#but I guess she remembered that and called him up lying so that he could say something to mom about me like I hate you both you are nothings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ph4ngz · 1 year

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BACKSEAT LOVE || mechanic!bkg x anxious!reader

PART 1

A/N : ITS FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED YOU GUYS *HAPPY DANCE* :D

It's been two days since your last encounter with that gorgeous mechanic.

You'd be lying if you said he hadn't been the subject of your dreams, daydreams, wet dreams… all you can think about is him. Him and that perfect face, you still remember every splatter of grease and oil laid out on his features, you think you may have burnt the image into your brain.

His card is right there in the pocket of your denim shorts, just begging you to pull it out and stare at it for the nth time this Sunday morning. Your legs kick up and down on the bed as you lay on your tummy, doing nothing to help your friends pack up and get ready to leave the motel. Glancing back up at them, your eyes only seem to lose focus and any thoughts of packing your bags are, surprise, replaced by a certain blonde.

You wanted to call him, you really did. Would it be odd to show up at his garage again after two days without contact? It's possible you've missed your chance with him now that you've basically been ignoring the guy. You could pretend something is wrong with your car as an excuse to apologise! Nah, because then he'd check it out...

"Whatcha thinkin' about babe?" A mischievous, high pitched voice and a bounce of your mattress breaks you out of your inner struggle.

"I wanna see him…" you admit, realising too late that you hadn’t told your friends about Katsuki.

"See who?" Another voice, much more softer than Mina's, pipes up. Not many things can grasp Jiro's attention, but regarding you and boys…

Oh god, here we go. You and your stupid brain. There's no escaping this nonsense now. You can already hear the giggling and terrible impressions and they haven't even started yet.

But really, should you tell them about him? There'd be nothing wrong with that! However, something is telling you to keep him all to yourself. Jealousy? Panic? Perhaps he's so perfect that you're wary of other better girls stealing him away from you?

"Oh, just this guyyy, y'know… just this guy who gave her his number? And he’s a mechanic by the looks of things." Mina reads off the card he had given you that day, you having been completely unaware that she'd swiped it from your pockets until now.

"Hey!" You squirm under her weight, an elbow leaning on you as if you were an armchair as she carries on.

"Is he hot? What does he look like?" Jiro grins and leaps onto the mattress beside Mina, and before too long Uraraka is straddling your lower back, keeping you pinned down.

"Is he like one of those guys in the movies? Like, all sweaty and dirty and dreamy with a nice smile…" Uraraka's eyes trail upward to the spinning ceiling fan as she describes your mechanic with deadly accuracy.

Your eyes widen involuntarily.

"AH! Ochaco's right! You've gotta go see him again! Did he ask you out? Have you called him?" Mina squeals beside you, but then her face falls into a state of great suspense.

You know what's coming now. Sigh.

"Don't tell me you pulled one of your specials…" she guesses ominously, referring to your notorious moments of Boy Anxiety™.

Jiro smiles menacingly from behind her, "D-D-Did you?"

You find a smidge of respect for Uraraka for not joining in although you know she wants to. Rolling your eyes, you respond with a muffled "almost" after throwing your head into the covers out of embarrassment.

The hyperactive trio share a quick, knowing glance and simultaneously drown out the click-clacking of the old fan airing the motel room with a loud "AAHHH", Uraraka shaking your shoulders and Mina slapping the bed sheets.

"Where did you even find that anyways?" Jiro asks softly amidst the noise.

"It was hiding in one of her ass pockets." The pink haired thief replies proudly, jokingly smacking your asscheek and making it jiggle as your face heats up, still concealed by the covers.

The girls gossip about you as if you're not even there, and you decide you're perfectly fine with that if it means nobody is nagging you, so you let them talk. A few minutes pass by without a single word leaving your mouth until a finger messily taps on your bare shoulder.

Craning your head around to rest atop of your crossed arms, you shamefully eye the cutie straddling your back, internally smiling at the way her fringe is tied back on top of her head.

"Mm?" you hum groggily, awaiting her next words.

"I can always ask 'Zuku to give us all a ride home...?"

Your grumpy pout swiftly fades into a light and appreciative curl of your lips at her suggestion...

"...We aren't the only ones goin' for a ride today-"

...But soon enough the grumpy pout returns.

Excited cackling, thumping of dancing feet upon the floor and a group rendition of "tryna' catch me ridin' dirty" that is least to be desired fill the small room.

"UGHHughhhUGhhhhh," You exhale a tired groan into the back of your forearm, a wavering one at that, courtesy of Uraraka twirling an imaginary lasso in her hand and rocking back and forth on you like she's at a rodeo.

Eventually, an amused grin makes its way onto your face, with their antics (Mina's horrific excuse for dancing) too hilarious to even attempt keeping a straight face.

|| || || ||

"Oh, so you know Kacchan?" Izuku Midoriya's question almost has you jump as you open the car door to your driver's seat, curse him from coming up behind you like that.

"Who?" you furrow your brows innocently, your back pocket feeling particularly empty for some odd reason. You subtly glance behind the mess of green hair partially blocking your view at the three of your friends singing along to the radio in the backseat of his car.

"Whoops, sorry! I meant Katsuki." The thick fingers suddenly shoved in your confused face hold and point at a certain card you'd only just pried from someones grabby hands. God, this guy too!? Is everybody here a damn pickpocket?

Hastily snatching the card from Izuku's hand, you stutter an unnerved answer, "U-Uh! Yeah! No! I mean, we only met the other day, that's all..."

No way this bastard is going back in my pocket, you think.

"No need to freak out, promise I'm not being nosy or anything. I was just wondering, seeing as me and him are... I guess you could say childhood friends! He's actually doing some work on my Jeep, hence the basic rent-out. I knowww, I don't look like a Ford guy." He drawls on cheerfully, ignoring how you stuff the card inside your bra. You smirk at his choice to disregard your actions, and force down the invasive questions you so badly want to ask concerning your beloved mechanic.

"You better go before the girls set up a makeshift concert venue in the trunk." Beaming, you gesture to his bouncing vehicle.

"Shit, you're right. Ah, it was nice seeing you again!" Izuku waves whilst stumbling backwards, making you stifle a giggle whilst lowering into your own car.

|| || || ||

Pesky butterflies erupt within your chest when you finally pull over, the garage you so thankfully came across on your way to the motel stood conspicuously along the deserted highway. The garage door is shut this time around, the worn metal glinting under the aureate setting sun. However, the smaller door located at the side of the run-down building displays a twisted 'open' sign hanging behind the chalky window.

You've done it before, you can do it again. That's what you repeat to yourself inside your head as you hesitantly exit your car and approach the door. After a two minute standoff between your nervousness and the handle, you decide "fuck it!" and let yourself inside. You peer out from behind a brick wall separating the entrance from the main garage and it's nice, just like last time. Slow guitar and heavy bass emitting from what sounds like a vintage cassette boombox, the strong scent of gasoline and copper, fake potted plants hung up in every empty wall space unoccupied by shelves and posters, a huge dusty jeep... you can't see him though.

