slip past your entrance and knock the air out of her lungs.

Jungkook’s texts were coming through one by one, and each one forced you to pick up the pace of your wrists, now thrusting your fingers between your soft walls at a vigorous pace. Oh, the things you would do for him to leave a hot mess inside of you.. it was pissing you off and it was obvious you were taking out your frustrations on yourself.

If his texts weren’t enough to drive you insane, the picture he attached with the blatant mess of white surrounding him and knowing it was all your doing, sparked a different kind of light within you.

you: fuck you for being at home right now

you: i can’t do this

To be more clear, you snapped a quick video of yourself, camera facing down in front of you to give Jungkook the perfect view of your slick coated digits fucking into you, paired with your shallow breaths and your signature whines, “Should’ve been you, Koo.. you know I can’t do this on my own.” Your voice was unsteady as you spoke, and you were close to breaking down horny and unsatisfied, but you kept yourself together.

No matter how embarrassing it was, you still sent him the video, typing away at your screen with your free hand and pulling the other out from between your legs with a huff.

you: im holding myself back to come on your cock next time

and i’ll make sure none of it goes to waste

Sexting with you at the asscrack of night wasn’t exactly on Jungkook’s to-do list, but just as a wise woman once texted— plans inevitably change and hell if he wasn’t content with the turnout. Not to mention it served as closure that he wasn’t being shut out on purpose and a quick release all in one, although the new texts and dirty video of a quick peek inside her panties made him question if it was worth the extra cramping in his hand and even messier sheets..

The man grimaced slightly at the warm stickiness on his stomach and fingers; he’ll jerk off to that one another day.

Truth be told, Jeon was extremely exhausted and he had a real reason to be… now. Before he had the balls to hit you up and resume where you left off, all the latter did while his roommate was gone was play video games, sulk about why why you weren’t taking initiative and worrying that Tae had gotten ran over by a car, and then another— and another.

Like always, you were the highlight of his night and day plus every moment in between.

jungkook: “fuck me” for being at home rn?? ha you wish 😗🥴

and sure you’ll wait for me baby, you’re my good girl

just know i’m coming over tomorrow and picking up where we left off. missed u too much i doubt id be able to keep my hands to myself 🤤

Jeon didn’t realize he was grinning— the kind of grinning that formed those crinkles around his eyes— until he caught sight of his reflection through the screen, simultaneously noticing how tired his smiling eyes looked and, in a very adult way, he took that as a sign to call it a night. There was always tomorrow, and there will be a tomorrow.

A very eventful one— he’ll make sure of it.

A loud yawn easily slipped past his agape mouth and Jungkook used his clean hand to start typing again, doe eyes blinking repeatedly to try and stay awake just so he could send you a goodnight text and manage to at least change out of his clothes.

jungkook: i’m heading to bed now, no workout ever tires me out like you do 💪

night, hope my shirt keeps you warm 😏

you: night, jeon

try not to dream about me tonight 😴

And just like that, Jungkook set his phone aside and sighed to himself after standing up and taking a closer look at the mess he’d made— was that amount of cum… healthy?

You were honestly messing with his head but.. Jungkook kind of liked it.

You got out of your seat and went straight to the bathroom, leaving your phone behind to wash up.

What an eventful night.

Jungkook’s ‘i’m coming over tomorrow and picking up where we left off’ stayed lingering in your mind as you thoroughly washed your hands. You were finally going to see Jungkook after 2 days (felt like a month) and you didn’t know how you’d react the moment you open the door for him.

Would you jump him because you missed him so much? Slap him because he didn’t bother to talk to you these last two days? Kiss him without thinking because you missed his lips?

Fuck, you really wanted to kiss him.

Maybe you would just stand there and let the man welcome himself in since he had a lot of experience doing that anyway the last couple years.

Either way, you were completely and utterly fucked for caring so much.

Whatever though, Jungkook was still clueless and that was something you could dwell on another time, but for now, you felt like you needed 6 months worth of sleep for the 9857265 hours you spent studying to keep your mind off Jungkook.

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[midnight-talescape]

𝒩𝑒𝑒𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈 (𝒪𝓂𝑒𝑔𝒶 𝑀𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓁 𝓍 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝒶 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇)

Kinktober Day 9: Male Lactation

The inspiration is that one person who’s like they want Miguel to breastfeed them.

Very valid opinion me fucking too

The idea was like either Miguel eat a serum or Omega Miguel, and in the end I just like Omega Miguel better.

But I don’t believe in submissive Miguel and theres too many submissive omega, so instead we have a angry dominant omega and a go-with-the-flow beta.

Warning: breeding, male lactation, miguel is still a dom, ooc etc, etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

Word Count: 2656

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Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!

This is not what he needs right now, he shouldn't be here. He should be fixing the multiverse, not curling up in his bed unable to do anything!

Miguel snarled as another wave of heat hit him and he curled up in his hastily made nest, desperately fighting the instinct inside him to mate.

As he lay there panting and his body flushing with needs and wants, he couldn't help but think of you…

He shouldn't think of you, he shouldn't want you, he shouldn't need you…

You were a beta, you can't mark him, just like he couldn't mark you…

But he wants you, he wants you so badly it hurts him. He wants you more than anything else in the multiverse.

He wants to bury his cock into your soft body, to watch you cry and beg as he fucked you stupid.

He wants to fill you to the brim with his cum, to breed you, and impregnate you with his child.

He knows he couldn't and it's scientifically impossible for an omega male to impregnate a beta female, but oh god does he want to try…

He wants to watch the cum drip down your thigh as he fills you up over and over again, to plug you up with his cock as he work, his cock in your throat as he have a meeting…

He wants to claim you as his, to make others know that you belong to him and only him.

Miguel groaned into his blanket as these thoughts swirled in his mind, he could almost smell your tantalizing scent of rain and lavender on his tongue as he lay there your image filling his head.

Wait…

He’s not imagining things, your scent is getting closer and his body froze as he heard a knock on the door…

Fuck…

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You knocked on Miguel's door, worried for his health since he hadn't been out of his room all day.

“Miguel, are you okay?”

Miguel stumbled as he got up to unlock the door for you, his face flush and his body sweating as he towered above you.

“What do you want, (Y/N)?” His voice came out harsh and raspy hiding the fact about how much he needs you,

“I came to check on you since you haven't been outside all day, are you having a fever?” you ask looking at his flushed face,

Miguel growled lowly as he heard you say that, the throbbing of his erection becoming all the more apparent.

He wants you.

He could feel himself trembling, his eyes glowing red with need, he pushed down his desire for you before turning his gaze back to you.

"It's complicated, (Y/N)," he said his voice deeper than usual, laced with unspoken lust and wants,

You placed your hand on your hip as you looked at him,

“Then tell me, Miguel.”

He watched you as you waited for him to speak. He opened to speak but he closed his mouth once again.

He knew that if he did you’d probably hate him once you found out how much he wanted you.

He cleared his throat, as he studied you.

God, how he wished he could touch you and make you his.

"It's complicated, (Y/N)," he repeated,

He wanted to tell you the truth

That he wants you so badly it's tearing him apart.

That when you walk near him his world turns upside down.

That he craves you so much it's like a drug, demanding to be fed with your presence.

That right now, what he wants more than anything in the multiverse is you, crying and begging under him as he fucked you into oblivion.

But he couldn’t…

Hearing him say that you bristled with anger, you were worried sick and here he was being the usual stubborn prick he is, walking forward you grabbed his shirt and pulled him down towards you,

“Then explain it to me, Miguel! I have been worried sick about you all day!”

As you grabbed him Miguel groaned, every touch you give him sends waves of pleasure through him. Every breath you take is a blessing, a curse, and a heartbreak in the working.

In one last desperate irrational act, Miguel pushed you against a wall, his body leaning closer to you.

His breath was hot against your face, causing a shiver to run up your spine as he said harshly,

"What if I said I’m in heat and I want you? What if I told you I didn't want to let you leave? That I want to lock you in here until you relieve my need?"

He waited.

He waited for you to push him away, to call him a sick bastard, and get the fuck out of here.

But you didn't.

Instead, you looked up at him confusion in your eyes as you said,

“Pardon?”

Miguel groaned as he repeated himself, it was too late to regret this now…

“I said, I’m in heat and I want you, that I'm borderline ready to just lock you in here till you deal with my need, you imbécil,”

Despite his harsh words, his voice was laced with desperation. Each word was a vulnerability, an offering, a plea for you to return his feelings.

"You’re an omega and you want me" you repeated trying to make sense of everything,

"Yes, (Y/N), get it through your thick head," his voice laced with anguish and desire. "I'm an Omega. And, god help me, I want you."

"No need to be rude, I'm just confused.” you said as you shook your head trying to clear your mind before rambling, “Will that even work? I can't mark you, can I even help you in your heat?" your brain flew into chaos, less concern over the fact that he's an omega and more concern on the question, can you help him?

Miguel sighed as you rambled on before pulling you into his chest and shutting you up by kissing you.

Your eyes widened at the kiss and when you guys broke apart, your eyes was still round with shock.

Looking at your face Miguel grinned before burying his face in your neck, his body shuddering and he let out a groan as he finally got close to the one thing he desired above all else.

"You don't have to help me, (Y/N)," he said, his breath warm against your neck "Just by being so close to you in my heat, it gets me off more than anything anyone could ever dream of. And that's just fucked up. It's fucked up how much I want you, (Y/N)”

His voice was rough as he said that, as he finally admitted his deepest desire to you, he wrapped his arm around you as he breathed in your scent.

You looked up at him your heart finally calming down, you took a deep breath before hugging back and saying softly,

“Be glad I want you too, be glad you are the closest thing to love I will ever feel toward anything and anyone…”

Feeling your arm wrapped around him, Miguel couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness and possession towards you

The heat that he had suppressed for the entire day erupted inside him turning him almost feral. Pulling you tightly toward him, he dragged you toward his nest and pushed you onto his bed.

His claw extended as he ripped your shirt and bra off of you, desperately kissing and biting you as he whimpered into your neck.

His voice was hoarse from suppressed tears as he whispered,

"I love you mi amor, I need you. You are the only thing that brings me any relief in this godforsaken world. You’re my weakness, and my savior, all wrapped up in an annoying bundle."

With that he pulled you into a deep kiss, desperate to feel everything you have to offer.

You moaned into the kiss as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, his tongue wrapped around yours as he explored every corner of your mouth.

Your hand desperately grabbed onto his shirt as you lost yourself in this desire.

Miguel pulled away from your lip and kissed down your neck again. Biting and licking at every inch of skin that he can get to, he wants the world to see you belong to him. He wants your skin to bloom with flowers of purple and red.

As one of his hands tangled into your hair pushing you into him, he began to rip at his clothing.

When he finally ripped his clothes off of him he begin placing kisses down the valley between your breast and before taking a hardened nipple into his mouth.

Miguel swirled his tongue around your nipple, biting it like he wanted to devour you whole, groaning as you let out a sob from pleasure. His hand slid down your bare body and he pulled your pantie to the side.

“F-fuck!” you swore and tears spiked in your eyes as you felt Miguel slip a clawed finger into your fold,

You bit down on Miguel's shoulder as his claw scraped against your wall, drawing a loud moan from him as he thrust his finger in and out of you.

“H-hurt…Mi-miguel t-this hurt…haaaaa…”

Miguel kissed your tears away as his claw continued to dig and curled inside your wall. Each of your moans and mewls seems to fuel his desire for you even more.

“I'm sorry, mi amor… it will feel better, I swear it will feel better… fuck… te necesito…por favor…”

You sobbed as your nails scrapped at Miguel's back, desperately trying to relax your body around his clawed fingers.

"Let yourself go, and just feel me. Fuck, you're incredible, mi amor…" Miguel groaned out as he bit down on your neck with his fangs,

You let out a silent scream as he bit down on you, pain and pleasure coursing through your body, and coming to a violent high as he slipped another clawed finger inside you.

Miguel let out a shuddering groan as he felt you clenched around his finger. He kissed your throat as you shuddered under him.

Part of his desire felt satisfied at the fact that he was bringing you all these sensations. That he didn't have to be an alpha to bring you these mind-numbing pleasures, to have you trembling and shaking under him.

But it wasn't enough, it will never be enough. He needs to feel more of you, he wants to hold you so tight you become part of him.

"Oh god, Miguel... please... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! So full…," you sobbed out as you rode out another climax,

Miguel's thumb massaged your clit, as he violently thrust his fingers inside you. You threw your head back and your wall clenched tightly around Miguel's fingers as another orgasm shook your body.

Miguel moaned in response, his cock throbbing painfully as you convulsed under him. The feeling of your wall clenching around him and the sound of your desperate moan turned him on beyond belief.

He twisted his claw inside you one last time before pulling out and slamming his cock inside of you.

He groaned loudly as your body clenched around his cock, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your body stretched painfully around him.

Sweat dripped down Miguel’s forehead, your wall clenching tightly around him as he waited for you to adjust to his cock. He didn't want to hurt you, despite his mind screaming at him to fuck you into oblivion.

"Let me know if it's too much, I won't stop, but I'll try to make it bearable. God, I want you so much." Miguel panted into your ears,

You gripped his arm as you tried to calm down. Your body was in so much pain as you felt yourself being practically split open on Miguel's cock. You could practically feel him in your stomach in fact you can see your stomach bulging out showing the shape of his erection through your belly.

After a few minutes, you took a shuddering breath, your eyes streaming with tears as you nodded your head motioning to Miguel that he could move.

Miguel grits his teeth as he begins to thrust into you. Feeling every inch of his cock stretching you open, causing you to groan and buried your head into his honker chest as your body shuddered violently.

He lifted you onto his lap, holding you close to his body and begin to slam you onto his cock roughly.

The desire and lust from his heat finally took over his mind.

"Can’t think straight, niña... Need to mark you… por favor… quierdo dios… want to breed you…mi amor...," Miguel panted into your ears, his voice hoarse from the pleasure he was experiencing,

You sobbed as you felt him pounding into you, you felt so full and the pleasure was overwhelming.

In your mind fucked state you bit down on Miguel's boobies chest and begin to instinctively suck on his nipple.

Miguel let out a desperate moan as you did so, using one hand to continue slamming you on his dick, while the other hand pushed your head further into his titties chest.

As you were pushed into his chest your eyes widened when a warm sweetliquid hit your tongue.

Even in your daze state you manage to recognize that, what was being forced down your throat was milk.

Miguel was lactating…

As he begin to lactate into your mouth Miguel moaned loudly, his pupil blown wide open as he cum inside you. Filling you up with cum as he forced you to keep drinking his milk. His body shuddered with pleasure as he felt his heat being satisfied momentarily before coming back stronger than before. He needs you, more than ever.

“Gonna breed you… need to breed you, so badly… Good girl…. Just drink a little more… for me… por favor…necescito este cariño…” he babbled into your neck as his eyes glow red from needs and wants,

You moaned into his chest as you drank Miguel's milk, feeling his milk and cum filling you up. Your eyes were dazed and glassy from how hard Miguel was fucking you.

Miguel let out a low groan, his primal instincts taking over him as he feel your body clinging onto him.

He moved your head away from his chest and held your head up to look at your dazed face. You looked up at him, some of the milk you couldn't swallow dripping down your chin. He leaned down and licked away the bit of milk before kissing you deeply.

When he parted he put his forehead on yours saying,

“I can never truly mark you, cariño. Just like you can't mark me because you are a beta. But I will make you mine, no one will take you away from me, mi amor…”

You looked up and pulled him into a kiss, your answer clear,

You are mine just like I am yours…

Growling he kissed back with an animalistic hunger as he sank farther into your body. His claws dug deeper into your flesh as the room around you guys seemed to fade away, replaced only by his need to mark you and the intense pleasure he derived from it.

"Por favor," Miguel murmured into your kiss his hand finding yours as he pounded into you,

You’re his and he will breed you, mark you, and show everyone that he doesn’t need to be an alpha to make you his.

No one else will have you, not an Alpha, not a Beta, not another Omega.

You belong to him just like he belongs to you.

It was fucked up but it was still love; a twisted, imperfect love that defied reason and science. A love, destined to push both of you to the very edge of the multiverse.

[blubushie]

Yikes, reading some of these messages hit a little too close to home.

I'm a trans man, and my relationship with masculinity has been more rocky as recently. I started T and realized I have much more dysphoria than I realized because I was ignoring it. And I've experienced my fair share of transphobia.

I've had classmates say (jokingly, I know) that I'll start becoming entitled, and a misogynist because I started T. In a university level queer studies class, they all had certain distaste for men. The expectation was that they would shut up and not talk over the woman's experiences (to be fair, I was one of 2 men in that class). Even one of my closest friends has issues with hating men that I've meant to bring up (I'm the exception because I'm trans and don't really look like a man most of the time). But I've always brushed it off, saying that "trans women have it worse" or "this is what I get for becoming the 'enemy'".

It took me a long time to even admit I was trans because I know that men were "the enemy" and I was betraying people by becoming one.

That anon who said that he didn't want to become a Twink, oof I relate to that. It wasn't until I got into TF2 that I realized what kind of form I wanted (Engineer and Soldier being major players in this realization).

You are the only one I've ever really seen talking about masculinity. Like ever, and I've been in queer spaces for a very long time. It's comforting to know that my struggles are real. And aren't being brushed off as "well xxxx have it worse." (I know. I know other trans people have their struggles and should not be treated as irrelevant. I know that. But I never see anyone talking about masculinity. It's treated as a disease almost).

I'm rambling, but I guess I just wanted to say thanks. I rarely talk to anyone on the Internet, content to just observe, but you've really made me feel seen. So thank you

I don't wanna be the one to break it to you, but if someone says they hate men and say you're an exception because you're trans or don't look enough like a cis man, it's because they're transphobic and don't see you as a "real" man. And that will change when you start passing and getting clocked as male, and it'll especially change when you express any joy in what testosterone is doing to your body or any joy in being perceived as male. You're most likely an exception because they don't see you as a man yet even though you are one.

