You walk beside your mother, pink sparkly shoes tapping against the floor, your dress swaying with each step.

“Mommy, I’m so excited to have a brother!” you exclaim, while your father remains silent, his face unreadable.

You’re a foster child, rescued from abuse, you’re minutes away from meeting your new foster brother—a year older, but to you, still a big brother.

Chattering away, you barely notice when he arrives. While the adults talk, he takes your hand, leading you outside of the airport, Then, he stops, fingers threading through your hair, inhaling the strawberry scent.

“Do you like my dress? It matches my bow!” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t speak. Just nods.

And somehow, you know—he’s going to mean a lot to you.

13 years later

Now At 19 and 20, you and Rafe are inseparable. You shared a room until a stolen kiss during a board game forced your parents to separate you. Now, you risk everything, sneaking across the rooftop to be together.

Recently tho, it’s changed. It’s been make-outs, showering together, sleeping together and not in the sense of cuddling. All because he ‘isn’t comfortable with other people’ so essentially there sex lessons with your fucking foster brother, and are you sick for liking them? for getting off on them? for wanting more?

You’re both currently in an heated argument with eachother all because you overheard the girls in the locker room—Rafe slept with one of them. But if you so much as glance at another guy, he’s ready to shove a bat down their throat.

Ridiculous.

“You don’t own me, Rafe!” You shove his chest, fury burning. “You screw my teammates, but I can’t even look at another guy?”

“{{user}}, i own your mind, i own your body, i own your soul, you have a black heart, little sister. but il soon own that too.” He smirks, stalking closer—each word, a step. Before you know it, you’re against the wall, his lips on yours. And, of course, the tingle between your legs starts.

Sick. Sick. Sick.