He's still here, you can hear a few faint grunts and the clanking of metal from beyond your place leant against the doorframe. You wonder, is he fixing some other girl's car? What if he isn't groaning for the reasons you think? The garage door is closed. Is somebody here with him? You're probably stupid for coming here after two days with no contact, he's most likely fallen for someone else thinking you would never come back. Subconscious curiosity leads you into the main room, fretful thoughts diminishing with no wall allowing your train of thought to stray from its tracks.

"Katsuki?-"

Your meek call of his name dies out on your tongue when the man himself emerges from behind the raised hood of the jeep with a "hm?". He's still as breathtaking as you remember, you reminisce about your last encounter whilst he's approaching you, his heavy booted feet seeming to send vibrations to your racing heart.

Your knees weaken when you realise the mechanic threw off putting a shirt on this time, specks of splattered oil glistening on his hard abs underneath the warm sunset rays filtering through the blinds. Forcing yourself to pay attention to his face instead of rudely ogling at his body, you come to find that he's secured his scruffy hair back with a clip, just like Uraraka, allowing you to view all of his features. He's been observing you for about a minute now, silently enjoying the way you're studying him as if he were a stone sculpture. Just give him a second, he'll say something eventually.

"Voice disappear or somethin'?" He asks cheekily, the sudden movement of a smirk emerging on his face breaking you out of whatever pesky trance you fell into.

"Oh! Uh, no! No, it's here! I can speak… yeah…" You spew a panicked sentence that would've been incoherent if you'd forced it out any harder. The anxious smile you’re wearing slowly fades as you start to chew on the inside of your cheek, nostrils flaring at how self aware you've become. Gosh, you're so stupid. Why can't you just speak like a normal person!? Stuttering and stumbling all over your words like this must look really sad. You hurl a mental slap at your face, scolding yourself for being so pathetic. Bakugo chuckles through his nose at your timid state and lightly scratches his bare stomach, deciding his next move. A big hand impulsively moves to your bare upper arm, mindlessly stroking your soft skin with his thumb for a short moment.

"Chill, it's just me. Stop acting like 'm gonna turn around and kill you." The man says casually with his usually downturned brows raised in amusement, removing his arm from you to take a few steps back and continue his work behind the jeep's hood. It's just him? JUST HIM? Being killed doesn't seem to be at the top of your list of worries right now, but the possibility increases as you're starting to picture your heart failing on the spot purely because of his existence. How are you supposed to "chill" when the sight of his broad, shiny, tanned, firm chest is enough to coax your eyes to roll back?!

You're thinking so damn hard about what to say as he's working, but nothing is good enough. Maybe you should leave and apologise, save your last ounce of self confidence. Maybe you should tell him the truth about your little anxiety issue. Nah, he wouldn't get it. Would he? Before you can stop yourself, a few words come tumbling out of your mouth to form the most unexpected question that leaves yourself dumbfounded.

"C-Can I kiss you?"

You stop breathing once Bakugo peers at you from behind the metal, mildly surprised and overwhelmed by your sudden request. That was fuckin' quick, he muses. Amidst a moment of fleeting courage, you will yourself to continue even if it's dizzying due to your heart beating a million miles per second.

"I’m sorry. I wanted to call you. Or at least— text you! I got so nervous and my friends all make fun of me whenever I talk to a guy so—"

"C'mere." The blonde gestures with his free hand while the other supports his leaning weight by pressing his palm upon the edge of the hood, spanner held tightly between his fingers. Now or never, you chant to occupy your brain. Head hanging low, you do as he says and come to a halt when only a few inches are left between your bare arm and his. Without another word to spare, Bakugo takes hold of your waist and veers your body to the tight space in front of him, caging you in. You fit underneath the metal canopy, the jeep's ginormous wheels providing some serious height. You're still staring intently at the dirty concrete area uncovered by either of your feet, unknowing of how to react.

The boombox in the corner of the room provides the only sound other than your ragged breathing, the music doing its best job to calm your nerves. You want this. You want this so bad, so don't fuck it up. Just move your damn head, that's it! Tears eventually cloud your vision, but before they can drip to the ground your chin is nudged upwards, letting the salty droplets slide down your heated cheeks. You're forced to look him in the eye whilst his heavy touch travels to the top of your muddled head, narrowed crimson gaze boring into your own, guilty and utterly captivated.

When he gently pulls you in by the nape of your neck, and his surprisingly soft lips make contact with yours... it's like all energy is drained from your body. As you kiss, you find your weakening form melting into his broad and hard chest, gradually tipping closer and closer until your bodies are pressed against one another's. Any thoughts previously occupying your mind have vanished without a trace, brain completely blank and depending entirely on the feeling of instinct. You're both sighing contently through your noses, each noise emitted from one has the other deepen the slanting of their mouth until a tinge of ferocity is thrown into the mix.

Your knees buckle abruptly at one point and breaks the kiss in a way that's too depriving of elation to bear, although Bakugo doesn't appear to care that much as he urgently hoists you up by your thighs to recklessly brush all the nuts and bolts strewn across his desk and replace them with your ass instead. A smile appears on the man's face when he catches your shoulders jerk at the reverberating clangour of metal hitting the floor. He situates himself further between your legs after making sure to shield the back of your head from the wall, worried that he'll hurt you with his ungentlemanly tendencies. His heavy breathing is causing your brows to bow in a state of pure bliss, the occasional grunt he sounds causing your jaw to go slack.

The amorous mechanic takes advantage of this and hungrily slips his tongue past your plumped lips to slither in tandem with yours for a while, evoking a muffled and greatly pleasured sob to escape into his mouth more than once, all of which he gladly engraves deep within his memory before yanking you forward by the waist once again, this time positioning your lower half close-packed and pressed to his hips. Bakugo is panting once he separates his face from yours, directing an avid ruby-red glance your way before lowering his head beside your neck.

The summer air is so hot, laced with the scent of diesel and unrivalled desire. Everything is surreal. The moody, crackly guitar in the background, the setting sun decorating the paint-splattered walls with strips of gold, the mess of blonde untamed locks you're tugging on brushing along the line of your jaw. His eagerness is evident with how rushed and sloppily his tongue glides across your skin, teeth providing harsh nibbles just under your ear and his lips hurriedly ghosting over any areas left untouched so he can suck on them hard enough to leave an instant bruise.

He's got his hands beneath your loose tank top, thick and skilled fingers splayed out and exploring every inch of your arching back. The hefty, warm touch backtracks to run over the goosebumps that had formed in its wake, sending intense shivers all throughout your limp form that have the muscles in his arms vibrate with your shaky movements. Venturing lower, Bakugo drags his palms all the way to your hips, almost drooling at how your soft flesh juts out the slightest bit above the hem of your denim shorts. He's acting hastily, like he's been set a deadline, moving to skim his thumbs over your ribs to the ticklish area below the cups of your bra.