Additionally I don't know how long you've been out, but since you're just starting on T, this means people have probably been clocking you and IDing you as female most of your life. Which means you have every right to discuss women's issues and misogyny because you have been subjected to misogyny. NO ONE gets to just erase your lived experiences growing up in a female body and being subjected to misogyny just because you are now openly identifying as male.

And we don't choose our gender. We're born this way, remember? You're betraying no one by "becoming" a man because you were born a man. At most you're making a choice to change your body to ease the symptoms of an illness—gender dysphoria—and I don't see anyone copping shit with depressed people for taking antidepressants. You're not on some random drug, you are specifically on a medication to treat an illness that you have. If people don't like that because of what variant of that illness you have, they can get fucked. They are not worth your time.

You are 100% valid in your experiences and feelings. I'm glad that I can offer a safe space for you to speak about those things.

Also, if I can suggest, it might do you some good to join a club of some kind with a lot of men where you can see masculinity be celebrated in a positive light instead of demonised. I'm not sure if you're into hunting or fishing, but those are my best suggestions. An archery club, a hunting club, a fishing club, etc. Hang out at your local bait shop looking like a sad puppy and some old fart'll find you and invite you fishing.

Chookas, mate. Keep your chin up. You're doing fine.

[menlove]

i’m new to the whole beatles rpf (i am an rpf veteran though i wrote 75k words of michael jackson fanfiction in middle school and 15k of queen freshman year of hs 😐) so what are like the tenets of beatles rpf. what’s the need to know.

YELLS that's so fucking valid of you I can't even lie

and HMMMM okay I can only speak for mclennon bc I observe the other ships from a distance but don't chomp at the bit about it but here's some things that come up A Lot in fics

john & paul met on july 6, 1957 at a church garden party. john played "come go with me" & got the words wrong while paul watched from the audience and Fell In Love. after, they officially met. paul took john's guitar, tuned it, then flipped it upside down (he's left handed) and played 20 flight rock perfectly. john was smitten and the rest was history

oh shit edit I forgot! john used to climb the drainpipe into pauls room. VITAL info that comes up so often

they had group wanking sessions (beat the meatles lmfao) & they'd call out the names of various female celebrities during it (john would apparently call out male names as a joke to throw people off which 💀)

STUUUUUU. we love stu, paul hates stu. stuart sutcliffe was a boy john met at art college & he became His Boy Bestie instead of paul for a while which had paul FUMING. john & stuart lived together for a while & in mclennon lore john was in love with him (& I do also think that lmao). which brings us to

HAMBURG. in 1960 the beatles went to hamburg & stayed several months in the world's dingiest room. they shared bunk beds & stayed up all night playing music & took pills (prellies) to stay the fuck awake. stuart went with as their bassist & paul hated him soooo bad so bad. in part bc stu did not take the band very seriously & was not good at playing and paul is a notorious perfectionist. fun hamburg facts! here stuart met astrid, his future fiance. and she took them to a gay bar lmao. also, at one point, in the most heinous and toxic move, john walked in on paul fucking a girl and lost it. he cut up her clothes with a pair of scissors and then started stabbing the wardrobe 💀 normal behavior. the whole thing was just drugs and sex and music. great fic setting always.

eventually they got back. george was deported first bc he was underage & then paul and the drummer lit a fucking condom on fire where they were staying and got deported too. john stayed an extra bit & when he got back didn't tell anyone. in the meantime, stu stayed in germany w astrid and paul Got A Job at his dad's insistence bc they all thought the band was over when john didn't show back up. but eventually he did. and made paul pick between the job and the band...... or rather, his dad and john. and paul picked john.

Some Months Later john took paul to paris for his 21st birthday. 200000000000 fics about this. all legendary all gay.

stu died </3

there's barely any fics of the touring days which is tragic I think there should be 60000. I guess the only thing that comes up semi often from that era is that they played lovers in a play, pyramus & thisbe, and paul named two kittens pyramus & thisbe. and gave pyramus (the character he played) to john. not joking at all.

next biggest Canon McLennon Event everyone brings up is lsd. george & john got into lsd first & ringo tried it as well. paul was extremely reluctant to and this caused a bit of a rift between him and john. eventually though, they did trip together and the first night is McLennon Fic Lore. john accidentally dropped acid in the studio (smth he avoided) & was out of it. almost jumped off the roof. paul took him back to his home (cavendish) & took lsd with him. there's a lot to this trip I can't even summarize but it was gay and there's lots of fics abt this incident

was Not the first time paul took lsd though which brings us to the Next Big Tropey Players: tara browne and robert fraser. both are men paul hung around in 1967 and there's looots of fics where he was gay w them and john is Seething

india! I'm not an india truther so I don't really get into these but the fandom at large thinks Something Happened during the beatles' 1968 trip to india. this usually takes the form of john confessing to paul and them fucking and then paul turning him down. background lore for many many breakup fics

and that's the stuff that tends to come up Most Often. there's so much lore I could probably write an entire novel & a lot of it gets referenced but these are some of the biggest players lmao

[obsessivevoidkitten]

I really enjoy your fics where it’s hinted the reader may be trans, especially when it’s just pointed out by the yandere and they lean into it. Hellbound Angel is one of my favorites because of the reader going “oh yeah he’s got a point, I am this, and it feels right.” That’s actually how I found out I was trans, a friend pointed it out to me and I had such a vivid warm fuzzy feeling of coming home and finally having the language to describe what I am.

That may not be the case for that story due to the drugging, but imagining it that way lets me experience that warm fuzzy euphoric feeling again. Seeing it in a yandere monster fic lets me imagine a big strong monster taking me away and helping me become more myself too, which is one of my top fantasies—especially when the yandere is sweet, it just makes my heart flutter.

Love your work, and wishing you well ❤️

None of my fics are really hinting that the reader is trans. They are just feminized forcefully.

I like it because I'm trans, but I feel bad about it. I don't pass and I don't feel valid.

When I was recently back in a long distance relationship with my ex he cheated on me and dated others because he wanted a real woman he could have kids with.

Only one of my family knows I'm trans and he only refers to me as female when he is trying to exploit me, otherwise he calls me a guy.

Even my oldest friend wont call me female since she has known me since before I knew I was trans.

So I like to writw forced fem stuff since it doesn't make me feel fake and because the reader is forced into it so they have no say. Like the yandere's treatment of the reader is so strong that they don't care if the reader thinks they are male. They STILL get treated as a girl.

Idk. Sorry for rambling. Gender is complicated and weird.

[nightswithkookmin]

3D SLAYS WITH JACK HARLOW

I'm not here to tell anyone how to feel but I'm just saying Jackie killed those bars.

I don't want to get into this whole debate over whether or not Jack Harlow's verse was offensive because Jack is for the black girlies and the queers and I'm black and queer. Let's leave it there

And frankly I was too busy deciphering all the Easter eggs and black and white themes and weirdly familiar lyrics and all the diversity in there to notice anything off with Jack.

He's a white guy in a predominantly black space who is not only aware of this but is also less misogynoire-cist than a lot of these gay hating black rappers out here. I'll take Harlow over any day because I ain't tryna hear another homophobic rapper with internalized racism make caricature of black women and call it music.

Yall hate misogynists, I hate homophobic misogyny targeted at black queer women specifically even more and to me Jack is far from that. So may be there's a conflict of interest here somewhere caused by my intersecting identities.

And as a feminist I have a problem endorsing the slut shaming of men just as much as I disagree with the slut shaming of women.

How are we shaming this man over openly talking bout thoting.

And it's crazy cos we all be put here drooling over BTS openly talking bout wanting to be choked to death by these boys but God forbid a grown man says in his songs he is polyamorous.

Equality of genders means we can not slut shame men from expressing their sexual desires any more than we can slut shame women.

And 2023, monogamy isn't the only valid relationship model. Why does this feel like monogamy is the new heteronormativity?

And it's not as if he's glamorizing cheating on a partner, or drugs or gun violence.

I feel we've been fighting misogyny and objectification of women by men for so long we can't even tell what a healthy expression of male desire looks like.

I think Jack is so real for those lyrics. Some men and even women do like to fantasize about getting with different women. And having female attention really is form of validation for lots of men. For a lot of them it's deeply tied to their self worth.

Women will always be the object of desire for straight men. But that don't mean any time they talk about that subject that they are objectifying women. That's like saying men hurt women for pounding them at night- sex is not inherently oppressive. It's the lack of consent, and the treating women as if all we are good for is sex that makes it oppressive.

As long as he isn't berating women calling us slurs or promoting the objectification of women he and I are good.

From where I sit all I heard was a man discussing and bragging about his insatiable lust- for that I'll recommend he speaks to his therapist. Jesus can't help him.

He has an appetite. We shouldn't slut shame him for that. Misandry is not how we are going to fix misogyny.

If a girl sang the same lyrics we would be tweaking right about now.

Plus these lyrics are even pretty tame in comparison. Lmho. Jack has always been vulgar and explicit. Jack's personality to me is why I like him to be frank. He's pushed for visibility and acceptance of the gay community more than any non queer rapper you can think of.

As far as his talent as a rapper goes- I only care about his songs when he's featuring lil Nas X or Jungkook

I'm just gonna have to throw him back to yall

BUT PLEASE LEAVE 3D ALONE.

PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

[dinosaursmate]

There has been zero fangirls talk I know nothing pls share

it’s a new musical from Australia that is currently playing in London which is about girl who is a fan of a boyband… whose lead singer is called Harry… they are British and all auditioned for a tv talent show and were put together as a boyband…

anyway so she is 14 and writes self insert fanfiction. She co-writes a fic with a male fan from America called @ saltypringl (the best character in the show) about Harry and the fan going on the run so he can escape his evil management who are working him to death (fan girl says she can see depression in his eyes) (also Salty throws in a mention that management are concealing “multiple queer relationships in the band”)

fan girl kidnaps Harry irl and tries to convince him to go on the run with her but he’s like wtf is wrong with you, you’re disgusting

so she and her friends decide to drug him and throw him in the woods to be found and she will magically not go to jail

he then goes back on tour but halfway through his show realises she was right and leaves the band.

there’s a lot more to the story than this and it is quite mostly played slapstick (as I’m sure you’d hope, reading that synopsis) but it lowkey offended me. The writer was inspired by the reaction when Zayn left 1D and wanted to write something that portrays how strong and valid teenage girls and their feelings are

but imho she fell short of that and the belittling and patronising she did to fandom and fic writers through it undid all the good she might’ve done.

It was written from yes, a sympathetic, but ultimately an outside perspective and offended me as a lifelong fic writer and boyband fan.

I will defend fan fiction strongly and anything that reinforces the idea that all fic is teenagers writing self insert is damaging to our community

[littlewinter1917]

𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 

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

"𝔏𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰, ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔥𝔢'𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱."

Words: 31.4k (I don’t know how this happened either!)

Additional Disclaimer: Tumblr won’t let me post the whole story in one, so I’m posting this simultaneously in two parts.

This one is the first part and technically 21.7k.

You can read the second part here.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: He’s hot, he’s bold, he’s destructive, and despite your friends telling you to stay away from him, you can’t help but keep coming back for more. It’s the same thing for Billy, as he finds himself addicted to your touch and drawn in by the fire in your eyes. But it’s a dangerous game you’re both playing, and just like moths drawn to a flickering flame, someone’s bound to get hurt by the angry blaze burning all around the two of you.

Warnings: Drug and alcohol use. Shotgunning. Reader is quite the ‘maneater’ and uses casual sex in an unhealthy way. Swearing, arguments, daddy issues and minor anger issues, mentions of insecurities and insults. Slut-shaming (not from Billy!), and a fistfight. None-descriptive injuries and scars. Angry, rough sex in a public bathroom. Dirty talk, degradation, facefucking, dacryphilia, spanking, praising, spitplay, and unprotected sex. Billy and the reader both struggle with abandonment issues. Mentions and signs of self-destructive behavior, distress, and unstable home lives (Aka Billy’s past abuse and the reader’s dad being an alcoholic.) Minor jealousy, hurt feelings, angst and some breakdowns. There are mentions of difficult relationships to parental figures and the struggles that come with that, as well as implied past parental abuse, (Physical for Billy; emotional for both of them). But also: Billy & the reader opening up, learning to trust, and finally getting some healing. Fluff and a lot (!!!) of hurt/comfort along the way.

Read the story on AO3 here.

A/N: Parts of the Story and title are inspired by the Lana Del Rey song Happiness is a Butterfly.

I’ve been writing parts of this little beast for a while now, and I’m so glad I finally get to share it! This was initially supposed to be my take on a more toxic!Billy, but I failed that assignment completely. Turns out I just can’t write Billy to be overly mean or manipulative. The reader however is definitely written as a little more complicated and troubled, so please bear that in mind before reading. If topics such as commitment issues, self-objectification, and seeking male validation as well as emotional relief in rather unhealthy ways (in this case: lots of sex with men), upset or trigger you, please don’t continue reading!!

You meet him for the first time during one of your friend’s get-together down by the beach.

You arrived there with your usual lateness, so that the bottles of cheap vodka and liquor had already been passed along multiple times around the small bonfire, leaving most of your friends comfortably buzzed. It’s not like you’d join them in their pointless drinking games anyway, solely sticking to the little joints rolled up somewhere in the deep, dark pockets of your leather jacket. 

It’s Heather who spots you first, throwing one of her hands up in a lazy greeting, before patting the warm sand next to her as an invitation to sit down. 

“Wasn’t sure if you ditched us again or not.” She teases, and you just roll your eyes as a retort. 

“Don’t tempt me.” You huff, but the smile on your face is playful, and Heather simply pokes your side in retaliation until gentle laughter is bubbling out of you like sweet, straw-induced milkshake bubbles on a hot summer’s day.

It’s a soft sound that the wind carries over the wide and open beach, and it’s the first thing about you that grabs his attention, but you don’t know anything about that yet. 

You don’t notice him right away, too occupied with the task of catching up with your friends.

You’ve been going to less of the outings lately, so there’s actually stuff you managed to miss, like the fact that Heather has finally asked out one of the new girls, Robin, and now they have their first date set for Saturday.

It’s exciting, really, and you congratulate your friend with earnest joy, before pulling out one of your little joints. Heather isn’t big on smoking, so you don’t even try offering it to her. She’ll just snatch it from you instead if she feels like taking a drag or two, knowing that you’ll let her without much of a fuss. 

Similar to him, it’s his laughter that draws you in at first. It’s a deep and raspy sound that fills the evening air around you with a certain electricity, and it has you stopping your dreamy gaze towards the darkening dusk sky, as you try to make out the source of the sound.

You spot him sitting almost opposite to you, across the bonfire, next to Argyle, while the two of them are talking rather enthusiastically about something. 

You can’t make out any words, not with the way someone’s music’s playing in the background, accentuated only by the gentle sound of the crackling fire and the booming blend of voices and laughter coming from your friends. 

But he’s pretty. 

Really pretty.

Blue eyes big and bright, hair an endearing mess of curls, and his sun-kissed skin adorned with the faint traces of freckles.

He’s wearing a half-unbuttoned shirt in a deep red color, akin to that of the setting sun that’s currently in the midst of getting swallowed up by the ocean. But unlike usually, you’re barely paying attention to the breathtaking sunset, eyes instead transfixed on something just as beautiful.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Heather chimes up from beside you, following your gaze towards the new guy, before shaking her head, determined.

“That guy is trouble with a capital t and then some,” she whispers, “heard he’s good for a quick fuck, but the only thing bigger than his ego are his anger issues. So, I’d stay as far away from him as possible.”

“But he’s really pretty,” you whisper back, voice hushed but earnest, because, well, he simply is. 

“Yes, okay, but so are plenty of things. So are the warm, flickering flames of the bonfire,” Heather states with a nod towards the burning wood in front of you, “still doesn’t mean you should go run through it. There are things better admired from a distance, and that,” her eyes fixate on the pretty stranger again, “is one of those things.”

You just huff in return, crossing your arms across your chest defensively, before biting,

“And since when did you become such a prude, exactly? What’s wrong with a quick fuck anyway. Didn’t say I wanted to become his docile, little housewife or anything. All I said was that he’s pretty.”

“Yes, a pretty little notch in your bedpost maybe, and then what?”

“Then I find someone else that’s pretty. Come on, Heather, you know the drill, it’s not like it’s anything new.” 

The sigh that leaves Heather’s lips is somewhere between disappointment and defeat.

“It’s your prerogative at the end of the day. If you choose to fuck with him, that’s your call, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

“How bad can he be,” you grumble after another lazy drag from the joint you’re still nursing. 

“Not any worse than you, I hope.” Heather states, and while you know she’s just teasing, there’s also a seriousness swimming in her eyes, one that has your mouth going slightly dry; drier than the hot smoke you keep inhaling, as you wonder what she’s on about. 

“I know how to play with fire, don’t worry about me getting burned.” You whisper after a few beats of silence, turning the joint in your hand absentmindedly as you mull over your friends words in your head. 

“But you know it’s bound to happen, don’t you? You’re going to get hurt at some point in time if you keep this up, this thing that you’re doing.” 

“I’m not doing anything; I’m merely having fun.” 

“Exactly. But just how many people can you burn through before the flames start catching up to you too?”

“You should really stop reading Bukowski or Platt or whoever inspired you with these silly, little fire metaphors, because I’m not having any of it.” You state, before getting up, patting the lingering sand from the little black dress you’re wearing. 

“I’m gonna find myself something to drink,” you mumble, and before one of the other girls can point you halfheartedly towards one of the liquor bottles, you state, “Something non-alcoholic.”

There’s a little beach bar within walking distance, roughly 10 minutes away; but your steps are lazy as you stroll through the small waves that are playing and bumping against the shore, so it takes you a little longer. 

You keep thinking about Heather’s words, as you gaze out towards the seemingly endless sea and the darkening sky above. 

There’s something about the way she said the things she said, that doesn’t quite sit right with you. She’s not normally one to be that serious, and she’s certainly not one to curb your fun adventures, even if they might not be the best of ideas.