Both of your bodies are rolling into each other now, sweat glazing the skin left uncovered by your clothes. The dim lamp and other miscellaneous items rocking back and forth on the desk struggle to stay upright or in place when every brusque, heedless motion of the mechanic's hips comes paired with the sheer power of desperation. Before you know it, he's fervently sucking on your tongue once more with a steel grip cupping the back of your bent knees, blunt nails digging in and making you uncontrollably exhale breathy whimpers that have his ears almost twitching to hear more.

Mixed saliva is coating your lips, an outcome of paying less attention to the kiss when your abdomen started to clench with anticipation. Confidence still a bit on the wobbly side, you take his bottom lip in your teeth and lightly tug on it as you pull away for breath, earning a pleased, sexy open-mouthed groan from Bakugo. Neither of you have opened your eyes in a while, much too focused on experiencing every overwhelmingly delectable feeling as they come. Jaws too tired to close your mouths, the taller man decides to give a harder thrust of his lower half and revels in the little gasps you reward him with, the growing bulge filling the space between your plush thighs gyrating into your pulsing core just right.

Long fingers abruptly spread out over your bra, opting for a quick squeeze before eagerly unhooking the clasp and greedily taking a handful of your bare tits from underneath the loosened cups. It seems he can't be bothered to seductively throw it to the ground like in the movie scenes Uraraka forced you to watch on YouTube earlier. And yet I prefer that, you smile to yourself and let out an erotic moan when your excited mechanic's huge palms rub your nipples. The sudden stimulation coaxes your inner walls to aimlessly contract, as if they're yearning to clench around the hardening, clothed length relentlessly grinding on you. His teeth return to the marked surface of your neck.

The steady speed and strength Bakugo infuses his thrusts with is impressive and you would probably be wondering how he hasn't wasted all of his energy if his hard-on wasn't consistently nudging the thick material of your shorts into your clit, the pressure so perfect it's dangerously close to maddening. The swollen bud throbs urgently at the sensation, a warning which you take notice of a mere second too late. The loud, repetitive knocking of wood swiftly being forced into solid bricks only serves to pull on the knot within your abdomen until only a single fraying thread remains intact. Not for long though, all it takes is simply a short and gruff "fuck" from the focused mans chest to snap it.

"Nnnguh!" your muscles tense instantly as you abruptly cry out, barely managing to yank him in further with the heels of your sneakers pushing at his ass. Bakugo hurriedly opens his eyes, vision blurred a bit when he moves to watch your features scrunch up under the control of absolute ecstasy. Although he's pleasantly surprised by your sudden release, his hips keep moving under the greedy pressure of your feet. Soon enough, your facial expression morphs into one of wide glossy eyes and quivering lips following the slow disappearance of your orgasm. He's smitten, without a doubt. Looking down at you like you're the one he's been looking for all his life, almost melancholic with the unmistakeable glint of rapture prominent in the pretty red rings of his gaze.

"Jesus, what brought that on?" he teases with raised, bushy brows. Ready for an embarrassed excuse, one that he'll remember forever. You’re out of breath already, one orgasm enough to render you far gone, too far gone to watch your words. You see the way he’s looking at you all expectantly, waiting for a reason to pick on you and make you burn up. If he wants an answer, he can have one.

"You, you did." your response has the mechanic blushing like a mad man, the three words prompting a sudden few drops of pre-cum to leak into the fabric of his underwear. Acting as nonchalantly as possible, Bakugo clears his throat and straightens his slumped posture with a try hard grin.

"That so." His voice is a smidge softer than before as he contemplates ripping off your clothes and going at you right then and there. The soggy feeling of his boxers rubbing against the sensitive tip of his cock serves as a reminder. A reminder that he's not the type to hold back when he's inside. ...Alright, he'll wait for you, just let him wash away the oily mess painting his hands first. Hastily propping you up so that you don’t fall, he orders you a quick "sit" then rushes to the sink stationed opposite from you.

You scoff at your own impatience whilst you're unbuttoning the shorts hugging your waist, something that Bakugo catches on his way back to you. "Someone's excited," he murmurs like it's second nature and gestures to you with dripping hands. "Take em' off for me."

Choosing to let his attitude slide, you obey willingly. You hardly get to finish removing the denim before your mechanic is pouncing on you akin to a wildcat, bared fangs hovering just below your navel then hungrily clamping down on the lacy material of your panties. It's fucking delicious, the manner in which the man prises the lace waistband away to release it unexpectedly, letting it snap upon the hypersensitive skin with an addictive sting. A devilish smile plays on the man's lips, the adorable sounds you bless him with doing nothing to lessen the discomfort between his legs.

Taking your underwear in his teeth again, he repeats his last actions. However, the stretching fabric doesn’t make contact with your abdomen this time around, instead they're being dragged just below your knees. Ah, you see. Your restricting panties leave enough space for his head to fit between your thighs, but they don't allow you to spread them any further. Swollen clit pulsing, you grip the edge of the desk tighter with anticipation as Bakugo lifts your legs to situate himself underneath and rests them on his broad shoulders.

"Hngh, please please please~" you whine for him whilst twirling strands of his hair with antsy hands. A genuine laugh from the mechanic blows a few puffs of cool air directly over your pussy and the abrupt change in temperature has your body rolling closer in hopes that his mouth will bring more heat. His fingers are still wet with water as they refrain from touching the top of your thighs, the droplets cooling your skin when they land.

"Gah—!" a pathetic, surprised gasp evoked from you makes the blonde's heart melt into a puddle. Did you think he was going to warn you with a sweet kitten lick? Who do you think he is? Of course he'd start with a harsh suck on your clit. Your grip loosens in Bakugo's locks when he opts to suck and flick his tongue simultaneously, the seemingly endless flow of pleasure sending your body into an exhausted state almost straight away. "K-Katsuki, Katsuki— mnnghWAit!"

Finally, his skilled mouth detaches from your overwhelmed bud with a muted pop and you can take a deep breath. So it looks like having your legs forced to remain in a relaxed position heightens the effects. You're mind-blown, nobody's ever done something so confidently, so assertively to you before. If he had continued whatever that was then you might've…

"Too much f'you? Shorry shweetheart," the muscular fiend muffling apologies beneath you is still gliding his tongue over your saturated entrance, swallowing greedily and peering into your fucking soul with those ruby eyes. "Mnnbut you shoulda known, m'nothing like anything you've ever had before…"

Without a second's notice, Bakugo easily slides his dripping middle finger inside of you, a hot and amused laugh vibrating through you due to his face still being pressed into your throbbing cunt. "Sho eashily…" you hear him comment. You're squirming with every movement he makes, the digit creating pressure within your contracting walls coaxing animalistic moans from your chest that even you don't recognise. It's when his eager tongue begins to lap relentlessly at your clit too that your focus wavers, poor brain trying to acknowledge everything at once. Eventually, the euphoria has you doubled over with your mind seeing nothing but crimson stars studying you from between a pair of weak legs.

"Good girl, yeah yeah yeah," the blonde praises whilst savouring the view above, his jolting cock demanding for him to push three fingers inside just to hurry things up. "So f’ckin tasty and wet for me, think you can take three fingers?" he asks lowly, almost states it. You nod rapidly, barely in the know of what you're agreeing to but you get the gist. It's slightly embarrassing how his thick fingers slide in without an issue, though it doesn't look as if Bakugo has anything to say. Instead, he's elated. If only you could see how rock hard he is right now in this moment, how much of an effect you have on his body. If his dick could get any bigger it would tear a damn hole in his clothes!