Whatever, you think. That guy was really pretty, and you’re rather picky, especially when it comes to guys. Being really good looking is like the only necessary expectation that men have to meet in your books. Yet they hardly deliver, so when someone does catch your eye, you’re intrigued.

You don’t really care about the rest because what for anyways? It’s not like you’d stick around to witness their great personalities.

You’d get a dog if you wanted a fun personality long-term in your life. You certainly don’t need a guy for that.

The woman behind the bar counter is someone you’ve seen around quite a bit. You’re pretty certain that her name’s Jamie, but you’re not a hundred percent sure, so you refrain from calling her that. 

Your eyes flicker over the little signs behind her, as if you don’t already know what you’ll order. It’s only to gain some more time as you mentally go through the words you’re about to say just to make sure that they come out right.

You end up ordering a cherry slushy and a coke, and as you dig through the pockets of your leather jackets for a few coins, you feel a presence slide up right beside you. 

“Didn’t think you’d be the type of girl who goes for a fucking soft drink.” The man’s voice sounds deep and raspy, and almost familiar. 

It’s the stranger from the bonfire, you quickly notice, without looking up, once he leans his arms against the bar counter, the sleeves of his shirt still a deep, ruby-red. 

“Didn’t think you’d be the type of guy who creepily follows girls around.” You retort as you grab your slushy, playing with the straw for a bit before pushing it slowly between your lips and turning around towards the guy, a challenging look on your face.

“I wasn’t following you,” he huffs, but you know a lie when you see one. And that guy’s definitely lying. 

“Sure,” voice dripping with sarcasm, you force your attention back towards the iced drink in your hand, twirling the straw around some more, until Jamie comes back with your coke. 

“There you go,” she states, as she puts the cooled drink down on the counter, “had to dig deep in the fridge for that one. Think we’re out of those for the night now, actually.”

“What a shame,” the guy next to you suddenly chimes in, “I was really craving a soft drink too.” 

You’re not entirely sure if he’s being earnest or if he’s poking fun at you. If it’s the latter, it’s nothing you aren’t used to. Your determination to avoid alcoholic drinks is something most guys love to point out and have a laugh over.

“What, don’t tell me you’re that much of a lightweight, sweetheart.” 

“Clearly you’ve never had a drink with me then.”

“Lighten up, pretty girl, a few beers won’t kill you.” 

“Sure, they won’t, but I might.” You can’t help but let slip in those kind of situations, when guys can’t wrap their pea-sized minds around the fact that not everyone enjoys getting wasted as much as they do. 

Assholes. 

“Guess I’ll have to go for a slushy too then,” the stranger states, before adding, “I’ll have the blueberry one, please.”

You try to hide your surprise at his choice of drink with fake detached boredom; and while he’s busy watching Jamie making his slushy, you take the time to get a better look at him too. 

He’s even prettier up close, lush lashes framing his aquamarine eyes, giving them a softer, dreamier touch. And the freckles on his skin are so detailed now, you could actually start counting them if you wanted to.

But there’s also a slight shadow underneath his left eye, and it takes you a moment to clock it as the faint traces of a bruise. 

Heather’s words swirl around in your mind again. 

Anger issues. 

You wonder what exactly she meant by that. 

“You done staring yet?” The stranger suddenly pulls you out of your thoughts, turning around towards you, a small smirk dancing around on his lips. 

“Maybe,” you shrug your shoulders lightly, masking the embarrassment of getting caught quickly. 

“Name’s Billy, by the way.”

He’s holding out his hand to you, rough yet slender fingers adorned with different silver rings.

You try not to notice how significantly bigger his hand feels in yours; how it almost swallows yours whole, like a predator might swallow its prey, or how his fingers linger around your wrist and pulse point for just a moment longer, before pulling away quickly.

His touch feels electrifying, and you love and hate it at the same time. It’s like you crave it but not without traces of guilt staining the subtle longing.

You try to ignore the pounding of your heart, as you tell him your name – but to your surprise he just gives you a lazy smile. 

“I know.” This time around the startled look on your face is more difficult to hide, and the guy, Billy, quickly follows it up by saying, “Your friends told me all about you.” 

You wonder who exactly he’s talking about. It certainly isn’t going to be Heather, that’s for sure. Maybe Argyle let something slip, or Tommy; that guy can’t keep his mouth shut for the life of him. 

But it’s not like it matters now, anyway.

Not with the way Billy’s eyes wander with something akin to hunger over your frame, until his gaze finds itself transfixed on your cherry-stained lips.

God, you love slushies; and now you’re once more reminded of why. 

You watch Jamie as she’s searching for a straw, and it’s only as the brief silence continues, that you notice there’s some music playing in the background.

It’s ABC’s The Look of Love, and you can’t help but hum along to it softly, tapping the beat with your fingertips gently against the still freezing plastic cup in your hands.

“Fuck, don’t tell me you’re into this new-wavy shit.” Billy looks genuinely appalled, and you just roll your eyes. 

Great. So, he’s one of those guys who unironically think their music taste is so much more superior than everyone else’s. 

“Well, shit, don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who feels personally victimized by the use of some synthesizers.” You bite back, and to your surprise, there’s a catty grin spreading over Billy‘s face.

“So, what if I am?” He drawls, voice low, and eyes challenging. 

“I don’t think I can fuck a guy who thinks music stopped evolving after the 1970s.” 

“Who said anything about fucking?” 

You give him a look that says, ‘haha very funny,’ but Billy tries to look all doe-eyed and innocent.

It hardly suits him.

Not with the way his eyes keep reflecting his intentions that his lips have yet to form into an actual sentence. 

He wants you. 

He wants you badly, and you hate the small spark of proudness that lights up somewhere deep within your chest at the realization, the confirmation; the simple achievement of being desirable to yet another man. 

You know somewhere even deeper within you, that this isn’t healthy. That your body shouldn’t get into that kind of euphoric overdrive at the sight of even the smallest, positive acknowledgement and approval of a guy you deem pretty.

Or any guy for that matter, but it’s only the pretty ones you decide to take home. 

Well, not even that is true, now that you think of it. You never actually take people home. That just feels too personal, too vulnerable. The sex usually happens in spaces private enough to not get caught, yet also impersonal enough to make your attentions of a no-strings-attached-fuck pretty clear. 

“So, where are we going next?” Billy’s rough voice pulls you out of your thoughts again, and by now, he’s nursing his frozen, neon blue drink, too. 

“We?” You question, eyebrows raised, but it’s just for show. Most of your acts are these days; especially the ones you keep up around men. 

“You wanna go back to your friends?” he offers.

“Why? Do you have something else in mind?” You inquire because you know that he doesn’t actually want to walk back to the bonfire. 

Not when the public bathroom’s right here. 

“Don’t know,” Billy shrugs nonchalantly, “just don’t really want to share my slushy with the rest of the crowd, so maybe we can settle down over there for now?” 

Right. Sure, you think. His reasoning certainly is shit, but you let that slide, and instead all that Billy gets is a sweet smile. 

“Okay.” 

You follow Billy to the abandoned spot he’s been pointing at. It’s close enough to the ocean that you can still dip your feet into the saltwater if you’d like, while still being vacant of any undesired beach visitors.

The two of you plop down unceremoniously into the sand, and the soft breeze that’s blowing feels nice on your skin. 

By now the sun has completely vanished from the horizon, hiding somewhere below the calm surface of the sea. Its last and only trace is the small stripe of orange that keeps bleeding into the deeper blue above. It’s almost as if the sky’s getting drained, losing its color and vibrancy to the creeping and growing night.

You look up to see a few shiny stars slowly starting to poke through the vanishing daytime veil, and there’s a comfort in that. 

A comfort that’s hard to explain, but a comfort, nevertheless. 

“So, are you from around here?” Billy’s voice suddenly breaks through the silence.

“Something like that.” You respond, eyes still fixed on a spot high above you. It’s only when you repeat his question back to him that your gaze wanders over towards the pretty boy. 

“Something like that.” He echoes your words, but there’s a teasing smile playing on his lips, and you huff. 

Stop being so fucking cute, you think. 

“Haven’t seen you around before,” you wonder aloud instead, and for a brief moment, you think you see Billy’s smile waver. 

“Yeah, I, uh, I moved back here only recently,” he mumbles, while burying his hands into the sand, “but I’m initially from here,” he quickly adds, “California born and raised.” 

“I see.” You say, because you’re unsure of what else to throw his way. You might not be a fucking psychology major, but even you can see that he seems slightly uncomfortable by the current talking topic. 

“What else do you do, when you’re not engaging in the worst music taste ever?” 

The question actually manages to make you laugh, because you didn’t expect it at all. 

“For a guy who hasn’t told me anything about his music taste yet, you sure like talking a lot of shit, don’t you?” 

“It’s because my music taste’s the best, sweetheart.” 

“Like hell it is.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

“I’d rather not.” 

The soft smiles you two exchange feel misplaced. You’re not normally in such a playful mood, and the smiles you grant the men you talk to rarely feel this genuine. 

But for some reason, you’re a little more intrigued by this guy than you normally are by the men you hook-up with; and for the next half hour you two continue talking avidly.

The topics span from the superior Pop Rocks flavor to the latest W.A.S.P album, which Billy seems genuinely surprised by when you bring it up. 

“So, you’re telling me you have both, a good and a bad music taste? How’s that even possible?” He jokes, and it made you stick your tongue out towards him playfully.

It’s a gesture Billy mirrors back at you quickly, and it has you laughing more. 

“Ew, your tongue.” You point out in between soft giggles.

“What’s wrong with my tongue? Billy questions slightly concerned.

“It’s all blue, dumbass! You look like you went down on Smurfette and suffered collateral damage while doing so.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I guess I did, but I didn’t expect you to have such a filthy mouth on you.” 

You’d be surprised how much filthier that mouth can get, you think quietly to yourself, but he’ll probably find that out soon enough.

After the slushies there’s a joint and a few regular cigarettes shared between you two.

At some point, you feel like your senses are heightened, and you swear you can taste the saltwater of the ocean with every gentle inhale of air, tangy on your tongue.

Without really thinking, you find yourself getting up again, and with only a few steps your feet are buried deeply in the waves, that are still lapping gently up against the shore.

“What are you doing?” Billy questions, eyes sparkling with amusement and curiosity as he watches you twirl around in the shallow water. 

“What does it look like?” 

“A matting dance, perhaps?” 

“Oh, that’s just you wishful thinking, pretty boy.” 

Billy’s smile widens at your words, as he continues to watch you with fond eyes. He tries to forget the warnings Tommy gave him earlier, about how he should stay far, far away from you, if he treasured his heart at all.

Good thing he doesn’t, Billy thinks.

But he’s also rather confident that Tommy has just been trash-talking anyway.

There’s no way you’re quite the serial heartbreaker he painted you out to be.

No fucking way.

From somewhere along the beach there’s suddenly loud music being played, and it takes Billy only a brief moment to identify the opening riff as that of Crosby, Stills & Nash’s Dark Star. He watches with awe as you continue to swirl around to it, singing the lyrics softly into the darker growing summer night.

When his gaze finds yours, there’s something in your eyes that makes Billy feel defenseless; bare, almost. Like you just took one deep look into his soul, and he’s not sure if you liked what you saw.

He subconsciously plays with the buttons on his shirt, reminded of the ugly insecurities that hide underneath in plain sight, and he’s so lost in thought for a moment, that he finds himself caught off guard when you let yourself fall into the warm sand next to him again, moving closer until you’re almost sitting in his lap. 

“Dance with me, Billy.” You whisper, tugging on his hand playfully, and he groans. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Just one song, please?”

You give him your best puppy eyes, and most convincing pout. 

“Oh, pretty please, Billy!”

“What’s in it for me, sweetheart?” Billy mumbles, voice slightly suggestive. 

“What, like dancing with me isn’t enough of an incentive? That’s so rude, Billy. So rude.” You mumble, while your hand keeps tugging on his sleeve. It’s endearing, really; your childlike determination and stubbornness to get him to move.

“I don’t think I’m high enough yet to dance to some fucking folk-shit.”

The little offended huff that leaves your lips has Billy smiling slightly.

God, you’re even more adorable when you’re high.

“You’re so mean, Billy.” You pout, but at the same time you curl up more into him, and Billy decides to lift you onto his lap unceremoniously, arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Yeah, am I being a little too mean for your liking, sweet girl?” He mocks with fake concern, his knuckles brushing over your cheek gently. 

“Uh-huh.”

 You decide to bury your face into the crook of his neck, and he has to stifle the urge to coo at your cuteness. 

“Just one,” you whisper, “just one dance, Billy.”

Billy pretends to ponder your words, like he’s actually considering it.

He is not.

“Maybe after we shared another smoke, hm?” He proposes, and the way you quickly raise your head out of your current hiding spot and your eyes light up, makes him actually feel a little soft.

He shifts you slightly on his lap while digging for his zippo as well as for another joint, and you lean your head against his chest as you watch him light it. 

“You wanna shotgun?” He offers with a whisper, and you nod your head eagerly.

“Alright.” He murmurs, while you prop your head up against his shoulder, gazing up at him intensely as he takes the first hit. 

You watch him inhale deeply, watch the way his chest rises; the way the joint’s end glimmers between his lips, the way his eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments.

When he opens them again, they’re quick to find yours, before his hand comes up to the back of your neck, gripping and guiding you towards him until your faces almost touch. 

You feel his fingers move from your neck to your jaw, holding you closer as his thumb presses up against your lips, and you part them instinctively.

He leans in, to an almost kiss, before blowing the smoke into your mouth. Without really thinking, you inhale deeply, feeling the shared smoke burn and tingle in your lungs.

Billy watches you with dreamy eyes, fingers still brushing against your jaw and cheek gently, even as you exhale. 

“Good girl,” he praises, voice rough and low, but when he goes to take another drag, you stop him softly.

“My turn.” You whisper while slipping your fingers into his, taking the joint.

“Hey, what-“

But you’re already breathing in deeply with the joint tugged securely between your lips, and all that Billy can do is watch in awe. 

Unlike him, you don’t close your eyes. Instead, you keep them locked with his almost the whole time through. Shifting on his lap slightly, you try and find a more comfortable position, and Billy can barely contain the small groan that’s bubbling up in his chest.

Fuck, you’re the devil, he thinks.

At this point you could ask him to dance to anything, really, and he would probably comply.

Then, without a warning, your hand finds its way into his curls, tugging lightly and pulling him incredibly closer again, and he feels his breath hitch at the action. But his mouth is quickly otherwise occupied when you press your lips against his softly.

And he’s eager, so fucking eager to swallow up the smoke you let drip out of your mouth into his. You both moan when he bucks his hips up slightly into yours, as you grind down onto him just as softly.

After his exhale, his lips find yours instinctively again, and he cradles your face as you deepen the kiss; nibbling on his lower lip playfully, and Billy feels like he’s going to transcend into heaven. 

Shotgunning has certainly never felt quite this good, and he doubts it ever will again. 

But then, suddenly, you’re up and out of his lap again, joint still secured tightly between your lips.

“You still owe me a dance, Billy.” The previous fire is back in your eyes, and Billy throws his head back with a groan.

“God, you’re the worst.” He states, but all you give him is a triumphant smile. 

“A dance, Billy.” 

“I don’t remember promising you one.”

“Well, then you should start promising and deliver.” 

“And what if I don’t?” 

“Then I’ll just have to find someone else. And trust me, I will.” 

Billy contemplates you for a moment, head tilted to the side, and you hate how adorable he looks. 

By now, the song that’s currently being blasted from who-knows-where is a different one, and Billy tries to figure out who the artist is.

“Are those the Bee Gees?” He questions, disgust clear in his voice. 

“Almost. It’s Andy Gibb.” 

When the frown between Billy’s brows doesn’t fade, you explain, “He’s like their younger brother, I think?” 

Billy continues to gaze up at you as you sway to the melody, voice soft in the summer night breeze, as you sing: “We leave immediately after dark, where the lights start fading, sweet and low…” 

There’s something hypnotizing in the way you move, and Billy feels like he could spend eternity just watching you dance underneath the waning moon that decided to rise and wander across the midnight blue ocean.

“Billy,” you drawl, looking at him expectantly, and he huffs. 

“Can I not just enjoy the show?” 

You consider his words for a moment.

“Fine, I guess the next song should do too. You’ll simply have to dance with me once this song’s finished, okay?” 

Billy cannot believe the words he’s about to let slip past his lips, and he wishes he could block his own ears off just to keep himself from having to hear it too. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll dance with you to the next song. I promise.” 

Pleased with his answer, you continue to lose yourself in the music, and Billy finds himself completely and absolutely enchanted by it.

So much so, in fact, that he doesn’t even realize you’ve been hogging his joint this whole time. 

When the current song is fading out, Billy's nervously anticipating what the next tune will be. 

Please be Metallica. Please be Metallica. Please be- 

It is in fact, not Metallica.

It’s a song he doesn’t recognize at all, until the artists start singing, and he’s fairly certain it’s America. Ugh! Just his luck for it to be a rather slow song too. 

But you don’t let that deter you. In fact, you look rather pleased at the selected song that’s now softly floating through the salty air around you. 

You reach out your hand towards Billy after taking a few steps towards him and with an overdramatic huff, he takes it reluctantly. 

♪ Runaway, boy have you seen a girl like an angel, runnin’ in the night. 

She’s run away, boy if you see her… ♫

In hindsight the lyrics seem like some really bad foreshadowing to Billy, but at the moment there’s hardly anything on his mind, other than you. 

“I don’t normally-“ He starts, unsure of how to even begin dancing to some tune whose beat seems more akin to the heartbeat of a snail.

“It’s fine, just-“ You show him how to best hold your hands, and where to place them if he wants to hold you tighter.

You twirl around playfully, lifting his hand up into the air as you do so; and Billy can’t help but smile wide at your shenanigans, and the way you swing carefree in the wind, before pulling him closer again, hands coming up around his neck. 

You however try not to notice how out of character this feels for you. Because, while you’re no stranger to dancing with people on sweaty and overheated dancefloors, this currently feels a lot more intimate and vulnerable.

And for the breath of a moment, you think that this is what it must be like to not fear connection as much as you do.