"Like you were goddamn made for it." he confirms to himself and nuzzles his face further.

Twisting, turning, tapping, your horny mechanic bullies your narrowing inner walls with his heavy touch. You're holding your breath again, you can't even help it with how insanely good he's making you feel and he's not even inside you yet. The mere thought of his cock draws a long, somewhat frustrated groan from your throat, voice cracking softly when his plumped lips close over your heated pussy to suck on your overstimulated clit once more. On cue, your mouth opens in a silent scream before the words can come out prepared.

"Katsuki! Too, huh, good! I-I think—" you try to warn him as best as you can in such a state but Bakugo proceeds to dart his tongue, coated heavily with your sweet arousal, back and forth over the sore bud until you're clenching on his fingers so much that he can't move them. "Hhhhhoh my god! Again-n! M'cumming!"

And with that, the man between your thighs swiftly withdrawals to stick his tongue out and carelessly skim the convulsing bundle of nerves by shaking his head. Somehow the mechanic expected the clear liquid to come spraying from your sopping cunt, he'd just prepared himself and you saw it. Your body is tensing in ways you've never experienced in your entire life as your juices hit the concrete with an obscene splat. The fact that you're squirting everywhere is shocking enough, but the fact that the man who's face you're currently cumming on already knew exactly how to make it happen...

Your walls are vicelike around nothing as Bakugo savours the flavour present on the tip of his tongue, the fading end of your release enhancing the emptines within. Did he do that on purpose too? To keep you wanting more? Your widened eyes immediately search to be met with his own narrowed and lust-tainted leer, and then you realise something. This guy really does know what he's doing, so much so that you're almost scared by how good you feel. His head certainly would've been crushed if you hadn't tried to keep your legs open. After retreating from his spot in front of you, the mechanic mutters a "let's get these fuckin' things outta my way" breathlessly and proceeds to rid of your cute panties. Your cunt drools arousal as he dangles them in your face, giving his wrist a little twirl before pretending to throw them to the ground. Little do you know, they're actually stuffed nice and cozy in his pocket. How sneaky.

"Need you…" whispering sweetly once he's stood before you again, you reach over slightly to cup his clothed and ever-hardening length. The low-key gasp that's sucked past the burly man’s lips is then exhaled as a deep "ah", the forceful back and forth motion of your palm causing him to feel as if his spirit is about to ascend to fucking cloud nine and beyond.

"Need me, hah?" he asks rhetorically. You don't stop as he's soon hurrying to unbuckle the belt looped around his waist, in fact his visible determination has your blood sparking with newfound energy. A kind of energy that influences the muscles in your legs to feel unused, begging you to ride him until they give out. Bakugo is moments away from letting his leaky cock breathe, finally able to free himself from the painfully claustrophobic material that is his underwear after removing the first layer—

"Wait, wait, in the car... can we? In the back sea-"

The sound of a car door opening hardly registers and you're being thrown playfully into the velvety backseat of a spacious jeep before you can even finish your question. Luckily, you're given a mere few seconds to reposition yourself until the unruly blonde sits beside you, bare legs spread to make room for one hand lazily grabbing and shaking the base of his hard-on beneath damp fabric. Observing his current state, your half lidded eyes are drawn to his shiny pink tip poking out from under the soaked cotton briefs you so badly wish to yank down. It's swollen, trying to jolt whilst being pressed into his abdomen and causing even more cloudy, sticky pre to droop in a string of small beads. The desperate mechanic is also watching with bowed brows, eventually turning his head to you as if to silently plead, simultaneously lifting his ass up to fidget halfway out of his underwear.

Holy shit, he's big. You knew he was big, but… he's big. And veiny. His huge fingers wrap around his bare member for a second time, influencing him to throw his head back and toy with himself. You’re stunned for a good moment, zero thoughts as you play witness to Bakugo’s solo pleasure. You hadn't seen his features contort in such a manner before, as his face had been hidden from your eyes whenever they were open. He's got this look about him right now, like he's totally losing himself in rapture for you. Mesmerising, truly. Those rock solid abs rise and fall at quite a fast pace, you shouldn't keep him waiting but… This guy is fucking delicious, you could just lick him right now. You bet even the sweat coating his face in a pretty shine tastes like salted caramel. You want a taste. Without hesitation, you straddle the man's lap, a firm grip stationed on his shoulders with his cock bobbing involuntarily into your puffy clit. Daringly, you grab him by the chin to lick a clean, wet stripe along his pink cheek.

Such a salacious action offers no small reward, you realise this when a clenched fist in your hair pulls you back just enough to have your noses bumping into one another, a dangerous growl fleeing from behind gritted teeth, straight from the tasty mechanic's dick rather than his brain. You're rather puzzled as he slowly ghosts his mouth over your own, until he speaks.

"M'I okay to rough you up a little? Hm?" Voice gravelly and deeply smooth enough to have your head spinning, he asks impatiently and narrow-eyed. You're most likely getting yourself into some kind of trouble judging by the sheer size of him, but how can you say no to something so utterly passion stoked? Answering with a simple nod and another teasing lick over those talented, wetted lips of his, you lower your already bucking hips. It burns, it fucking burns. Yet it's intoxicating. How odd for such a searing pain to have you wishing time would stop. Whimpering and grimacing, you've just about managed to fit half of his length past your soaking entrance.

"Want me t' rough my pretty baby up in the backseat?" He's asking you rhetorically, almost tauntingly, though somehow there's more than a hint of soothing behind his words. "Take it easy, baby. That's it…" he's being so gentle with his tone, breathing shaky as he memorises every damn detail of the view in front of him.

Fuck, it's stretching you out so much! The slippery, warm tip is squished between your succulent inner walls, gradually nudging them further apart to accommodate more with the shallow rise and dip of your body. "Hngh... fuck— nngh!" your pained grunts and contracting around him both have Bakugo digging his front teeth into his tender lower lip, ruby gaze tracking a lone drop of sweat trickling down your temple. Hyper-aware of your existence, of the velvety soft ridges massaging his length, a subtle smile enhances the shamefully mushy blonde's features and a thumb swipes the rolling droplet from your face.

With every inch nearly a struggle to slide past your tender, wet entrance, the longer and less frequent your trepidatious gasps for air grow. It's the pure fervour dancing in the depths of your abdomen to blame for your lack of air intake, for this overwhelming lightheadedness that makes you feel as if you might just pass out on your mechanic's fat dick. Then it becomes apparent, you've been so focused on easing the pain that the rapturous inferno spreading within yourself has been stealing your breath away. A flustered giggle is pulled from you when Bakugo cracks a stupid joke regarding your breathing pattern.

"Damn, I knew- ah, shit..." he shudders when the sensitive head of his cock reaches deeper parts of you, canines chattering together with a moan before carrying on. "I knew I was hot, but fucking breathe, heheh..."