If you were less fucked, less of a burden, less difficult to love, you might even deserve it at some point in time.

But not tonight.

Not in the foreseeable future you’ve laid out for yourself.

And certainly not with Billy.

You lean your head against his shoulder, as he sways you both to the music, and for a guy who was rather adamant about not knowing how to dance less than two minutes ago, he’s surprisingly good at it.

Dumbass. 

When the song stops and a new one starts, neither one of you is inclined to pull away. Instead, you take the moment to gaze in each other’s eyes, and you feel a shiver run down your spine like lightning.

You want to kiss him, badly. 

Want to feel his lips all over your body if you're honest, just like you want to let your lips wander all over his body too. 

Maybe it’s the drugs talking. 

Please, let it be the drugs talking, you think. 

To your own surprise, it’s Billy who goes for the next move, as he brushes his nose gently against yours, before moving in even closer for a kiss. 

This would be the moment where the fireworks go off in the distance, you think, colorful flames reflecting in the almost black water of the sea.

But instead, there’s an ugly shadow crawling away within you, drowning out any of that. It's an intense anxiety that's fluttering in your stomach, like evil little butterflies gnawing away at your insides.

Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, you think. Maybe you can break the cycle this time. Maybe repeating mistakes isn’t like the worst thing in the world. Maybe things with Billy could be different, maybe-

“For someone with a blade for a tongue you’re awfully quiet.” Billy whispers teasingly, pulling you out of the dark storm brooding within you. It’s only now that you notice that your lips aren’t even moving against each other anymore.

“You know, I just asked you a question.” Billy mumbles against your neck, and you can’t help the wide-eyed look that crosses your face.

“Well, don’t look that surprised, angel. I was just questioning if we should maybe migrate this situation to one a little less public, and a little more physical.”

The realization that drops in your mind seems unusually heavy.

Sex. 

Of course, that’s what you two are here for anyways, right? 

That’s why he’s even putting up with any of this in the first place, right?

That’s been the goal of this exchange from the very start, right?

It certainly had been the only goal for you; at least initially.

You feel foolish for even considering the idea that there might have been more to this situation.

That there might’ve been more to you than just the sex, that Billy wanted to seek out and cherish. 

Foolish, foolish you. 

But sex feels safe, and familiar, and comforting but in a fucked up way. You’ve always used it as a reassuring lifeline for self-validation and as a welcomed distraction from the unpleasant and overwhelming feelings swirling somewhere deep within you almost all of the time. 

And now, with the nervous pounding of your heart in the back of your mind, you need such a distraction more than ever.

You need him to numb the pain, and the voices, and the fear of never, ever being good enough.

You need a distraction, and he’s the perfect one.

So, what’s the worst that can happen?

Nothing worse than what you’re already feeling, you think.

And with that, you give Billy a purposefully shy smile, before stating, “I think I need you to show me what exactly you have in mind…”

Billy smiles like a cat who’s got the cream.

Like a feline predator ready to pounce his prey.

And then, your lips meet in a messy kiss; one that’s more urgent and primal than the previous ones you shared, and you feel him gently move you towards the little, square building; the one with the shower stalls and the changing rooms and bathroom sinks you’ve been fucked against way too many times. 

This feels good, you think.

This feels familiar. 

And so, that’s how you find yourself in one of the public shower stalls, hands pressed against the sand-colored tiles while getting pounded from behind, hard.

Billy’s certainly on a mission to wreck your pussy, as his hands hold on to your hips so tightly you’re sure his fingers are going to leave bruises. It’s not like you mind, though, not at all.

“Fuck, didn’t think you’d have such a tight little cunt.” Billy groans while pistoling in and out of you relentlessly. He’s really putting all of his body strength into it and you’re not sure what will be left of you once he’s done.

You feel incredibly full to a point where it’s almost too much, almost too painful, like he’s going to split you in two and then put you back together; but not before rearranging your guts in the most impossible ways.

“That’s it, take it like the good little slut I know you are, fuck, knew from the very moment I laid my eyes on you that you would take it like this. Easy little bitch.” He curses.

You want to bite something mean back, but with the way he’s hitting that tender, spongy spot inside you, it’s hard to form a snarky reply - or any coherent words for that matter. 

You hate the way that only little broken whimpers leave your lips like helpless pleas and prayers as he keeps pounding into you. You’re completely at his mercy and he’s not giving you any, rutting into you with a rough pace. 

“Billy, Billy.” You sob, little hiccups breaking his name in two, but he just groans as his pace picks up. It’s a sound that’s deep and raspy and primal, and it has you clenching around him involuntary as another whine slips past your lips again. 

“Fuck, listen to you going stupid on my cock. Taking it so well, didn’t even have to prepare you either, could just slide into your wet little pussy. Bet it’s been drooling for me ever since we first started talking, isn’t that right?”

When there’s no immediate answer coming from you, he’s quick to take a fistful of your hair, gripping it tightly and then pulling your head back hard.

“Isn’t that right?” He snarls, voice raised and rough, yet his pounding never wavers.

But the words swirling around on your tongue won’t form into any sensible order, leaving only a gasping moan to slip past your lips as the pain from his unwavering grip on your hair shoots through your skull. 

And you love it.

God, you love it; love how your mind just goes completely blank. It’s like in that moment you don’t quite exist anymore. Not in the way you usually do, not as you lose yourself in the pain and the pleasure that’s being given and taken from you. 

“Fuck, look at you, pretty little fucked out thing, letting me use you like I please in a public shower. Anyone could just walk in here and see us. But you’d probably get off on that too, wouldn’t you?”

You can barely nod your head with the way Billy’s hand is still tangled in your hair, before he’s letting go, curling the hand around your throat instead. You feel him press himself closer to you, nibbling on your earlobe before playfully pulling on it with his teeth.

“Listen here, little slut,” he growls, his breath hot against your skin, “You said you’d take anything I’d give you, so, I’m assuming that offer still stands.”

The faint nod you manage is enough for Billy’s finger to wander once more, gripping your jaw tightly before moving your face slightly in his direction.

You’re unsure of where he’s going with this, and for a brief moment you think he might lean in for a kiss.

He does not.

Instead, his fingers dig into the sides of your cheeks, pressing your mouth open for him.

“Swallow.” He orders, and it’s the only warning you get, before you see his jaw flex, mouth moving closer to yours and then he’s spitting right into yours.

It’s like your mind’s on autopilot because you don’t even have to think about swallowing his spit; you immediately do it, almost instinctively so, and Billy’s breathy groans only deepen.

“Good obedient little girl. Fuck, fuck, don’t think I’ve ever seen someone that eager, jeez.”

He starts leaving messy open-mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw in between dirty praises, and his thrusts increase their pace again, until all you can think about is the way his cock fills you up, over and over again.

Your gasps increase with every quick rut of his hip, pushing himself deeper and deeper, and you can’t help but fuck yourself back on him with little, timid thrusts too.

“Dick’s that good, huh?” Billy observes with a condescending smile when he notices your little movements.

“B-billy,” voice shaky, eyes teary, even you’re unsure what exactly you’re begging for, and the laugh that leaves Billy’s lips is almost cruel.

“What is it, little girl?” 

His hand tightens around your throat again, yet he’s barely applying any real pressure, just gripping it in a possessive way, but that’s enough to have your mind spinning anyway. 

Billy keeps his rhythm, even when the sounds that leave your pretty lips increase. And god, do those sounds drive him absolutely wild. He loves how responsive you are, while simultaneously wearing such a fucked-out and dreamy look on your face like you’re miles away.

Billy thinks he’s about to come when his fingers wander down to lazily rub your clit and even that slight contact makes you spasm around him. 

“I know, I know,” he soothes when your whines are getting louder again, “that’s the little spot that feels real good doesn’t it.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Fuck, and you’re so wet, so wet, baby.”

Billy can’t help but moan at the feeling of your slick that collects around his fingers, dripping out of you and tainting the outside of your pussy sinfully. 

But the movement of his rough fingers on your clit only makes you more vocal, and with the way his dick is pushing itself into you, filling you up in ways previously thought unimaginable, it’s hard not to gasp, and whine, and moan in response.

“Billy, please, please don’t stop.” You hick-up, voice breaking halfway through, and it only makes Billy’s dick twitch inside of you harder.

“Wasn’t planning on it, sweet girl,” Billy groans, “wasn’t planning on stopping until I’ve filled this filthy cunt with everything I have; because you want it, don’t you? Want me to make your pretty little pussy even messier than it already is. Gonna fill you up so good, my cum will be dripping out of you for days.”

You clench around him at the thought, and Billy laughs again as he feels you tightening around his thick length. 

“Of course, you’d like that, cum hungry little bitch, fuck.”

“Feel so full Billy,” you whine in between little gasps. 

“Yeah, well, imagine how much fuller you’ll feel once I had my fill. Once you’re actually full of me.”

And then out of nowhere he grabs one of your hands, pulling it down towards his crotch, where you two are intertwined. 

The angle is a little awkward and you don’t know where this is going exactly, until he wraps your hand around one of his balls.

“Do you feel that, sweet little slut? Feel how full I am?”

And fuck, you do, you really, really do, as Billy’s hand keeps guiding yours, kneading his heavy sack while just rutting into you harder. 

“Fuck, just like that, going to give it to you so good, and do you know what’s going to happen after that?” 

You shake your head, too fucked out and overwhelmed to even form a little ‘no’. 

“Then we’re going to put your slutty little panties back on you, walk back out there to your friends, and then we’ll see how much of an obedient girl you really are, because if you’re really good, you won’t let a drop go to waste. Keep it all in your messy little pussy of yours, where it belongs.” 

God, you have to give it up to this guy, you think. He might actually have an even filthier mouth than you do. But Billy isn’t done with his little speech, only stopping to let his tongue run a messy trail down your neck.

“But if you fail sweetheart, if I push my fingers under your little dress later and feel my cum dripping and running down your lush little thighs, I guess I’ll just have no choice but to fuck it back into you again.” 

That thought almost does it for you and you whine Billy’s name loudly.

“Shit that gets you going, huh? Probably isn’t even a punishment getting stuffed full of my cum and my cock.” 

You’re whines increase again and Billy suddenly stops his assault on your pussy, the hand that’s been previously toying with your clit, leaving, until two of his fingers are tapping against your lips.

“Open up wide for me, sweet thing,” he mumbles with a groan, and without much of a second thought, without really any thought at all, you open your mouth obediently, and Billy’s quick to slip his fingers inside. 

“Love your moans, they make me so hard, but god, you gotta be a bit more quiet.”

“’m trying,” you mumble against his digits, tongue dancing around them. They taste like you, and him, and the cigarettes you shared.

“Know you are, know you’re trying your best, but you’re also a dumb little slut who simply can’t help herself, can you. Cock so good it’s the only thing on your mind, huh?”

You’re not sure if the little moan that slips your lips in agreement can be identified as such, but Billy certainly seems to take it that way.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I can help you stay more quiet, pretty thing. Gonna keep your mouth stuffed the way I stuff your pussy; and it also gives me the opportunity to test your limits here-“

He pushes his fingers into your mouth deeper until you gag around them, and he groans at the feeling. 

“Fuck like that, like that baby, choke on my fingers while your cunt swallows my cock like the good little cocksleeve it is,fuck!”

His grith pushes into you quicker, faster, and with so much desperation now, that you feel the fire within you flare up to an almost explosive height. 

“Come on little bitch, play with your clit for me, while I wreck your pussy and your throat.”

The speed of his fingers that are currently fucking your mouth increases, mirroring the thrusts of his hips, and you find yourself gurgling and spluttering around him, yet Billy’s pace never wavers, if anything your struggles only turn him on more, and he feels himself getting closer too.

But with the way you’re playing with your clit while being stuffed so incredibly full, the pleasure inside you only heightens and you’re hurdling down towards your climax much quicker than Billy does. 

“You can come, baby,” Billy murmurs, “You can come on my cock, pretty thing.”

“Billy,” you sob, lashes thick with tears and lips quivering.

“Billy, I’m gonna-“

“I know, I know, sweet girl. Just let go for me. You’ve done so good already, just let go.” 

Billy’s voice is still rough, but there’s a soothing undertone, one that’s triggering something odd in your brain. Something warm and comforting and weirdly enough, something safe.

“Come on, baby. Be the good little slut I know you want to be. You want me to be proud of you, right? So, cum and cream on my cock, pretty bitch.”

Billy emphasized his words with even harder thrusts, his cockhead kissing your cervix repeatedly, and you know you’ll feel the bruising effects of it for the next few days at the very least. 

“Fucking slut, come now!” He orders, fingers pushing themselves as deep as they can down your throat, and you gag hard. 

But Billy doesn’t pull them out again. Instead, he leaves them there, only the tips of his fingers moving slightly, applying repeated pressure to your throat.

You gurgle his name desperately, and Billy swears he almost comes then and there as he feels both your pussy and throat spasm around him. 

The cry that leaves your lips sounds wet, and messy, and fucked out, as you come hard, back arching and thighs shaking. Your pussy’s griping him like a vice, but Billy fucks you through your high relentlessly, to a point where it’s almost cruel.

“Good girl,” he praises in between rough thrusts.

“Good fucking girl.”

His hips still slap against you with vigor, and you find yourself whining at the increasing overstimulation of it all. The weight of his fingers in your mouth, and his cock in your cunt seem suddenly twice as hard, twice as heavy, and twice as overwhelming. 

Your hips instinctively try to wiggle away from him, but Billy’s not having any of it. 

“Nuh-uh, I know it’s a lot, but you can take it, baby. Gonna let me get my fill too, remember?”

Your whines increase once more at the increasingly uncomfortable feeling, and while you try hard to be good and take it, your hips have a little mind of their own. 

“Stop it, slut!” There’s a sudden harsh slap on your ass that makes you moan out and grip around Billy’s cock even tighter.

“Fuck,” Billy rasps out at the realization “Shit, you’re probably one of those girls who actually enjoy getting slapped around during sex too. Crying because of the pleasure rather than the pain of it all, god, that’s so fucked up. You’re so fucked up, baby, and I love it.” 

The little delirious rambles that leave your mouth after that only spur Billy on more. 

“You gonna let me take it, right?” He whispers, and after the small nod that follows his words, Billy suddenly pushes you forward, shifting his weight slightly to get better leverage, until you’re completely pressed up against the cold tiles of the shower. 

"Pussy can’t run from me that way.” Billy grumbles, before moaning loudly, because this position right here is giving him an even deeper and easier access to your cunt. 

One of his hands is holding your hips in place, as the other one pushes your face against the tiles, cheeks squished against it. 

“Just let me use you, fuck, just like that.” 

He’s pressing himself flat against you, bucking up into you with no way for you to escape it. Not that you’d want to anyways, but there’s something exceptionally dirty about getting used like that. Because right now you don’t serve any other purpose than to make Billy feel good and let him fill you up.

And with the way that you’re currently pressed up against the tiles, you can’t even play with your own clit; left completely at the mercy of Billy, who’s now more concerned with chasing his own high. 

“Fuck, take it! Just fucking take it, stupid fucking whore.”  

The little gasps and squeals that escape your lips with every rut of Billy’s hips are like music to his ears. They’re addicting, the perfect mixture of sweet and filthy, and he can’t get enough.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Dumb little thing just waiting for her fill. Can’t do anything but let me use you. Use you to my liking, fuck.”

He’s getting closer, unimaginably closer, and for the first time his pace actually starts to falter.

He’s bucking into you quicker, more irregularly, and the pants that leave his lips have you clenching around him more.

You can feel his breath hot on your neck, especially since he’s hardly pulling out now, and instead keeps rutting himself deeper inside of you with desperate little thrusts.

“Fuck, gonna cum, gonna cum in your pretty little pussy and you’re gonna take it. Yeah, shit, take it just like that.” 

You feel him twitch inside of you and then he’s coming with a loud and raspy moan.

He’s coming a lot, and you can’t help but whine too, as you feel his warm spurts fill your insides. He’s still rutting up into you softly, coming and twitching and mumbling little ‘take it’s and praises under his breath.

Once he’s completely spent he just stays there for a moment, pressed against you tightly while you’re both trying to catch your breath. 

That’s until Billy slips out of you with a groan, taking a small step back. But without Billy’s body weight pressed securely against you, you find yourself in something akin to a freefall. 

“Oh shit, easy there, baby.” Billy exclaims while rushing back towards you, steading hands coming up to your sides to keep you from buckling over or folding in on yourself.

“Fuck, you’re like Bambi on ice or something,” Billy mumbles when he sees the way your legs are still shaky, and without much of a warning he simply lifts you up, bridal style.

Your mind is just now slowly floating back to its rightful place. Words coming together like small little puzzle pieces that form into thoughts and more complex feelings.

You’ve done it again, you think, but instead of triumph, there’s shame bubbling up in your stomach. And it worsens at the feeling of Billy’s lingering hands around your body, and the way he keeps talking to you gently.

This is not how this usually goes, your brain notes in surprise and something akin to wide-eyed panic. 

Wait, where is this guy taking you? 

“Billy, what-“ You can’t help the small rise in your voice, or the way you try to struggle against him, despite your energy levels being completely drained. 

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, little girl. You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Billy tries to soothe, but he’s just making it worse.

The softness of his touch and voice feel entirely unfamiliar and unusual – so by default they also feel entirely wrong, because this is so not how this usually goes.

“Shit, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Billy’s voice is still patient and gentle when he puts you down carefully on one of the wooden benches that are provided in the bigger changing room. 

“There you go.” He murmurs, before his hand comes up to your face, thumb brushing over your cheek softly. “You can come back to me baby in your own time, it’s okay.”

There’s a warm and understanding smile on Billy’s lips, and it sends your mind into overdrive, because why is he suddenly nice after being so rough? He got what he wanted so why is he still here?

This is so not what you’re used to. It’s either you leaving right after, or them. 

Lately it’s mostly you, but you don’t normally get fucked that good, so it’s much easier to slip away once the guy’s done. And usually there’s a liberated feeling afterwards, but somehow right now you just feel dirty, and Billy’s gentleness seems entirely out of place. Guys are nice to you before sleeping with you, not afterwards, for god’s sake. 