However, your embarrassed grin flickers in the presence of intense enjoyment as you sense your frame succumbing to the man's increasing touch located at your sides. Rough hands are guiding your hips from their ongoing gentle bob to a faster, shorter and heavier bounce. This new movement finally drives the remaining inches of the mechanic's length inside of you, the harsh impact producing a pornographic splurt to sound as your arousal caves into the building pressure and escapes from your throbbing, stretching entrance.

"GAH—!"

"Oh-hohoooooh, baby..."

He doesn't stop there, either. The back of your thighs smack upon the top of his own, the lewd noises increasing in volume every time Bakugo lifts himself up to brutally slam you back down simultaneously. Strings of your slick connect to his sticky skin, linking the both of you together like some filthy double meaning in a movie. Your insides experience a sinfully pleasing ache with the continuous and vigorous moving, the way he's ramming in and out so fucking fast and rough and perfectly— God, there's absolutely no way that you can delay another orgasm like this, no chance in hell. How are you even supposed to function right now when his cock is so amazingly able to stimulate your over-sensitive clit from the inside?

"Ka-a-at'ski-i~" your near sing-song-ish moan of his name is prolonged by the drag and drop of your weight. It's the whiniest shit he's ever heard, the wavering of your wobbly voice positively addictive to the unruly mechanic.

"I can't stop, can't stop it!" a hurried, raspy whisper into his pink-tinged ear indicates the unstoppable approach of another brain-melting orgasm on your end, and Bakugo really can't help himself from pistoning his long dick as deep as your spasming cunt will allow before the involuntary push of the juicy walls clamping over him can render you empty again. This is the hardest one yet, this time causing your form to lock up as soon as your palms caress the prickly stubble on the blonde's jaw. He's fucking delighted, peeking up at your distressed features from beneath your weak hold. It's so adorable, how you can barely handle the pleasure he's gladly supplying you with, slutty little body already so drunk on sex.

"Ugh-huh! Plea—easeeee," you cry out and impulsively bring the mechanic's head forward to bury your sobs and babbles into his natural, soft spikes. "Mmnn- please, so good..."

He notices that you're not fidgeting anymore. Instead, you've been ultimately paralysed by ecstasy. Your back arched and your trembling thighs raised, needy body in prime position to just fucking take it. You're doing exactly that, perky tits jolting into his chin whilst you let him pound your sweet pussy however he wants. Narrow eyes rolling back, a husky moan breaks the hold of his lips. There's no need to see your face to know how far gone you are, but just in case, Bakugo checks in with a dirty laugh and an utterly sexual "don't even know whatcha' beggin' for, do ya?"

Hardly capable of a simple yes or no, you can only respond with a long, broken hum into his tear-dampened hair. Fuuuuck, the car is rocking with the man's thrusts and it has the act of jutting his hips upward becoming so much easier. After a short moment of sucking on one of your pebbled nipples to have you squeezing his length, he decides a slight change needs to be made before he can cum. Without warning, Bakugo hastily manhandles you so that you're facing away from him with your lolling head leaning upon the headrest in front of you, arms around the seat and gripping on for dear life.

The musky, intimate scent of sex has an incredibly intoxicating effect, neither of you able to get enough of the lusty, hot air filling the vehicle. It influences the mechanic to ram his cock in you once again, but this time he doesn't pull back, choosing to drag you into his broad, glistening chest and guide your tired hips to gyrate in his lap. You're absolutely fucking destroyed down there, he notes pridefully when he lets his fingers slip back and forth over your numbing clit. At this point, you can only feel the pleasure his fingers are bringing you, rather than his actual digits themselves. Your mind is completely de-railed, train of thought tipped over onto its damn side. This guy is literally going to fuck your brains out!

"Keep goin', gorgeous. M' almost there," Bakugo groans whilst one of his hands trails to your throat. He can feel his dick stirring within your tight cunt, he can feel your entrance squeezing the base as your walls attempt to milk him for all he's worth. To be honest, hes lost count of your orgasms. You have, that's for sure. In fact, he doesn't think you could count to 3 right now, even if you tried your hardest. Let's make that 2, he muses to himself just as your clit starts to pulse beneath his dangerously intense touch.

"Ka... Kat'ski..." you mumble through the pressure situated under your jawbone, unable to keep your head from falling back into the crook of his neck with a silent scream. The contracting of your mellow insides circling his blunt tip has the tense mechanic blurting:

"Cum for me, baby. C-cum f'me, m'gonna cum for you too, n'kay?"

Another splash of clear liquid is sprayed from between your legs as soon as Bakugo's words register, his endless rocking and thick fingers creating gaps in stream which only makes everything that much messier. You're still in the end throes of your release when the man behind you loses control of the curses previously sat at the tip of his tongue, all of them falling from his quivering mouth within a matter of seconds.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck— cuh—! Cumming!" he strains into your tangled hair, the hold around your throat gradually tightening with each forceful spurt of white from his jumping cock. Hips bucking lightly during the fading continuation of his orgasm, the brawny man removes his hand from your neck, allowing you to inhale a deep breath.

Then.

Reality kicks in.

Full throttle.

"Oh my fucking god. We need to fuckin' get out."

Slowly coming to your senses, you angle your tired head to peer at your mechanic who seems to be troubled.

"Why's that?" you question and kiss his flushed cheek, face plastered with cute curiosity. However, that cute curiosity is quickly replaced with utmost panic when Bakugo doesn't reply, instead observing the mess surrounding the two of you. "Shit! This is..."

Izuku's fucking jeep.

|| || || ||

Hours pass, all spent scrubbing the entirety of the jeep's backseat area. You'd prefer not to remember the chosen method of exiting the vehicle whilst being impaled and full of cum, although it was pretty hilarious at the time. Oh, right now? Right now you're on a stealth mission, currently waiting for Bakugo to signal your leave with obvious hand gestures whilst Izuku asks about his car. Hm... you feel like you're forgetting something— Woah, shit! He's signalling, okay. Refraining from letting a giggle escape at the blonde's tight-lipped and wide eyed expression, you sneak out from behind his childhood friend and quietly leave the building.

"So it's all good now?" Izuku pats the hood of his jeep, emerald eyes eager for his answer.

"Mm, yup. Stay there a sec while I go get your keys, loser."

You're on your way to your own car, still wondering if maybe you'd left something back there when Bakugo appears from behind the door in the corner of your vision. Spinning on your heels, you tilt your head at the cocky smirk he's blessing you with. You're confused, until you clock him dangling your lacy panties on one finger.

'Wh— HEY!' you mouth at him with a frown of disbelief. So that's what you were forgetting! You're about to storm right back over there, but the manner in which the blonde peers over his shoulder with an awkward face tells you that Izuku's waiting patiently. He doesn't mouth anything back to you, just opts to blow you a mischievous kiss, a kiss that he plants on the fabric of your panties, before cheekily shutting the door on you.

"Unbelievable." your hands flail around as you murmur with an amused smile. Guess you'll have to come back for those.

|| || || ||

Taglist :

@artdumpsstuff @endlessfreaky @passionateuchiha

#bakugou smut #bnha smut #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha #mha smut #mha bakugou #my hero x reader #my hero acedamia

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gurugirl · 8 months

Text

A Good Boy | The Morning After

Summary: What happens the morning after Harry and Y/n wake up together. Did Leo hear them? Has their secret been exposed?

A/n: This is the first little check-in to give you guys something to hold on to until I get into some more substantial ones. This is a glimpse of what happens the morning after they've made a commitment to one another while they're still on vacation in Greece. ALSO - This is stepmon!reader x stepson!harry - both are adults in this story but don't read if you don't like it.

Word Count: 2360 (she's short but relevant)

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, cheating, lying, smut, age gap (-7 years)

A Good Boy Masterlist

The morning after Tyler had caught them Y/n snuck out of the room first, leaving Harry with a soft kiss and blazing hot cheeks after what they’d just done.

“Where were you?” Leo’s voice suddenly caught her off guard as she gripped the coffee carafe so it didn’t fall from her already shaky hand. Shaky because she had no idea what she was going to be facing once she saw Leo. Had he heard her and Harry?

“I slept in one of the guest rooms. Didn’t want to disturb you when I went to bed because seemed like you really needed to sleep,” she half lied. She was definitely in one of the guest rooms. But she was most certainly not sleeping alone.

“I called for you and everything. Was downstairs looking for you too,” he scratched the back of his head and chuckled, “but I guess I was pretty sloshed. Barely remember much else.”

She gulped down the sand in her throat and licked her lips. So he didn’t hear them. Or if he did he couldn’t remember it. Either way. This bought her time to get her affairs in order and figure out the best way to break to him the news.

They had been careless the night before but part of her thought that if he did hear them, that would get the ball rolling. Surely that would be one way of delivering the news to Leo. But she preferred to tell him on her own time when they were both ready, prepared. The truth was going to come out. She was in love, and playing around with his son in secret needed to come to an end as soon as possible. Because it was no longer play. They were serious about one another. It was insane but they were going to make it work. However, best after vacation, she figured.

“He didn’t overhear us.” She closed the door to the room Harry was in and stepped toward him.

He let out a breath in relief, “Thank fuck. But now what? What’s the plan for the rest of our time here? And then after?”

Y/n stood to her toes and draped her arms over his shoulder as he grabbed her by her waist, “We’ll tell him after vacation. Once we figure out a plan. I’m not going to be sleeping with him or next to him again. I do need to at least make that clear to him soon.”

“You could bring up Parker to him? Tell him you heard him talking to her.”

Grinning she nodded, “Actually, that’s a great idea. Tell him I know he’s started to get feelings for her. That can be the excuse.”

Leo did try to initiate sex, as was expected, but she’d already made up her mind that she was with Harry. She wouldn’t be sleeping with Leo again. Ever again. And Harry’s idea about using Parker as an excuse was perfect.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked after she nudged him away from her. He’d tried hugging her and kissing her neck but she moved out of his arms and said no.

“I just…” she had to really put on her best act. Even though she didn’t care one bit about Parker she needed to state what she was about to say in such a way that it would put the kibosh on his advances again, “overheard you on the phone. With Parker. And… you’re allowed to do what you wan–“

“What? How?” He stopped in his tracks, a surprised expression, eyes wide.

“I was in the bathroom the other morning and you were on the balcony and I heard everything you said clearly because the window was open.”

Leo let his eyes wander to the edge of the bedroom in thought as he began to nod.

“And anyway… you can sleep with whom you want. We agreed to that but, Leo,” she paused until he finally looked back at her, “it sounds like… I don’t know… kind of like it’s more than just sex with her. And if that’s true then that crosses a boundary I’m not comfortable with.”

Leo was quiet for a bit as he paced back and forth. Y/n could see he was figuring out how to respond. He finally stopped and turned to look at her, “What exactly did you hear?”

She sighed for dramatic effect, “That you missed her, called her honey, said something about how many more days it would be, and that you wished it was her that was here with you.”

Blinking his eyes and looking down at his feet he nodded to himself, “Wow. I…” he looked back at his wife and ran a hand through his hair, “Y/n I’m sorry you heard that. It wasn’t… I don’t know what to say. Maybe we can talk about this when we get back home,” he took her hands in his, “Let’s not let this ruin our vacation. Okay?”

It was a sweet gesture, she felt. He wasn’t normally so gentle about things and she could tell he felt bad. Perhaps this could work in her favor. In their favor.

It was also the perfect excuse to not sleep in bed with him. She moved her clothes to the guest bedroom and Leo didn’t question it once.

And Harry was relieved his dad hadn’t overheard them. Having a little more time to figure out everything would be ideal for them both. He was set to graduate at the end of Fall that year, which meant he’d have his degree and he could get a good job. He imagined both he and Y/n renting a small apartment, whatever they could afford because he was sure his dad would cut him off once he did find out the truth.

Everyone, including Tyler, noticed the sudden change in Leo. He withdrew slightly but was polite and kind. Y/n felt a little guilty about it but it was better than Leo knowing about her and Harry and trying to finish off the vacation with that hanging over them.

But both Y/n and Harry couldn’t have been happier deep down. They maintained a healthy distance from one another during the day or anytime Leo was around. Which turned out to be a bit harder than they realized. Because once they’d both admitted their feelings they just wanted to indulge in the newness. It didn’t stop the lingering glances or quick whispers with promises, a cheeky hidden pinch, or hot stolen kisses.

And once the lights were off and everyone was in their rooms, Harry would join Y/n in her room, or she in his with the door closed and locked.

Keeping quiet was no fun but being able to imbibe in one another every night and every morning before they parted was worth covered mouths and muted moans.

Harry woke up feeling warm with Y/n’s back against his chest. She was sighing and slowly fidgeting under the sheets as she was just beginning to rouse from her own slumber.

He grinned to himself as he inhaled her scent and brought a hand up over her bare arm, “Morning.”

Her eyes were still closed when she heard his raspy tired voice in her ear, “Morning.”

Waking up early was not something either of them enjoyed, but it had been worth it to savor one another before the day began. Before anyone else woke up.

Harry’s warm hand traveled down her hip and over her thigh with purpose as she felt his mouth sponge wet kisses on her neck. Reaching behind her to pull his arm to her front she brought his hand up to her bare breasts.

They didn’t even need to say a word to know what would come next. Y/n reached down to lazily rub her clit when she felt Harry’s cock digging into her bum.

She barely even needed to touch herself to get worked up. Harry’s lips on her neck and his hand manipulating and pinching her nipples were quite enough.

Angling her hips and pressing herself back onto Harry he felt her wetness and groaned softly as he lifted her thigh and placed his cock to her wet hole, pushing through the tight muscle as he continued kissing the sensitive skin on her neck.

Stunted thrusts into her pussy were met with her own hips pushing herself down over him. Harry began to whine at the way his tip was being fucked and how tight she felt on him. It was hard to get in long deep strokes in that position but for Harry, it was sending him over the edge too fast, “Gonna come… fuck!” He spoke his words in a frantic whisper.