Billy sees the irritation on your face, but he doesn’t know what’s causing it. Doesn’t know why you’re looking at him wide-eyed, like he’s grown two heads. 

“You can go now, I’m okay.” You mumble, while fidgeting and pulling down parts of your black dress, restless eyes searching the empty room for something.

“Go?” Billy whispers, slightly confused, “Why would I just go?” 

You’re still not meeting his eyes when he looks at you for clarification and something inside of him clicks.

“Oh.”

The little exclaim leaves his lips quietly, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the pitying tone of voice. 

He needs to leave, you think, so you can put yourself back together again. 

You know Billy probably means good, but he’s truly just making things worse. The softness of his touch and voice just has your mind uncoiling further, like a ball of yarn that’s being carelessly played with by a kitten, not knowing about the destruction it causes.

His unsuspected gentleness is making you feel smaller and more vulnerable than you’re used to, and you hate it. You absolutely hate it.

It’s like he’s peeling away at the toughest layers that you’ve got. And how are you supposed to build yourself back up again when he keeps scratching away at your foundations within the fortress of your heart. 

God, he’s not being what you imagined him to be like at all, you notice with a frown. Especially after Heather’s warning words, you expected someone else entirely.

You expected the usual rough sex and hasty departure. That’s all he’s in for anyway. But now, he’s doting over you like you’re precious, and despite still wearing your dress and looking less fucked-out than you did mere minutes ago, you feel incredibly raw and bare. 

More raw and bare than you felt during the filthy sex you two just shared.

Why is he being nice, you think. The men you sleep with normally aren’t, and when they are you’re usually not; slipping out of their bed quickly and brushing away any questions about when they’ll see you again.

So why is he being nice.

“What?”

It’s now Billy’s turn to look at you, wide-eyed, and you realize you must have whispered your last words out loud.

Why is he being nice.

It’s a genuine question that your mind can’t comprehend; trying to come up with a reason why he would – until it finally hits you. 

“We’re not doing this again, you know.”

The whisper falls from your lips with more bite than you intended. 

“What?” 

“We’re not doing this again, so you can leave now, Billy.”

For some reason looking at Billy’s bewildered face just hurts your brain more, or maybe your heart. In moments like this, you’re hardly in tune with everything that’s going on inside of you, so you can’t quite pinpoint the current anxiousness feeling that floats through your body, seemingly unrestrained and unregulated.

You just keep yourself occupied with the task of pulling down your dress, trying to get it to cover you up more.

Your eyes still scan the room, but it’s useless. You can’t make out your panties for the life of you, even though you know they should be lying around here somewhere. 

“Watcha looking for, sweet girl?” Ignoring your previous words, Billy asks the question softly, because your troubled eyes and discomfort are hard to miss.

“Nothing,” you mumble, not looking up, head hung low as you keep fidgeting with the hem of your dress. 

“You can go now, Billy. Just leave, please.”

You don’t notice the pained look that crosses Billy’s face or the helplessness that takes over his body. 

This isn’t how his hookups usually go. He’s no Disney prince by any means, but he’s also not one to leave the girls he sleeps with high and dry, and a complete mess on a public bathroom floor.

Truth be told, that possible image of you stings more than he’d like to admit.

Strangely, it’s less the fact that you’ve fucked other men before and more the idea that you’d find yourself a crying and quivering mess afterwards on the cold tiles inside a public bathroom.

A bathroom in which anyone could just walk into and then take advantage of your situation, Billy thinks with an uncomfortable shudder, especially when you still have vulnerability written all over your features, like you do right now.

So, he’s not just going to leave you here, not when your fingers are still trembling, and your quiet little sniffles still echo through the empty room. 

Billy decides to kneel down, getting more on your level, concerned eyes desperately trying to find yours.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” He whispers, while stifling the urge to touch you; because with the way you reacted earlier while being confined in his arms he doubts that’s a good idea.

“Anything other than leaving, that is.” He hastily adds, and for once you look up at him.

Fucking finally.

But the moment of eye contact is short-lived. You avert your gaze much to quickly again, but at the very least you mumble an incredibly quiet, and timid, “My panties.” 

Of course. Billy almost groans at his stupidity. God, he can be dense sometimes. 

That also explains the endless tugging of your dress; how did he not think of this?

“Okay, okay, don’t worry. Just stay here and take deep breaths while I hunt those panties down!” He gives you a small wink, before mumbling, “I’m not getting called a panty hunter for nothing.”

You watch Billy scan your current room quickly, before rushing into the next one. But you’re still wary of his apparent niceness and supposed worry. 

“Got it!” You hear him exclaim suddenly, but it’s quickly followed by a deflated huff.

“Oh no.” 

He comes back with his jeans in one hand and your black panties in the other, but the expression on his face is apologetic.

“Look, you have every right to hate me now because I might have, uh, I might have killed your panties earlier while trying to help you get them off.”

“Okay,” He sees the way you nod, trying hard to be nonchalant about it, but the shine in your eyes is giving you away. 

That and the slight tremble of your lips. 

“But don’t worry, I have an idea, okay?”

You look up at him with questioning eyes and something akin to hope reflected in them, and Billy actively has to keep himself from reaching his hand out to wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks. 

“The solution is probably not going to be perfect, but it is a solution no less. I’ll just have to leave really quickly to get something, but I promise I’ll be back again in no time okay?”

You nod your head, trying to process his words.

“Okay, good, now, can you promise me something too?” Billy mumbles. He’s kneeling down next to you again, his rough fingers gently caressing your knuckles.

“Promise me you’ll be here when I come back again. It’s just gonna be 5 minutes but I need you to be here, okay. I need you to wait for me, can you promise me that?”

Once again, you nod your head softly, but that’s not enough of a confirmation for Billy.

“Need you to say it.” He whispers, blue eyes looking at you expectingly. 

“I’ll wait, I promise.” Your voice is hushed and tired, but Billy still picks up on it.

“Good girl.” He praises, and without really thinking about it, he leaves a chased kiss on your forehead, before getting up and slipping into his jeans quickly. He’s been wearing his red shirt the whole time, you notice, as you watch him tug it into his denim hastily.

“Be right back, I promise.” He states with a careful smile, and then he’s out of the room with quick strides.

Once he’s left, and it’s just you in the empty building, taking deep breaths suddenly feels a lot easier, and your mind feels less like it’s in a fight or flight situation. But trying to wrap your mind around whatever is currently happening seems still rather difficult.

You don’t normally react that emotional after sex, but in the rare cases that you do, there’s hardly anyone around to witness it, so the way that Billy’s dotting over you feels incredibly foreign, constricting even.

Like you’re being backed into a corner and then smothered to death. 

As you try to stand up, you have to defeatedly witness how your legs are still a little shaky.

‘Like Bambi on ice’, Billy’s words echo in your mind. He sounded so soft when he said it; so endeared, so smitten, so-

Oh no.

You have to leave, you think. You have to leave right now. 

Screw your panties and your promise, you should be out that door immediately.

Wiping your eyes angrily and clenching your fists, you try to summon all the body strength you can muster. But before you can even try to stand up again, there’s a sudden sound coming from the entrance again, one that’s quickly followed by Billy’s voice, and you freeze.

“Hey, you didn’t run like I almost expected you to.“ He states with a little, teasing smile when he makes his way back into the room, and there’s a glimmer of proudness reflected in his eyes. 

“Oh, and I got you this here.“

It’s only then that you notice him holding two pieces of fabric that are now being extended towards you. 

“Billy, what-?“ 

“I know it’s not exactly evening wear, but it should do, right?” 

It’s two pieces of clothing; a white shirt and red swimming trunks.

“It’s going to be a bit of a loose fit, but you’ll probably look way cuter in those than I do.” Billy mumbles, before adding quickly, “Don’t worry, though, I didn’t wear them or anything! Those are just my backup clothes for, uh, you know, being a lifeguard.”

“You’re a lifeguard?” You inquire, and Billy nods, cheeks tinted slightly red. 

“Yes! I mean i-it’s not all I do, I also work as a mechanic downtown, but the early morning shifts are rather tame here at the beach and money’s tight so…“ He drifts off, hand rubbing some spot on his neck repeatedly. 

“Billy that-that’s nice but I can’t take those.” You state, trying to give the clothes back to him. 

“Why not?” 

“How will you get them back afterwards?” 

“Well, when we see each other again, obviously. You can just drop by at the little lifeguard station tomorrow, or at the next bonfire when-” 

“But Billy, that’s not going to happen.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not- we’re not going to see each other again like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Fucking.” You state, voice somehow colder now.

You take another breath, forcing your voice to come out devoid of any emotions.

“I don’t make the same mistake twice, Billy. So, you can really keep those.”

Standing up with a lot more determination, you push his clothes gently against his chest. Your fingers are still trembling, but you hope he doesn’t notice it.

“Mistake?” Billy whispers, trying to wrap his mind around what’s currently going on. 

“You seem like a good guy, Billy.” Your voice is a lot softer now, almost hushed. “But I’m not going to break my own rules for you. So, take care.” 

Standing up on your tiptoes, you lean in a little closer, until he feels your lush lips pressed against his cheek. It’s only for a split second, but he still feels like he’s being struck by lightning. He can’t move, or react, or do anything other than stand there frozen, for the briefest of moments. 

Yet it’s still long enough for you to slip through the room, out the door, and then you’re gone. 

“Hey, wait-“

When Billy finally manages to turn around, he finds himself calling your name repeatedly, but it’s too late. By the time he’s at the entrance door of the little building, you’re nowhere in sight.

He finds himself cursing as he scans the beach for even the smallest, tiniest signs of you, but it’s no use. Nighttime has rolled around and overtaken absolutely everything by now, and the faint, warm light of the lamps above are hardly any help in beating the surrounding darkness into submission. 

Billy hates how worry bubbles up inside of him; eats his insides alive, and makes him feel completely sick.

Hates how his heart aches slightly.

Fuck, he should have listened to Tommy when he said that he should stay far, far away from you.

He had been quick to notice Billy’s curious gaze earlier, after the new boy had witnessed the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard. 

Your laugh.

“Fuck, don’t even think about it. She’s like the worst little bitch around.” Tommy had stated after taking a big gulp from his beer, but Billy had been unconvinced.

You looked so sweet, so joyful, so kind. He couldn’t keep his eyes from watching you playfight with Heather, as she was tickling you because of some silly comment you made. 

There was something in your eyes, in your laugh, in the movement of your body. 

And he was intrigued. 

“No, dude, believe me. I’ve seen her make grown man cry and shit. She’s like a fucking sex siren or something. You know that song, uh, Maneater?”

Now Tommy’s mumbling the worst rendition of Maneater Billy’s ever heard, and that song’s already complete shit to begin with in his books, so imagine his pain. 

“Uh, yeah, that song definitely sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, well, she is that. Whatever Daryl Oates was singing about, that’s her through and through.”

Billy shakes his head, stifling his urge to correct Tommy on his wrong music trivia. But above all, Billy doesn’t believe a single word coming out of that guy’s mouth.

He didn’t believe it then, and he didn’t believe it when he chatted you up at the bar either, but things slowly started to change when the two of you found yourselves talking down by the beach.

There was something addicting in your little smiles, and laughs, and the challenging fire in your eyes, waiting for him to talk back. There was something in the way you would twirl around light-heartedly, between ocean waves, with no care in the world.

It was in the way you seemed free. 

And it was also in the way that you’d kiss him and subsequently tugged at his heart, uh no, hair, softly. 

And he definitely believed Tommy’s words when he found himself sheeted deep inside of you. He’s never had a pussy feel that good around him, never heard whines that sweet and filthy. Never thought his name could sound so good falling from someone else’s lips.

He was in deep, literally. And he knew that one fuck simply wouldn’t be enough. One night like this certainly wasn’t, and maybe nothing ever would, but he had to see you again, had to at least try to quench his thirst for you; craving your company like a touched starved fool. Addicted to your little laughs, and your moans, and the way you could be saccharine sweet in one moment, and challenging in the next.

Then, unsuspectedly, you ended up almost breaking down on the cold shower floor, and something else kicked up deep inside of him. Something protective and concerned, because behind your carefree attitude was someone, really, really hurt, and he got small glimpses of that.

Glimpses that he could relate to, if he’s being really honest.

Yet unfortunately his tender words and touches had the complete opposite effect on you.

He still doesn’t understands why. Doesn’t understand why your distress would seemingly worsen after he tried to help.

And now you were gone, leaving him with many questions, no answers, and a slightly aching heart. 

Billy hates how he can already hear Tommy’s smug “Told you so.” And he doesn’t want to be faced with that at all. So, going back to the bonfire is a big no for him, until the thought that you could have gone there crosses his mind, and suddenly he’s heading in that direction hastily.

He knows it’s probably wishful thinking, but that doesn’t stop the small spark of hope from blooming up somewhere deep inside his chest, at the mere idea, that maybe, maybe he 'll see you again.

He just wants to make sure you’re okay, and make clear that he didn’t mean to scare you away. Whatever it was that had you this terrified and worried, he’s sure he could find a solution. Find a solution and maybe make you stay.

But once Billy reaches the gathering at the bonfire again, he has to confront the fact that it was all for nothing, cause you’re not there.

The disappointment seems like a cruel way to extinguish the little flames of hope that have been flickering away in his chest, and he feels physically deflated.

Some of your friends are still lingering around, though. He spots Tommy first, who just gives him a pitying glance, when he notices Billy’s restless eyes wander over the current scene, obviously scanning the crowd, looking for someone. Heather’s just giving him a wary side-eye, looking like she’d kill him in his sleep if she could. Not sure what her problem is, Billy thinks.

Unfortunately, he can’t make out Argyle anywhere for the live of him, so he decides to head home for good this time.

Getting black out drunk, trying to forget that this night ever happened might be better achieved at his own little place anyways.

And so, just like you, he leaves hastily into the night, thoughts occupied only by one specific person. 

You don’t go to the next few outings that come up.

Metaphorically speaking, you’re still licking and tending to your wounds.

The last person you want to see is Billy, even when he’s also the only person on your mind.

You don’t know why, or what exactly went wrong during your hook-up with him, that left you in the emotional turmoil you ended up finding yourself in. But somehow you did, and somehow that didn’t scare him away, which is hard to wrap your mind around.

The only sensible answer your brain can come up with, is that he had just been kind to you out of pity, or because he wanted to get on your good side, maybe, just so he could fuck you again.

Or maybe, he’s just one of those guys with a savior complex. 

You fucked your fair share of those; semi-decent guys, who thought that if they tried hard enough, they might be able to domesticate you like a goddamn cat.

As if a stable relationship and some second-hand love, handed down to you in sizes that never fit – always swallowing you whole or feeling to tight – are going to fix your issues. 

Whatever. 

You try not to think about it too much.

Try not to let Billy’s concerned eyes come up in memory too often. Try not to feel the embarrassment of having fallen apart in front of him. Try not to feel anything, really. 

The sex normally helps to negate that particular issue, the numbing pounding of some stranger’s cock the perfect distraction to the emotional storm swirling around inside of you most of the time.

But you’re not even in the mood for that right now.

And so, you find yourself curled up in bed for a couple of days, ignoring the ringing of your phone and the repeated knocks on your door. It’s probably Heather, or Argyle, or god forbid Tommy.

But you ignore them all, turning around in your sheets instead, trying to suppress the memories of Billy.

Trying to suppress the pretty eyes of a certain stranger, who showed you a little sliver of compassion at the worst possible time, and now you fear that this will haunt you forever.

And when you’re not fighting your mind to stop thinking, and feeling, and wishing for Billy to just hold you, you’re taken by a dreamless, void-like, and utterly restless sleep.

It’s roughly two weeks later, when you’re back at the beach, back at the bonfire, and back in some pretty boy’s arms. His name is Jake or Jason or maybe it’s John? You’re not entirely sure, and you don’t really care enough to find out .

You’re giggling softly at one of his jokes, while giving him the most innocent eyes you can muster, but inside of you, something ugly is clawing to get its fix.

And you’re on your way to get it 15 minutes later, when you’re both stumbling towards the building with the empty shower stalls once again. The déjà vu doesn’t hit you immediately, and you’re still laughing at something pretty boy-what’s-his-name said, when your eyes find someone else’s in the distance. 

Billy’s. 

He’s leaning against the bar counter, sipping a can of beer while watching you closely, and suddenly you feel like you’re drowning. 

What is he doing here? You think. It’s a stupid question, and you know that. You have no right to be upset by his presence, and he’s told you he works at the beach too, so he probably lives nearby anyway and-

There are lips now at your neck that serve as a welcomed distraction, and you try not to let it remind you of the last time you stumbled through those doors.

But it’s different this time, and you ignore the shift in your heart when you watch Billy avert his eyes, jaw clenched and hands tightening around his beer can.

Whatever. You don’t care.

The sex ends up being mediocre at best, and you have to edge the guy on repeatedly to get him to roughen you up a bit more; to numb out all of your pain with the quick strokes of his cock. He finishes before you do, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary, and of course he doesn’t even notice. 

A Fool.

A simple, careless fool.

But it’s okay because you’ve gotten your main fix already. The storm brooding within you feels a lot calmer now, and you get to bask in the afterglow of your achievement.

The guy fulfilled his mediocre purpose, yet he’s hesitant to leave you alone. He almost follows you around like a lost puppy, as you smooth out your skirt and walk up to one of the mirrors.

You find yourself having to revert to a few quick lies; promising him that, sure you’ll meet him at the bonfire most definitely again. You just really need some alone-time to fix your smudged make-up in peace. 

The lies fall from your lips perfectly, in promises already broken before they drip from your mouth in the warm light of the setting sun that’s breaking through one of the fogged-up windows. 

As usual, he eats the lies up like a starved dog might eat a treat, and you smile at his eager eyes, and the hopefulness written all over his features.

Stupid little fool, you think, as you watch him leave. He even has the audacity to turn around towards you again with a little wave, and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. Pathetic, you think while giving him one of your sweetest smiles.