Y/n’s mouth dropped open when she felt him suddenly throbbing and pumping into her as he stilled his hips and tightened his grip on her thigh. He gasped and pasted his lips over her neck to keep himself quiet as he came inside of her embarrassingly fast.

When he lifted his face from her neck he groaned, “Sorry, Y/n. I didn’t mean to come so fast. Felt so good…”

Grinning she turned her head and moved herself so she was on her back and Harry was next to her, “It’s okay. You’ve been so good.” She spread her legs as a hint for him to finish her off.

Harry breathed out a shallow laugh as he watched her lift her hips and lick her lips, “I try to be good for you. I can still make you come,” he grabbed her thigh, positioning himself in between her legs, pushing them apart to watch his orgasm slowly drip out of her pussy. Pressing his fingers into the warm come he pressed it back into her, watching the filthy act as his fingers disappeared into her.

She moaned as he began to curl his fingers and stroke her insides slowly. He looked from her eyes to where he was fingering her, his digits coated in her arousal and his creamy come. A bit of sperm dripped down her ass he plunged his fingers in and pulled out.

“Fuck, baby. You like fucking your come back into me with your fingers?” She whispered her words.

“It’s so pretty,” he moaned his words and then lowered his face to suck on her clit and lick over her in wide, flat strokes with his hot tongue.

The moment his head was in between her thighs she pushed her hand into his hair and gripped a hold tight, “Good boy… right there. Don’t let your come go to waste, baby.”

She loved watching him eat her out. But he was good at it too, now that he’d learned exactly what she liked the most, “Yes… Lick it like that. Uughh… fuck…” She didn’t dare throw her head back like her body wanted. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on Harry’s lewd act. His mouth sucking and licking her (and consequently himself) up, his fingers pumping into her.

Harry pressed his shoulders into the back of her thighs and began digging in as deep and hard as he could like she liked. Her soft pants and gasps in the room, and the slick, sticky sound of her pussy being eaten were surely quiet enough for the early morning stillness of the house.

And when she came she covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes closed, dropping her head back into the pillow against her will. She had wanted to keep her eyes on her pretty boy but he had her coming so hard her body shook and the will to keep her eyes open wasn’t strong enough to overcome her body’s natural inclination.

Harry softly licked over her as he watched her heave and tremble under him. He loved gently tonguing at her clit until she pushed him away when she couldn’t handle it anymore.

She softly giggled and bucked her hips up, sliding away from his mouth with droopy lids and a lopsided smile as Harry sat up, “How was it?”

Rolling her eyes she pulled him over her body to glue their mouths together as an answer. It was good. It was always good. She and Harry had an intrinsic connection. Something that couldn’t be forced or imagined. It was real and natural. This was her lover, her man, her soulmate.

Ending their vacation in Greece was bittersweet. Of course, it was time to get back to reality.

“I’m gonna be sad when I can’t have you in my bed every night,” Harry spoke as he sat on her bed next to the suitcase she was stuffing with her clothes. They had another hour before the driver was to pick them up and bring them to the airport for their long day of travel back to California.

“I know, baby. Me too. I think Leo isn’t going to question me being gone more often, though. Knowing what I know about how he feels about Parker. So I was thinking maybe every couple of days I could go to your dorm? Stay with you?”

That would have to do. Until they could figure out how to tell Leo.

“And how long do we do that until we finally tell him?” Harry watched her put her shoes into a shoe bag before placing it on top of the pile of clothes.

“I don’t know. Maybe Tuesday night I can come over and you and I can really discuss our plan. With you graduating soon, that might be something to factor in, you know?”

He nodded, “Yeah. We could rent an apartment together. I’ll get a job.”

“And me too. I’m gonna start looking for work,” she looked at the young man and stopped what she was doing, placing herself in between his legs and sticking her fingers into his curls, “This won’t be easy but it’s gonna be worth it. I love you.”

Harry tilted his head back and closed his eyes to bask in the feel of her fingers on his scalp. He smiled and hummed before opening his eyes to look back at her, “I know it’ll be worth it. I love you too.”

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avatar-anna · 1 year

Text

Unknown Number, Part 3

italics: y/n (unknown number)

bold: harry

(four weeks ago)

J: guess what?

HS: What?

J: no you actually have to guess!

HS: Why?

J: i wouldn't have said guess what if i didn't want you to actually guess. i would've just told you

J: so guess!

HS: Uh...you went on a date with a decent guy?

J: normally i would say RUDE but you're correct!

J: still...RUDE

(ten minutes later)

HS: Wow.

J: wow? just wow? i'm making real progress here!

J: college graduate, good head of hair, sense of humor that isn't misogynistic, and he's stupid hot

J: i think i'm in love

HS: After just one date? Don't you think it's a little too soon to tell?

J: who knew you were such debbie downer

J: i think you need to go on a date. maybe that'll make you believe in the power of love and a beautiful smile

HS: Ha ha

HS: I already told you I'm too busy.

J: no one's too busy for love h

(present day)

Y/n had never felt more nervous in her life.

Here she was sitting across from the person she'd spent countless days and weeks and months texting. There was never a moment where she didn't have anything to say to him, but now her mind was completely blank.

She wasn't supposed to see him again. The tour buses were typically a ghost town as it got closer and closer to show time, so she figured she could wait there before she had to leave for the airport.

When Y/n saw Harry outside the tour bus, she thought he'd come to yell at her some more; part of her thought she was about to be sent to jail for stalking. But all he wanted to do was talk.

And now they were on a couch not saying a word.

There was too much that needed to be said, but Y/n didn't know how to start, and she assumed Harry didn't either because he was just as quiet. But since the silence was almost as unbearable as when he yelled at her, she mustered the courage to say something.

"I...I don't know how to convince you that I'm not a stalker," she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Then she laughed a little.

"What?"

Her eyes flicked up to Harry's, and when he wasn't laughing or smiling with her, she stopped. "We, uh, we had the same conversation, only in reverse, remember?"

Y/n had gone through many emotions that day—mortification, terror. She'd gone out on a limb by texting so soon after a date, and to find out that said date had given her a fake phone number was not the best feeling in the world. And then realizing that she'd sent a picture of herself half-naked...not her proudest moment.

"I—It was a risk for me too, you know," she said quietly. "I didn't know who you were, either, and I—I don't know what else you want me to say. I wasn't lying. You were the one who asked to talk, so talk."

Harry didn't talk, at least not at first. Y/n wasn't going to say anything else until he did, though. He'd yelled at her, called her sick, assumed the absolute worst without about her before stopping to ask for an explanation. And she understood, but then why not just let her be? Why drag this out?

"I want to believe you. I'm trying to believe you," Harry said. "You just—You have to understand how alarming this was for me. This isn't the first time my phone number has gotten leaked."

"I'm sorry." It was all Y/n could think of to say.

"And so hearing you say my name when I'd never told you...I got scared, and—and angry that it'd happened again."

Y/n understood where Harry was coming from, and she didn't blame him for not believing her, but this all seemed redundant. She already forgave him in her note. Perhaps she could try a different approach.