You weren’t lying about wanting to quickly clean yourself up, though. Scrubbing the persistent mascara stains off from both of your cheeks, and applying a new layer of lip gloss.

Once you look less like the mess you feel, you make your way across the beach, only this time into the opposite direction of the bonfire, until you’ve found a spot that looks private enough for your liking. You let yourself sink into the sand with a sigh, and it doesn’t take long for you to nurse another one of your joints while gazing out towards the endless sea.

For the first time since your hook-up with Billy, you actually feel somewhat good again, as a weird peacefulness takes hold of your heart. Some might call it numbness, but you indulge in it, nevertheless – that is until a raspy voice comes up from behind you.

“Didn’t think I’d get to see you again, Cinderella.” 

Billy. 

You hate how your heartrate picks up at the roughness of his voice, of his presence, of his scent. 

“Had hoped I didn’t get to see you again either.” You retort, gaze still stubbornly fixed on the ocean in front of you. 

Billy just huffs, before you hear him sitting down next to you. He’s not as close as he was last time around, keeping some distance between you two. If for your sake, or for his, you’re not sure.

“So, you really meant it when you said you don’t do the same mistake twice, huh?” 

“It’s nothing personal, I just wanna have fun.” 

“Is that what you’re having?” He questions, and despite his simple words, you feel them hit a complicated nerve.

It’s like he’s trying to call your bluff. 

“What is it to you?” You deflect while still refusing to look at him, because you’re not quite sure what will happen if you do. 

“Just curious, really.” 

There’s a moment of silence, safe for the gentle rush of the ocean. It’s an ethereal sound, akin to that of a lullaby, and it somehow reminds you of your mom. 

“Was he worth it?” Billy’s voice calls you out of your thought, and back to the harsh reality again. 

“What?” 

“The guy you slept with, was he worth it?” 

“That’s what you want to know about? Okay.” You mumble more to yourself than anything, and then, after another few beats of silence you ask, “Was he worth what, Billy?” 

That renders the guy next to you silent. 

You two stay like that for a while; quiet, deep in thought, trying to make sense of the other.

Billy wants to ask if you’re alright, but he also doesn’t want to seem like he cares too much, or at all, really. Even though he does. He does care.

Billy tries to think of something that will make you stay. Not for good, but for the moment.

Something that will make you see that he means no harm and comes in peace, even though your hasty departure two weeks ago still stings. So does the fact that you’ve been avoiding him ever since, or having to see you with another guy.

He now truly knows what Tommy was talking about. Knows that this is just a game for you. But he’s vary and unsure of your motives. He doubts however, that you’d tell him if he asked. 

Your mind is currently also in some quiet overdrive, trying to figure out what to say, but coming up empty again.

There are words you thought about saying to him; thoughts you’ve never said out loud to anyone; but Billy’s witnessed you when you were at your smallest and most vulnerable already, and he didn’t run. He didn’t mock you; he didn’t leave.

And while you’re still vary of his motives, because most men you know usually aren’t nice to women out of their kindness in their hearts and their endless empathy for humankind, you secretly hope that Billy might be different.

It’s wishful thinking at its worst, but you thought about giving him an explanation within the last two weeks more times than you want to admit.

This whole situation can’t really spiral down any further, and you’ve let your guards down around him once already. Sure, it was involuntarily, but still; that has to count for something. 

“I didn’t mean to be a bitch.” Your words come out hushed and hasty, but they’re earnest. 

“You need to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you, if I did, that is. I know you meant good, probably, but I don’t need any pity, or help, or saving.”

Billy’s quiet for a moment, as he contemplates your words. He doesn’t try to hide his surprise at your admissions; doesn’t think he could if he tried. 

“I never pitied you, and I never thought you needed saving either, but there’s no shame in needing help from time to time.”

You’re both silent now, letting the words spoken and the words unspoken sit in between you in the warm sand. 

For some reason you want him to stick around, want to get to know him more, but even just that quiet admission seems endlessly scary.

You shouldn’t feel this attached to a guy you barely know and fucked once. 

But unbeknownst to you Billy feels the exact same way, and there are words laying on the tip of his tongue, almost folded neatly into a simple question that he’s too scared to ask.

But then he reminds himself that he doesn’t really have anything to lose. You could just leave regardless of the things that are about to fall from his lips. 

It’s a simple ask and it’s a bit embarrassing how worked up he’s getting over this, but he just tries to tell himself that the worst you can do is laugh and leave; and you might even do that without his proposition.

He repeats the words in his head, trying to make them sound nonchalant. Trying to make them sound like his heart isn’t in it, despite the fact that it’s right there, on the tip of his tongue, ready to tumble out and into your lap at the mere sight of you.

“So, what do you say, are you up for another joint and a slushy?”

The words fall out of his mouth, fast and jumbled, and not quite as detached and casual as he’d hoped. Still, you’re not yet on your feet and running away like last time. Instead, there’s surprise swimming in your eyes, but you cover it up quickly with a teasing smile.

“Joint and a slushy? Billy you’re spoiling me.”

You joke lightly, but inside of you is a new storm brewing. Because if you say yes, it’s going to be completely uncharted new territory. 

And you want to say ‘yes’, but there’s the need to bark ‘no’.

Billy can see the dilemma in your eyes, the unsureness, the fear, and maybe, just maybe, some hidden layers of longing.

But maybe he just sees what he wishes to see.

What he wants to see.

The things that are being reflected in his eyes, too.

“Billy, I-“

“I know, you won’t be breaking your rules for me. You’ve already established that previously, remember? But we don’t have to repeat any of that, you know. We can just talk, and smoke and maybe dance to Andy Gibs a bit more.”

The smile on his face is playful, almost nudging, and you can’t help but mirror it, despite the internal battle that’s still taking place within you.

If you do this, a voice warns, this will be your downfall. You’re going to get attached and then you’re going to get hurt. And where’s the fun in that, huh? 

But Billy’s also the most fun you’ve ever had in the guys you’ve hooked up with, and so, throwing all your apprehensions and cautions into the windy sea, you watch them drown, hoping dearly that their ghosts and warnings won’t come back to haunt you later.

“Fuck it, why not.” You mumble, and Billy beams like the distant bar lights that are still shining strong.

“You want your usual order, then?”

Things develop from there in a rather unusual way, and with the passing weeks you start to actually consider Billy somewhat of a friend. Kind of. Almost. Unexpectedly so.

At first, you two just start to hang out more during the beachy get-togethers; sneaking away to get high and on each other’s nerves. Though Heather doesn’t quite believe you when you say you two are just talking – you don’t really blame her, you wouldn’t believe it either, if you didn’t bear witness to it every other night.

But it really is just talks.

Talks, and joints, and slushies, and lazy gazes into the night sky, and sometimes, if you’re particularly brave, prolonged ones into each other’s eyes.

But you try not to think about the meaning of those too often. 

Billy’s also turned out to be quite opinionated, not that you’re surprised by that discovery; but it definitely serves as inspiration for a lot of arguments, bickering, and disbelieving gasps when the other person says something particularly offensive.

Like when you told Billy that the best Queen album is obviously A Day at the Races, and he audibly scoffed, because how dare you? The only right and acceptable answer is News of the World, and you’d have to be musically on the level of a jellyfish to think differently.

“God, you’re so lucky you’re pretty and fun, otherwise I would most certainly revalue our friendship right now.” Billy had said in that moment, before passing the joint back to you, just as you watched him exhale the smoke into the starry night.

You tried really hard not to think about that night when you were on the receiving end of that smoke, inhaling it instead of the fresh august air.

But Billy keeps true to his promise to not try any ‘funny business’, and you haven’t fucked since that one night almost a month ago.

There’re still men you hook up with, of course. After all, that kind of an itch doesn’t just go away, but it’s a little less frequent now, since on most bonfire nights you seek out Billy’s company instead.

It’s weird, because you haven’t been this close to another person; haven’t felt this close to another person, in a long time. In forever maybe.

But you try not to think about that either; brushing it all away like Heather’s worried glances when she watches you two vanish from the crowds, to go somewhere more ‘private’.

It’s none of her business anyways, you tell yourself, and all of her repeated warnings just continue to fall on deaf ears.

It’s not like you don’t appreciate Heather, or the friendship you two share, but you do think she’s got it all wrong when it comes to Billy.

Because Billy is, as far as you’re concerned, none of the things she kept warning you about. During your weeks on the beach, you’ve never seen him get angry or violent.

Heated maybe, sometimes, but never terrifyingly so. And at this point you wonder if you and Heather are even talking about the same guy at all, really.

But you get your first glimpses of what she might have been talking about a few weeks later at some guys house party.

You’d arrived there in your usual late fashion, and initially you didn’t even think Billy would show up, because those kind of parties aren’t quite his scene. There’s new wave music being blasted from some rather expensive stereo, and that alone would be a reason for Billy to turn around and leave again quickly, huffing and puffing complains about the beyond questionable music choices. 

You would know. You’ve witnessed it by now at least a couple of times. After all, trying to get Billy to stay at a small house party while Adam and the Ants was playing in the background turned out to be quite the challenge just a few days ago. 

So, you didn’t think he would show up to this party either. Or if he did he would have left again immediately, especially with the way that this currently is the third Spandau Ballet song that’s rumbling through the speakers.

It’s To Cut a Long Story Short, and you’ve been looking for Heather ever since it started, cause it’s normally a tune you both quite enjoy dancing to. 

There are some loud voices coming from the kitchen, and knowing Heather, you instinctively move towards the apparent commotion.

She’s the life of the party in both, the best and the worst ways, but instead of your best friend you find something completely different in the kitchen.

It’s a fight. 

It’s a fight, and it must have just started recently because there’s hardly anyone rushing in to break it apart yet.

There’s too many people around for you to see who it is, or what it’s about, but you can certainly hear the grunting, and the punches, and the way a low growl of a familiar voice drawls, “You wanna say that again, fucker?! Come on, say it again!” The silence that follows is deafening and the rough voice huffs, “That’s what I thought you little bitch!”

And it takes a second to hit you fully, but when it does, it hits you hard, almost as hard as the last punch that had the crowd murmuring little surprised ohh‘s and ahh‘s. 

It’s Billy. 

Your assumption turned realization only solidifies when people start whispering once they notice your presence, and you feel like they’re in on something that you’re not. 

But you don’t let that deter you as you try to push past all the people to get to the man your heart keeps worrying about with every added harsh sound, and the rustling of clothes as two shapes wrestle on the kitchen floor.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Somebody finally says it.

It’s a tall dude with glasses who’s stepping out of the crowd, but neither Billy nor the other guy seem to care.

Still, that man’s words are enough for other people to try stepping in too, halfhearted hands gripping Billy to get him off the guy he’s been towering over, raining punches down repeatedly. 

But as soon as he’s up, and the other guy is also semi-stable on his feet, there’s a bloody grin spreading across the stranger’s face before spitting, “Looks like your whore even came to your rescue.”

The nod in your direction is unmistakable, and Billy’s eyes flicker over to you only briefly before he’s pouncing on the guy again, and this time the sound of the heavy punch that follows rings in your ears for a lot longer.

They’re back on the floor again quickly but not without the sound of glass breaking and you shiver, panic bubbling up inside of you.

“Don’t. Fucking. Call. Her. That.”

The words are each accentuated with the sound of unmistakable hits, and now people are more desperate to break the two apart.

There end up being three guys that have to restrain Billy, and two guys who try to keep the other culprit both in line and somewhat steady on his feet.

Yet it’s hardly working, as Billy keeps struggling, trying to jump the other man again, and you can see how the guys holding him back are quite literally at their limit.

You finally manage to squeeze past the last few people in front of you, making your way up to Billy. You don’t really think as you step in, moving into his eyesight and coming up before him.

You call his name repeatedly, but at first he seems like he’s so lost in his rage, that he doesn’t even register you.

It’s almost as if he’s in some kind of trance, chest heaving with quick breaths, and his eyes still blazing daggers at the guy who looks a lot worse for wear. It’s not like Billy got out of the fight unharmed though, his knuckles are bloody and split, you can’t help but notice with a frown, and there’s a deep cut on one of his cheekbones that looks more than a little painful.

His lips are also bleeding and there are bruises already forming around his temple too.

Still, he looks a lot better than the other guy, who can barely keep himself upright at this point. 

“Billy.” Your voice is as soft as the apprehensive touch of your fingers that come to rest on the upper part of his chest.

You can feel his thundering heart underneath your fingertips, rumbling away beneath his warm skin.

“Billy, stop.” You whisper, voice gentle, but the urgency in your eyes is hard to miss.

You instinctively cup his cheeks, mindful of the cuts and bruises, but you need him to look at you – need him to come back to you from whatever plane he’s still on.

You’re not sure if it’s your voice or the careful touch that makes him break free from whatever spell he’s been under. But when he finally does, the sigh of relief that leaves your heart is almost audible, as his eyes trail back to yours. 

“Hey, Cinderella.” His voice is low and rough, and you wince at both, the way the cut on his lip moves with each word, and how he’s very clearly intoxicated, breath stained with the smell of alcohol and weed. 

“Billy,” your voice is deflated, almost disappointed, and it wipes the growing smirk right off his face.

He looks almost a little hurt, like he didn’t expect your reaction to be that.

“You’re mad at me?” He mumbles, voice toying between a question and a statement. 

“Let’s just get out of here.” You offer, ignoring his previous words, and taking one of his hands instead, fingers intertwining, before tugging on it gently. 

“Okay?” You question, eyes searching Billy’s for an answer.

Billy huffs while puffing out his chest, but he’s calmed down enough now to follow you without much fuss as you make a beeline for one of the bathrooms. 

Once you two arrive at your destination, you’re quick to lock the door behind you, after making Billy sit down on the closed toilet seat. 

With your back turned, and a little space between you, you take a shaky breath to steady yourself, the emotions inside of you still running wild, before turning around, heat simmering in your eyes.

“What the fuck was that about?” You bite, and Billy looks like a kicked puppy for a brief second before turning defensive. 

“What?”

He can’t believe the tone of your voice after what he’s done for you, and the furious look in your eyes has him sobering up quite a bit.

“You heard me just right, Hargrove.”

Looking at him expectantly, you wait for an answer, your left foot tapping irregular beats on the white bathroom tiles impatiently. 

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Billy huffs, “he fucking deserved it, and I’m not going to apologize for something I actually still stand behind!”

“I’m not asking you to apologize, I’m asking you to explain it to me.” You shoot back, and Billy crosses his arms, anger rising in his eyes now as well.

How dare you make him the culprit of the night, like he’s the bad guy and not the man who- 

“You weren’t there.” Billy defends himself, his heated gaze turning towards his bloody knuckles. “He said some really nasty shit about you, and I was not about to let him get away with that, alright?”

“What kind of shit?” You question, and Billy’s eyes turn somewhat softer when they take in your form again. 

“Don’t make me repeat the things he said, Cinderella,” he whispers, “but it was completely uncalled for, called you a slut and every degrading thing under the sun he could fucking think of.” 

You sigh, because this is nothing new to you, but apparently the same can’t be said for Billy. 

“Billy,” you mumble, voice gentler now and tinted with some understanding, “guys call me that all the time, okay?”

“What, and you just let them?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m there to witness it most of the time, and it’s not like they’re entirely wrong either. I’m not exactly known to be the personification of virgin Mary, now am I?”

“Yeah, well, maybe not, but that still doesn’t give that shithead the right to be judgmental about it! Who is he to question the choices you make anyway? And what was I supposed to do, just listen and laugh?” 

There’s a quietness taking over the room for the first time tonight, except for the loud music that’s still booming through the apartment, drifting into the space between you.

“I care about you, alright. And I’m not going to let him walk all over you, even if it’s just with some fucking words. You’re my friend, so, sorry for giving a shit.”

Billy tries to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s mostly hurt swimming in his eyes when he gazes back up at you, and something inside of you shifts. 

“Billy,” you whisper, because the growing realization that he might have actually done this for you, rather than himself, settles in your mind slowly.

“You actually picked this fight for me?” Your voice is so hushed, it might as well be nothing but hot air leaving your mouth right now.

“Well, who else would I pick a fucking fight for?”

“I thought,” you mumble, feet shuffling nervously on white tiles, “I thought you just picked the fight for your ego.”

“What?”

“Well, you know. The guy probably said something about how you’re seemingly with me, a slut, and the implication of what exactly that says about you is what drove you over the edge.”

“Wait, you think I got my knuckles bloody because some prick thinks I might be settling for 'damaged goods'? Is that why you’re so angry? You think I broke that guy’s nose over some stupid ego shit?”

“I’m sure you broke a guys nose for less before.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh, doesn’t sound like nothing to me. If you have something to say just say it.”

Billy’s voice drops dangerously low before huffing, “Come on, you weren’t that quiet when I fucked you stupid, so don’t go all docile on me now.”

“I’m not.”

“Right.”

“Right, and fuck you.”

“Oh, Getting the big guns out now, are we?”

“Fuck off Billy, I’m not gonna pick a fight with you.”

“Weird, could have fooled me.”

You two are standing awfully close by now, with Billy having jumped up from his seat a while ago, eyes angry, and chest heaving. 

“You can’t blame me for thinking this is just the usual shit.”

“What usual shit?”

There’s a heavy sigh that’s leaving your lips, but instead of an answer your hands come up to Billy’s shoulders again, pushing him back towards the toilet seat. 

“I don’t want to have this discussion right now. It doesn’t matter anyway. What’s done is done. Just don’t pick a fight like that again, okay? It’s not worth it, getting hurt like this.”

It’s not worth it getting hurt for me, you think. 

But Billy huffs, far from ready to let this go yet, but admitting defeat once he sees the tired look in your eyes. 

As he’s settled down again, you quickly go through the bathroom cabins, searching for something. 

“Watcha looking for?” Billy’s voice seems less on edge now, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“A fucking first aid kit, most responsible adults have something akin to that in their bathroom or kitchen space.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, what do you want me to say to that, Billy?”

There’s the hint smile playing on your lips as Billy huffs with fake offense, and when you look back at your friend he’s mirroring your little smile, blue eyes bright and fixed on you with a steadiness that makes your heart sway. 

Shaking your head to get the lingering thoughts and feelings out, you try to focus back on the task at hand, until you finally find what you’ve been looking for all along. 

“Ha! Got it! I fucking new it; see!”

You hold up the little box proudly, and Billy can’t help but think that you look utterly adorable while doing so. 

“You gonna nurse me back to health, yeah?”

“You rather want to get this shit infected, Hargrove?”

Billy just mumbles a quiet, “It’s not that bad.” But he still makes space for you to stand in between his legs while you put down the box carefully on the bathroom sink beside you. 

And as your eyes come back to rest on Billy, taking in the toll of his injuries, the unpleasant feeling of guilt keeps rising in your chest, manifesting as an ugly lump in your throat. 

He got hurt because of you, you think, and you can’t help but feel like this is all your fault.

It’s not surprising that people talk, not when it’s so out of character for you to hang out with a guy more than once; and you’re sure something similar can be said for Billy, too. So, of course, people get ideas, convinced that they know exactly what’s going on. 

However, you don’t really care, and you foolishly assumed that Billy wouldn’t either, but apparently he does care; even if it’s just a little bit.

“Listen, I-“

You’re not sure how you should phrase the next words that threaten to tumble out of your mouth, without admitting that you also care quite a bit about Billy.

Without admitting that you were scared for his safety just minutes ago.

“I, uh, appreciate what you did, Billy, but please don’t do something like this again, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Your voice is mumbled, almost as if your words are stumbling over each other, because each one wants to move past your lips first and all at once. 

Your hand brushes against his cheeks softly, before tilting his head up, so you can look at him better. 

“I care about you too, Billy. And there are things worth getting hurt over but some guy calling me a slut isn’t one of them, I promise.”

His blue eyes keep softening with each admission, and both of his hands come up to your hips carefully, if to steady you or himself, you don’t know; but the gentle caress of his thumb over the smooth, silky dress you’re currently wearing does have a comforting notion, even if it’s a slightly foreign one. 

“I wasn’t really thinking,” Billy whispers, “but I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just trying to look out for you. And I don’t wanna promise you that this will never happen again because…”

Billy doesn’t finish the sentence; he doesn’t have to; you already know what he’s implying.

He can’t promise you no more physical fights without the fear of breaking it again. 

Can’t promise it because he’s just as reactionary as you, and anger is a default setting that’s hard to curb and even harder to swallow down.

“It’s enough for me Billy if you just try. Try not to pick those fights again for me, okay?” 

“Got it, Cinderella.” Billy teases, voice a little lighter, and the smile you two exchange has your heart fluttering in your chest rapidly. 

Traitor. 

As you pick out the necessary tools to mend Billy’s cuts and bruises, the guy in question watches you with emotions unsaid swirling around in his chest. His heart like thunder, illuminated up by the mere sight of you like lightning in a darkened sky.

He wants to pull you into his lap and kiss the worried frown right off your face, but he knows he can’t; knows he shouldn’t. Yet it doesn’t make the longing reaching out in his chest any less intense. 

“Okay, this is going to sting, I’m afraid.“

Your voice calls Billy back to the current moment, and his head spins from the mere compassion swimming in your eyes, as they come to rest on his injuries again.

“‘S Alright,” he mumbles, unsure of where to look or how to feel. 

You dab the small cloth soaked in disinfectant on the smaller cuts first, and Billy tries not to notice how out of character this feels for him. How foreign it feels to have someone take care of him like that, tending to his wounds with such utterly gentle touches and hushed little soothing whispers. 

He’s also not used to being witnessed like this - not after his father’s beatings and not after the physical fights he would get himself into as a way to cope; to feel something or nothing at all. 

Sometimes, once in a blue moon, his little sister Max would give him a helping hand, when his fingers wouldn’t stop shaking and the cuts wouldn’t stop bleeding and the mess in the bathroom was too much to take care of all by himself.

But even then there were walls build up, tall and strong, between him and the little redhead. Walls that no sibling bond could ever break through, or at least not the dysfunctional sibling bond they were cursed with.

And Billy hated to be witnessed like that - a broken and bloody and teary-eyed mess. Vulnerable, and raw, and everything he didn’t want his little sister to see him as.

Yet even in those situations he craved the comfort, the help, the signs, and the illusions of somebody caring enough to take care of him. 

And he always hated himself the most for that. 

But now, he’s finds himself here with you in some stranger’s bathroom, as you clean his wounds with a tenderness that has Billy feeling beyond choked up.

There’s a lump the size of the earth stuck in his throat as he tries not to drown in the overwhelming feelings of it all.

As he tries hard to fight the tears back that threaten to spill with every added crumb of gentleness that you grant him, completely clueless to its significance, or the way it makes his head and heart turn around themselves.

But like usually, the fight against his tears is the hardest fight of all; one he just can’t seem to win, try as he might. 

Unfortunately, you notice his watery eyes immediately, and it makes you halt in your movements for the briefest of moments. 

“I know, I know,” you whisper soothingly, “this cut must sting a lot, but I’m almost done here, Billy.”

And that’s it, something inside Billy breaks, and he tries shutting his eyes quick and tightly as not to let anything slip out; not a tear and not a shard of vulnerability - but it’s too late. 

He’s crying again.

“Oh, Billy, no.”

The worry in your voice only makes Billy cry harder as he shakes his head vigorously, trying to get you to back off. 

“What’s wrong, Billy?”

Your hand coming up to his cheek is soft and careful, as you try to get him to look at you fully. 

His eyes are still pressed closely together, but that doesn’t stop the tears from running down his freckled cheeks.

At first you think that he’s more hurt than he initially led on - at least physically speaking, but when you ask him about it he just shakes his head once more.

“’m fine,” he mumbles, “‘s just a lot.” 

You, on the other hand, are unsure of what he’s talking about, or what you should be doing now exactly. You don’t want to overstep any boundaries, but you also want to help him, in any way you can.

You doubt however, that if you’d ask him about what he needs, he’d give you an honest answer. So, you do the only sensible thing you can think of; hugging him closely.

At first, Billy goes completely stiff as you curl up on his lap unceremoniously, before guiding his face into the crook of your neck, words hushed, and soothing. 

You keep holding him, promising him to not let go, and at one point Billy’s arms come around you tightly, too, clinging to you like a lost and exhausted swimmer might cling to a lifeline. 

“Shh, Billy, it’s alright. It’s alright, you can cry it out, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” 

Your understanding words only make him cry harder, but you assume that this is just what he needs right now; or at least you hope it is.

One of your hands keeps playing with the curls on the back of his neck, fingers tracing patterns on the sliver of skin that’s exposed between his hair and the collar of his shirt.

You can still feel his shoulders shake; hear his muffled sniffles and sobs that break through the otherwise quietness of the bathroom space. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed when his crying starts quieting down, and the first words that leave Billy’s lips are an embarrassed, “I’m sorry,” which you shoot down immediately. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, and you almost think you can feel Billy shiver.

“You’ve seen me cry, I’ve seen you cry, guess we’re even now, Billy.”

There’s a choked laugh coming from the man in question, before he mumbles, “Guess we’re both a little fucked up, huh?”

“I don’t think that there’s anything fucked up about you crying, Billy.”

“You would if you knew why.”

“You wanna talk about it then?” 

But Billy just shakes his head, fluffy curls tickling the side of your face, as he’s still hiding away in the nape of your neck. 

“I’d rather not.” 

“Do you still want me to treat the rest of your cuts and bruises?” 

The little nod that follows is only faint, but since it’s directly against your skin, you manage to pick it up easily. 

“Just one more minute, okay?” 

His voice sounds timid when the question falls from his lips, and all you can do is pull him even closer, before giving him a little nod of your own.

“Of course. We can stay like this as long as you need.”

That’s impossible, Billy thinks, because there’s no way you’d let him stay in your arms for eternity - but he likes the idea, the illusion, that you might care enough about him to take care of him like that.

After the events of the party, there’s something between you two that shifted; something that made you two grow even closer and tighter.

Maybe it really is the fact that you’ve both witnessed the other breaking down and crying; maybe it’s the vulnerability of it all or something else entirely.

Either way, the two of you are almost completely inseparable at any outing now, and you even start hanging out outside of parties and beach gatherings.

Billy takes you out to eat every Friday night, and you start bringing him breakfast at least two times a week to his early morning lifeguard shifts, when the sun is only slowly starting to break through the veil of the night.

You two usually sit there next to each other, on the old, wooden steps of the tiny lifeguard house, sharing smokes and donuts and little memories while the sun rises up.

The part-time job you’ve recently started at a local diner certainly helps with keeping the breakfast choices somewhat diverse, and the way Billy’s eyes light up each time makes it even more worth it.

There’s still the occasional party, still the occasional fight that Billy finds himself in the middle of, but just like your hook-ups, they become rarer with the passing of time.

There’s a slow rhythm that’s being established between you, but you both try hard not to notice, let alone acknowledge it. 

And while the growing closeness feels foreign and a little intimidating, you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t become a little addicted to it, too.

Because this closeness with Billy is a closeness you’ve never shared with anyone before. But as of recently, you’ve been getting the growing feeling that this isn’t enough; that you need more than that. That you want more than that. 

And it’s getting harder and harder to mask the quick beating of your heart around him, or the longing gazes, or the urges to kiss him again; pulling him closer and never letting go. 

“We’re just friends,” you keep telling Heather, whenever she calls you out on this thing you share with Billy, but the words start tasting more and more cruel in your mouth.

There’s a bitterness to it that no amount of weed, or drinks or sex can cover.

At first, you think that this storm brewing inside of you is something nobody else would notice. After all, telling lies isn’t a foreign language to you, but during one particular late summer night, Billy surprisingly calls you out on it. 

You two have been browsing the isles of the tiny supermarket right by the shore for a while now, looking for some midnight snacks to bring down to the beach.

It’s almost an unspoken tradition at this point, to let the weekends fade out with some smokes and snacks while lying in the warm sand cuddled next to each other.

Billy wrapping his arm around your side is what pulls you out of your thoughts again. You’ve been staring at some strawberry-shaped gummy bears for the last few minutes, though, even you yourself are unsure as to why. 

“What’s going on, Cinderella? You’re not normally one to struggle with making decisions.” You know Billy’s just teasing but the smile on your face still feels forced, uncomfortably so. 

“Just thinking.” You dismiss Billy’s worried gaze, fingers brushing against the gummy bear package before changing your mind again and letting it go. 

“If you want them, I can get them for you; my treat.” Billy jokes, but your hardly smiling. 

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll just take the usual.” 

“You sure?” 

The answer you throw his way gets lost in the distance between you two, as you simply walk up to the cashier; but then again, Billy thinks, maybe you didn’t say anything at all, your action speaking for itself instead.

He can’t help but notice how your behavior has been a little off for most of the night, yet he doesn’t really know why. He hasn’t been in any fights for the last few days, so there’s no reason for you to be mad at him.

Besides, you’re not one to hold grudges. Instead, you tend to tell him when you’re upset right in the moment, rather than letting the anger simmer.

It’s an upside to being a bit more reactionary, he supposes. 

Still, worry bubbles up inside of him, because even the mere thought of you pulling away, or worse, leaving him for good absolutely terrifies him.

He isn’t even in a position to call you his right now, but the lack of your company would at the very least leave a hole the size of the sun in his heart; he’s sure of that. 

Billy’s convinced that he needs to talk to you, so, of course, he’s going to grab a few more beers from the fridge, assuming that he’ll need them, either before you talk or afterwards.

He’s about to join you at the counter, when something inside of him pauses, and without really thinking, he grabs a pack of the strawberry gummies you’ve been staring at earlier.

He’s unsure as to why, but what harm is there in getting one more snack?

When the two of you walk side by side to the beach, Billy watches you carefully. Even in the harsh light of the streetlamps, you look ethereal, he thinks.

You’re still laughing at his jokes, but there’s something in your eyes that feels distant. Like your miles away, and Billy doesn’t know how to follow you there, or how to bring you back to him again. 

For the rest of the walk, he tries to think of a way to ask you if you’re alright, without you getting defensive. But he can’t think of anything that wouldn’t trigger your fight-or-flight response.

And he knows first-hand just how strong your flight response can be.

So, no thank you to that.

You, however, feel like you’re on fire, and Billy’s company is nothing but gasoline to your blazing longing.

A longing you have to hide, to dismiss, to never acknowledge in the slightest.

And it’s been getting harder and harder on a regular day, and almost beyond impossible on those days were he’s right there with you, like he is right now. 

There’s an awkwardness settling in between you two, as you continue to walk through the sand to your regular hang out spot.

That is, until Billy’s voice suddenly breaks through the quietness of the night, disturbing the stillness taking shape all around you and the gentle whispers of the ocean. 

“First one in the waves wins!”

You hear him drop his backpack and jacket into the sand more than you see it, and for a small second you’re entrenched as you watch him run up to the ocean, before mirroring his actions, letting go of your little purse and running right after him. 

The water is a bit cooler than you expected it to be, but it’s still a welcomed distraction to the incurable heat you feel whenever Billy’s near.

Once you find yourself back by his side, he’s quick to wrap his arms around you, as he spins you around playfully. And for the first time tonight, the laughter bubbling out of you is nothing but earnest, and Billy feels his heart sigh in relief at the mere sound of it. 

You might not tell him what’s wrong, but maybe he can at the very least distract you from whatever it is for a small while. Maybe that will make you stay at least a little longer. 

And as you two continue to play fight, tackling and dunking each other in between the soft waves, you feel yourself come back to the moment without the fear of secret feelings getting discovered.

Without feeling like to have to keep up a mask around Billy, just to be safe. 

By the time you two decide to leave the dark water behind again, you’re both still laughing, both still riding that high of each other’s company, both still lost in the secret longing for the other. 

You don’t even really think about the fact that you’re stripping yourself of your clothing in front of Billy, as you shimmy out of your wet dress quickly, and Billy is about to mirror your action, when something inside of him freezes, his hands toying with the hem of his t-shirt.

“What, you’re gonna stay like this?” You gently tease, once you notice that he’s still wearing both - his dripping wet swimming shorts and his shirt, while you’re clad in nothing but your underwear.

Keeping the swimming shorts on, you can understand, but the shirt? Not so much. 

But Billy doesn’t meet your eyes when you call him out on it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he almost looks shy all of the sudden. But Billy and shy are two words on opposite ends that hardly fit together. 

“You wanna get pneumonia that bad, huh?” 

“Fuck off, I’ll be fine!”

Billy doesn’t say anything more as he lies down, eyes drifting to the seemingly endless September night sky. 

For a while, neither one of you says anything. The rumble of the waves with its unspoken secrets is the only sound filling the space between you two. 

Time passes, but you can’t say how much, the endless lullaby of the ocean a bad indicator of time passed, and time left.

At some point, Billy’s nursing a beer again, while you’re nursing a joint, and when you offer your rolled-up little friend to Billy, he almost offers you his beer in return, before he remembers that you don’t drink, like at all, and a particular question comes up for air in his mind.

It’s a question that’s been swirling around in Billy’s mouth, like his tongue in yours when you two first shared kisses.

Kisses he keeps dreaming about both day and night, but that’s not the point.

The point is that he still doesn’t know why you refuse to even glance at the alcoholic drinks that usually get passed around at bars and parties, let alone drink any of them.

And there’s something in Billy that feels a little daring tonight.

Maybe it’s because he’s starting to feel lightheaded; if from your company or the drugs and the beers kicking in, he’s not sure. 

Nevertheless, the question decides to drop from his lips, almost accidentally. 

“Why don’t you ever drink, like, alcoholic stuff?” 

The turn of your head towards him is so incredibly fast, it’s giving yourself a bit of a whiplash.

Part of you is ready to bark at him that that’s none of his goddamn business. That he should just mind his own, and leave you to your own devices. 

But Billy’s question isn’t stained with judgement, the way those questions usually are, but with a sense of curiosity that is so very much Billy. 

“If I tell you why I don’t drink, will you tell me why you’d rather risk a fucking lung infection than be caught with your shirt of?”

Now it’s Billy’s turn to get defensive, as he mumbles, “Fuck, no. Jesus, I was just asking a question.”

“So was I, Billy.” 

“Yeah, well, but this is none of your goddamn business.”

“Wait, but wanting to know why I don’t drink somehow is?”

You kind of have a point, Billy quietly admits to himself. Still, asking you to open up feels a lot more justified than asking him to do the same in return. 

There really must be something in the air tonight, though, because Billy’s seriously considering the trade.

“Fine,” he finally mumbles, “but I swear to god, if your answer is only a ‘I simply don’t like the taste of alcohol, Billy’ I’m not saying a single syllable for the rest of the night, and I’m keeping the gummy bears I bought for you.”

The soft laugh that falls from your lips has him feeling a little more at ease, and he watches you with attentive eyes before something inside of you shifts and you take in a deep breath, almost as if to steady yourself or the words that you’re about to say. 

“Alright, sounds like a deal, I guess.” 

As you take another breath, you can’t help but notice that you’re not as scared as you thought you’d be, and maybe there’s something about this night that makes you a little more daring too, a little more vulnerable, a little less on edge, as you find yourself mumbling into the midnight blue of the universe, “My dad.”

The admission is hushed, and it’s quiet, and it’s dripping with shame. Your voice feels rusty and unfamiliar even to your own ears, like you haven’t used it in centuries, and in some odd way you haven’t.

Not when it comes to your dad, at least.

You watch Billy as he takes your words in, eyebrows furrowed slightly, and you realize that maybe your words weren’t as self-explanatory as you’d hoped.

As they are to you. 

“He’s uh- he just used to drink a lot; you know?” 

There’s a clarity in Billy’s eyes as they wander over to you, or maybe the joint is really hitting in, and you’re imagining things.

Maybe you just want there to be clarity.

Maybe you just want him to understand. 

“You mean, he’s an alcoholic?”

There’s a tenderness in Billy’s voice that feels foreign again. It makes you feel something, but you can’t quite say if it’s positive or negative. You decide that it just is, for now; some weird feeling deep within you.

Brushing that aside, you decide to answer his question with a quickly mumbled, “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Has he, uh- has he ever … hurt you?”

There’s an apprehensiveness in Billy’s voice now too, mirroring yours closely. 

“Not like, physically,“ you whisper after a brief pause, “but emotionally, yes. My whole childhood was a living hell, trying to tip-toe around a volcano that could explode at any moment. Feels like I was trying my whole live to not get burned by the fire he’d spit.” 

There’s a silence filling the space between you two, until you mumble, “Don’t know if that made any sense at all but-“ 

“Yeah, no, no, it does.” Billy whispers, voice the most timid you’ve ever heard it.

“Yeah, I think that does make sense.” 

The relieve that washes over you in shouldn’t feel like a fucking 7 feet tall wave, yet it does anyway.

“Guess my father was the same, kind of. Only difference being that he didn’t need the alcohol for that, and he would… well, you know.” 

“He’d hurt you?”

Billy only manages a faint nod since he doesn’t trust his voice from breaking and failing.

There’s vulnerability and understanding swimming in both of your eyes as you look back at the other, until Billy averts his gaze, opting for staring at the stars instead when he mumbles, “There are scars littered all over my body.”

“From your dad?” 

There’s another quick nod, before he states, “That and a kind of… accident.”

You instinctively take his hand into yours. It’s a small gesture, but you still want him to know you’re there.

“There was this …mall fire, I got caught up in. And now my body looks like a fucking battle ground with no goddamn survivors.” 

“But you survived, Billy.” 

There’s a bitter laugh coming from the guy next to you. 

“I don’t know, did I?”

“Well, you’ve got to, otherwise you wouldn’t be here with me now.”

“Yeah, but for how much longer? How much longer will you stick around before you’ll leave again too. It’s not like you didn’t once already.”

You know Billy doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but his words still feel like a slap in the face. 

“That was something different entirely.”

“Was it? Because all I remember is you leaving.” 

“But I’m here now, Billy. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere again.”

“Funny, that’s what my mother used to say too.” 

“What?”

You're caught off guard by his admission, and there’s the brief memory of a pause before he whispers, “You know, I initially came back to California to look for someone.” 

“Someone or something?” You quietly question, because Billy’s voice has been so mumbled, you didn’t quite catch the last word. 

“Both, I suppose, if home is a thing.”

“And have you found it yet?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think that I’ve almost got it, but then again-“

Billy doesn’t know why he’s telling you all of this. But now that he’s started, he doesn’t know how to stop either. 

“She left me all alone with my dad when I was still a kid, but she would occasionally pop up again, just to break her empty promises over and over again. But it was okay, because at least she was still there, you know?”

“Oh, Billy.”

You scoot closer to the teary-eyed man, who looks more like a child right now, as he stares stubbornly into the night sky, lips and fingers unsteady and shaky. 

You decide to unceremoniously roll on top of him, hugging him closely while doing so. 

You don’t say anything; don’t think that there are any words deep enough to express your sorrow or how your heart aches at the thought of kid-Billy being failed by both of his parents. And how that failure still haunts him now; shaped him into existence.

You would know, it’s not like your story is much different.

There’s a reason why you crave male validation like a starved cat might crave some milk.

There’s a reason why seeing women out in public wearing your mom’s hairstyle still makes you feel uneasy.

There’s a reason why opening up feels like knives cutting something deep underneath your skin, and you were never taught how to deal with the rawness of it all.

How to handle vulnerability or love or being taken care of; because nobody ever did or showed you how. 

But now, for the first time, you’re not the only one carrying that kind of a curse, because here’s Billy, with the same scars as yours etched into his heart.

Or at least their shapes look awfully familiar. 

And for the next few hours you to share memories, thoughts, and feelings you’ve never shared with anyone before.

You talk about the misplaced anger of your fathers, and the inactions of your mothers, and your siblings, and the curses of being the oldest one.

The scapegoat.

The test-run they were allowed to fuck up, because they could just try to make it right the second or third time around instead.

And you talk, until Billy’s shirt has completely dried down and the sun’s slowly rising up, and sleep is only a heartbeat away. 

Billy’s heartbeat, to be exact, which also turns out to be the most soothing lullaby you’ve ever listened to, as you curl up closer to the boy you share so many different memories with.

Because what had previously been an unspoken understanding of a distant similarity in both of your characters has turned into so much more. 

You’re one and the same in some fucked up yet comforting way.

And you’ve never felt more at peace.

Never felt more at home.

And suddenly, you realize that the stains of the past tainting your present don’t look quite as fatal when you see Billy wear them too. 

Unfortunately, Tumblr won't let me post all of the story at once, since it'd be too many paragraphs in one post 😅.

Read the rest of the story here.

[loveerran]

I recently posted about trans couples who have children (and talked about how puberty blockers are safe). I have had 3 personal conversations with parents or relatives of trans kids in the last few months. They’re worried about the impact of life-long medical decisions they are making with doctors and their children - and that is understandable. One Mom said to me “It was easy to be supportive before, but now it’s me and my kid and it feels very different”.

Here are some things I would like to tell the parents of trans kids (purely my opinion and specifically on the trans-feminine side):

Social transitions are relatively free and easy to implement. If my AMAB child were transitioning, I would want them to walk a mile in those heels (or more) and see how she feels about every day life as a woman. The gender non-conforming umbrella is wide. Not everyone will want a full-time/complete binary transition. I have a genderfluid friend who likes spending time in both worlds and identifies as a crossdresser. She is a real and valid person. Detransition is also real and there should always be a way for the child to reverse course if this isn't for them. And in my opinion, the child needs to know that specifically. I might ask my child “If we moved far away to a place where folks didn’t know you, would you want to continue presenting this way or go back?”

I have spent significant amounts of time studying the subject, and believe puberty blockers are very safe. Leuprorelin has been administered to tens of thousands of kids (and even more adults), worldwide, for decades. No long-term cases of sterility/infertility have ever been recorded. Concerns about negative side effects or lack of natal pubertal transition tend to be hypothetical. I believe those potential negative consequences should be explored and puberty blockers should not be restricted until/when negative consequences are identified. We prescribe many medications, readily, with far more significant, and proven, negative side effects. As just one example, many anti-depressants have significant side effects and carry a 'black box' FDA warning. But we understand that some risk is acceptable in treating important underlying conditions with these drugs. Also, if your child stops taking puberty blockers, then no one will be able to tell they were ever on them in a few years.

The effects of ‘cross-sex’ hrt (hormone replacement therapy) are generally reversible, particularly for trans girls. A former trans girl who stops hrt will develop a masculine voice and primary/secondary sex characteristics just like any cis male. Trans men who went through female puberty and then transition are noted for passing and no one ever realizing. The same is far more true of AMAB individuals who identified as trans women and then detransitioned.

Gender confirmation surgery (aka: Sex reassignment surgery) is permanent and final, but that won’t be your decision to make or even participate in except as a counselor and friend, because your child will be a legal adult at that point.

I want to emphasize that detransitioning is real, and the pain of people who have detransitioned is real. Some people start down this path and realize it isn’t for them. I want to support those individuals with a way out that doesn't also close the doors for those for whom transition is the best course of action. Fortunately, most everything up until final surgeries is largely reversible.

Medical intervention for gender dysphoria can be a very good and important thing in a trans kid’s life. Not all the decisions will be yours to make as a parent. Many will be made with your child and the input of competent medical professionals.

And one other thing for parents of trans kids who read this blog: It will almost certainly work out. Your love and support will mean the world to your children.

[radiowallet]

Promise

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter gets a gift while away on location. WC: 1.9K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists, allusions to smut, and dirty talk. Mentions of food and drug use. Small angsty moments. Yearning. So much yearning. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy). A lot of purple prose and waxing poetic in this one, besties.

A/N: We're back with more of these boys. What can I say? I am obsessed with their dynamic and as long as my broken brain keeps sending me ideas for them, I intend to keep writing them down. Big thanks to @magpie-to-the-morning and @jazzelsaur who are patient as patient can be while I barge into their DM's to screech about these two soft, vulnerable boys. I love you both.

Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

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The bouquet had been delivered to set, the candy cotton pink petals hard to miss amidst the cranes and cameras and all the rest of the hardware it took to put a film in the can. Everyone had fawned over the flowers from the moment they arrived, their delicate shape a marvel beneath the heat of the Moroccan sun. 

But when the courier called out Dieter’s name, the room almost erupted, everything from squeals of elation to nosy questions being tossed his way. Dieter couldn’t help himself, cheeks warming and chest puffing, as he accepted the vase, the increased attention not only from the crew but also his fellow actors, stroking his ego in a way he couldn’t help but relish in. 

Maybe some would be embarrassed at the sheer honesty in that one single thought but Dieter found peace in the sentiment. Hell, he was an actor. What else was there to say other than the truth in validation, hoping that enough of the attention could one day fix the broken pieces inside his heart. 

“One of your many admirers sending you flowers now, Bravo?” A well-meaning production assistant asks in passing. 

“Something like that,” he hums, taking care to tuck the card into his pocket for later. 

After that, the flowers find a place on the craft service table, and if an extra take or two is needed because Dieter’s eye line strays just a tad too far left no one makes mention of it.

The day is called just as the last of the light is lost, the sun setting far behind the rows and rows of beautiful blue houses. There’s an offer for drinks and dinner brandied about, a few cast and crew breaking away. Dieter quietly bows out, and again, if anyone notices the once infamous party boy choosing a quiet night in over a raucous night out, not a word is said. 

Once back in his hotel room, Dieter is instantly restless, the flowers moving from room to room, the vase twisted left, then right, then right again. Self-doubt starts to dig at the base of his spine, the very beginning of a panic attack creeping up his back, tight and hot and painful, a wicked whisper telling him he should have just gone out, damn all and any consequences. There is only a bouquet of pink peonies in this hotel room to keep the loneliness at bay tonight, and not for the first time, Dieter feels the icy cold fear that he’ll forget all he has waiting for him back home.  

He does his best to ignore it, breathing slowly around the rubber band across his chest, counting each second with the tick of his fingers. One, two, three, four, in. Five, six, seven, eight, out. Twice more is enough to chase the feeling away, giving Dieter the space he needs to finally breathe fully, his head clearing just enough to ground him back to the moment. The blossoms finally find a home right beside his bed, the low light of the bedroom illuminating the pretty pink petals, and only then does he actually start to settle down for good. He fishes the card from his back pocket, dragging his thumb across the seal.

It’s nothing remarkable; a white envelope, only his first initial scratched across the front. But it’s enough to have his cheeks warming all over again, the tip of his nail finally piercing through the thick paper. The card is equally unassuming, but when he opens it up, the words are anything but. 

Dieter reads it over once, then twice, then one more time for good measure, lips moving along with the lines, one promise after another infused to each and every one. It’s enough to have him scrambling for his phone, dialing with shaky hands and a breathless laugh. It only rings once before it clicks over. 

“Hey, baby.”

“The flowers…” Dieter starts, his mind racing faster than he can manage to speak, any sort of coherency lost at the sound of Marcus Moreno’s soft baritone on the other end of the line. 

“They were too much.”

“No! Fuck no!” Dieter is quick to cut the other man off, refusing to let him think that for even a second.�� “No, sweet boy. I love them!”

Marcus would do this from time to time, doubt himself and his place by Dieter’s side. It always brings him back to the moment in that lavish hotel room, Marcus’s warm breath painted across his cheek, lips bruised and fingers grasping, when the heroic had admitted that most couldn’t handle it. To this day Dieter can’t help but wonder if he was maybe talking about more than just superpowers.

He thinks maybe Marcus doesn’t realize. That he doesn’t see what it means to possess a heart so big. Bigger than anyone deserved, the weight of it nearly dragging him down, away from the light and into the shadows. The very ones he tries so hard to protect the world from. And Dieter knew that when the man fell, he fell fast. Fully. All of him hanging out on a precarious line, waiting for the other inevitable shoe to drop. 

Dieter wishes he could figure out a way to convince him that both of his feet were firmly planted on the ground. 

There’s a beat of silence and he swears he can hear the words neither of them dare to say. Not yet. Not with things so new. But he can feel them. Always feel them. With each kiss Marcus pressed into his skin, every drag of his fingertips, each scrape of his teeth, there was the promise of an affection too great to imagine. It was there, on the tip of the other man’s tongue, quietly unspoken but still so very very present.

“I love them,” the actor says again, determined to make his point stick this time. 

Marcus hums, and Dieter can almost picture him then and there as if he was sitting beside him on the 1000 thread count duvet in Morocco instead of miles and miles away, in an empty apartment, his only plans for the night a crappy tv dinner. He could chide the heroic, remind him to have fun, take more chances, but that’s a sticky subject all its own. 

It had been a running theme of the last few months of their lives, the two of them stealing what little time together they could. Marcus would plan, meticulously, weekends away explained under the guise of training or intel or some other bullshit excuse. Dieter would make a stink to his manager on those days, stomping his feet and demanding a mental health break. Maybe it was the fact that he returned from those weekends brighter and lighter than ever before, but Marissa never fought him too hard. 

They would lose track of the hours as easily as they lost themselves in the other, tangled sheets and broken sleep bookending their pleasure. The give and take between them deepened with each weekend that rolled around. Dieter delighted in Marcus’s company, preening beneath the wonder of having him all to himself. The way his whole heart became the center of the universe, genuine affection and care feeling better than any late night or black out bender. 

Marcus would watch Dieter paint, only a sheet around his waist as his eyes traced the curves and colors inspired by his own tender touch. And Dieter would marvel at the bend of the other man’s form, following his steps to the gym, his own eyes wide as twin blades cut through open air. They stayed in. Always in. The pair of them forgoing even ordering in, digging through Dieter’s freezer in search of mini pizza bagels and knock-off taquitos rather than risk breaking the peace of their privacy. 

And if he showed up to the set of the big budget action movie with his belly still soft, it hardly mattered. His heart was full, his mind at peace, and even as the director rolled his eyes, all Dieter could see was Marcus dropping to his knees, nuzzling into the patch of coarse hair smattered across the swell of his stomach, before swallowing him down to the base. 

Those days gave them both something to cling to when life and work and reality would push them back to opposite sides of the country. Memories they could remember in the between, when it was only phone calls and FaceTimes the touch of their own hand to chase away the anxieties hiding around the corner.  

Dieter learned in great detail how to coax those little whines from the heroic, memorizing the ragged sound of his cries as he whispered all manner of filth into the crease of his skin. Marcus matched the energy in kind, splitting up inside the actor, lips on his throat and hands in his hair. Dieter called him sweet boy and Marcus declared him his whole sky, a promise of more following every goodbye. 

And Marcus always keeps his promises. 

When it came time to leave for Morocco, six months of loneliness looming in the distance and one awkward farewell party behind them, Dieter did his best to remind Marcus to not linger in his solitude. It would be too easy for him to fall back on old habits; long nights on rooftops chased by haggard days in the gym, but Dieter hoped the hero would make time to tend to his heart in ways he had forgone for so long. 

Marcus took care to meet Dieter where he stood, urging him to hold onto every word he ever said, his whole heart following Dieter, even when he physically could not. The actor clung to the sentiment, doing his best to remember every weekend spent wrapped around the other man. He held onto every ripple of pleasure and each drip of afterglow. 

Dieter shakes his head, refocusing on the present, even as he wishes for all the little things he so desperately wanted here and not there. Plush lips and dimpled cheeks, brown eyes wide as he nods and quietly accepts the truth in Dieter’s words. 

“I’m glad.”

The silence is back, but more of a comfort now, the blend of their breath lulling the last of the sun and sand and stress away from Dieter’s heart. His eyes are heavy in the best way, his fingers loose where they curl around the phone, still matched to the curve of his cheek. 

“You should shower, Dee. Then sleep,” Marcus prompts, his voice somehow even softer. 

“Mmm, jerk off with me first,” he half whines, free hand already pulling at the threadbare sweats he had worn from set. 

There’s a chuckle, low and sweet and steady, one that Dieter has learned means a promise is about to be made. 

“I’m at the office now, mi cielo, but call me when you wake up and we will.”

It’s enough for now, Marcus’s gentle voice in his ear and the catch of pink petals in the low light, giving Dieter the push he needs to let sleep find him. In a few hours' time he’ll wake up, his stomach empty and his neck sore, but the fresh scent of peonies and an aching promise have something else curling deep inside his belly. And when he dials, the answer comes on the first ring. 

After all, Marcus always keeps his promise. 

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[sylvies-chen]

SUCCESSION 4.05 THOUGHTS

this episode was wild on the business side of things like the power plays happening right now are hurting my brain and my soul it’s intense

sorry but tom and shiv being mean to each other and bickering like idiots and it making shiv more interested in tom is sooooo hilarious I lowkey love them for that. shiv just wants to keep him around and he doesn’t know what to do with that

can’t believe the writers have turned my babygirl greg from useless insufferable fuck (affectionate) to useless insufferable fuck (derogatory) nobody talk to me I’m mourning :/

MATSSON SENT BLOOD TO A FEMALE SUBORDINATE??? WHAT THE FUCK

this man is off his rocker and I’m right there with roman in the lukas matsson hate club but also… why is he like… lowkey right about atn and about their company in general… THE WORST PERSON YOU KNOW JUST MADE A GOOD POINT

slay to gerri and karolina for not being on that list though like yeah it may be just because they’re women and it looks better but still we stan

conwilla content was small this ep but willa saying “don’t let them make fun of you” was ICONIC SHE’S MY FAV

I don’t even have that many thoughts right now but the trailer for next week looks so good but also baaaad. ken and rome didn’t get what they want in this episode and if anything, the sibs are spiraling back into their old patterns:

shiv will always want male validation (just from matsson now instead of her father), roman will always be stuck in trying to please his father even when he’s not around, kendall will always fall back into his old self (be it the drugs that may come back next episode or the way the opening scene mirrored the pilot’s opening scene almost to a tee)