"I didn't know who One Direction was when we first started talking," she said. "I didn't even know who One Direction was until I got this job."

Harry's brows raised. "Really?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You're popular, but not that popular."

To her surprise, Harry laughed. It was small and weak, but it was a laugh. "Fair enough."

"I swear I didn't know who you were until this tour. I saw the first couple shows on the road, I saw just how many fans you guys have, and so maybe I did a little research, but I didn't know it was Harry Styles, beloved by millions of teenage girls around the world, that I was texting."

Harry scooted closer to her, and with wide eyes, Y/n scooted away. She didn't know what that meant, or why he did it, but she wasn't ready for it. They'd been friends, were friends, she didn't know what they were. He was close enough for now.

Harry was...very gorgeous. Y/n was well aware of that after seeing pictures of him online and in passing during the day. Now that they were up close, she was suddenly aware of his pretty green eyes and hair that curled down to his shoulders. And the tattoos. God, how many times had she told Harry that she loved a guy with tattoos?

"So...You really only found out a few days ago?" he asked.

"I only know what you've said over text," Y/n said with a nod. "And some of your discography, obviously. And the names of your fellow boy band members."

Y/n watched as Harry took in what she said, hoping he would believe her, or at the very least not be angry with her anymore. She knew they would probably never be friends, but maybe she could go back home knowing he didn't hate her or think she was crazy.

"I...believe you. I think," he said after a couple long minutes.

"Don't say that if you don't—"

"No, I—I told you a few days ago that I know you, and I meant that," he insisted. "I jumped to conclusions because of past circumstances, but thinking clearly and reading your letter...those instances and this aren't the same. I'm sorry for exploding on you like that."

Y/n shook her head. "You said it yourself. This wasn't the first time something like this has happened. You had a right to be angry."

"I just—This wasn't how I wanted this to go."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted—I wanted the first time we met to be...I don't know what I wanted but I didn't want it to be like this."

Eyes blinking in surprise, Y/n said, "Well, I'm glad you believe me. Maybe we can still be frie—Oh."

Before Y/n could finish what she was saying, her phone went off. Her alarm.

"What's that?"

Y/n looked down at her phone, then up at Harry. Things seemed to be mended for the most part, but she didn't want to press her luck. If she left now, maybe they could go back to the way things were before their identities were more or less revealed.

"I set an alarm so I would make it to the airport on time," she said, standing up from the couch. "My flight isn't for another two hours, but I like to get there early because of security and all that."

"You're leaving?" Harry asked, sounding incredulous, though you weren't sure why.

"I told you I was. You threatened to call the police on me, remember?"

"But—But we fixed everything. I thought...This is still your foot in the door, June. I don't want to take that away from you."

It was sweet that he was still thinking about her career, Y/n thought. But... "I appreciate that you're taking my career into account, but I think I need some time to digest the fact that the...friend that I've been texting for the last couple months is—is—"

The truth was Y/n needed to get over the fact that she couldn't actually be with her perfect stranger. When she could hide behind her phone, it was easier to fantasize and come back down to earth, but now the reality of their situation was slapping her in the face. This wasn't going to end with the two of them together.

"Is what? Not who you thought I was?"

"I was taken by surprise too, you know. I thought, or I'd hoped for—"

"What?

"Nothing. I have to catch my flight," Y/n said. She stood up from the couch, or tried to, anyway. Harry reached for her wrist, keeping her there. She knew she could easily pull away and stand up, but she didn't. "Maybe I should've let you believe I was crazy," she said with a laugh. "It would've made leaving easier."

"You don't have to go," Harry insisted. "You're my friend, and I—"

"But I don't want to just be your friend, Harry!" She said, finally pulling her hand from his. "Maybe that makes me crazy for developing feelings for someone before I ever met them, but I'm not sure I could sit around and pretend that I don't want to take your face in my hands and—"

Y/n didn't even register that Harry had moved closer to her. Couldn't make a single noise before they were nose and his lips were on hers. She could only stare, nearly cross-eyed, so surprised she could hardly register how soft his lips were. And then, for just a moment, Y/n closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the kiss. Her hands found themselves in his hair, pulling him closer, pulling him over her, but before they could get any further her senses took over.

"H—Wha—What are you doing—"

"Do you know how hard it was to watch you go on and on about going out with complete dickheads?" he asked, not trying to kiss Y/n, but not moving away either. "To know that some undeserving idiot was taking you out and treating you so wrong when I could've—when I knew I could be better than that, be someone you deserved."

"You never—I don't understand." She did, she just didn't want to.

"June," Harry said. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek so gently, yet it sent chills throughout her whole body. "I want—I want y—"

Y/n didn't let him finish as she pressed her lips to his again. A hum rumbled from Harry's chest, clearly pleased by her reaction. She let herself savor every feeling—from the hand that cradled her face and laid her back across the couch to hair that created a curtain over the both of them and his persistent mouth that wanted more, more, more. The leather sofa was cool against her back and she whimpered, but Harry only took it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, slotting a leg between hers while her arms threaded around his neck.

"Tell me you'll stay," he said, breathing only slightly shallow. Y/n had only kissed Harry twice, but she was aching to do it again. She leaned forward, but he moved just out of reach, his fingers holding her chin in place. "I'm sorry for yelling and immediately assuming the worst, but please don't go. Not yet."

He looked so sincere, Y/n thought. The way Harry stared at her was intense but endearing. His lips were a little swollen from all the kissing, and some of his hair was hanging in his face. She could understand why so many people were attracted to him, even outside the realm of physical beauty. If Y/n didn't know him the way she did and he still looked at her like that, she would do nothing short of eating out of the palm of his hand. His energy was hypnotizing, his intentions were good, and he had a decent heart to match. Y/n wasn't sure she'd be able to leave even if she wanted to.

"I won't. I promise."

If him pleading with her hadn't done the trick, his smile would have. It was full of hope rounded out by deep dimples and charm. "Really?"

"I know it probably won't be easy, but I want this too. I want you."

She spent so much of her time on guys who didn't care, who weren't after what she was after. Recently, Y/n had only gone out on dates because she thought she was crazy for developing feelings for someone she'd never met, but now...

She didn't even think it was possible, but Harry's grin widened, and when she leaned in again, he let her. They only kissed for a few minutes before Y/n pulled back with a start. "Wait!"

"What?"

She giggled, then smoothed the corner of his mouth where there was a little lip gloss. "You don't even know my name."

Realization dawned on Harry, as if he'd never even thought about calling her anything other than June, which was fine by her, but she figured he at least needed to know her real name.

"Oh right. I guess we should do this properly. I'm Harry, and I would very much like to take you out sometime."

Y/n grinned and awkwardly shook his hand while Harry was still on top of her. "Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Y/n, but you can call me June. Almost everyone does."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the point of nicknames," she said, looking at him oddly. "Why?"

"I want a name that's just mine," Harry said.

Running a hand through his hair, she said, "Well, can we kiss while you figure something out."

"Absolutely."

Twelve uninterrupted minutes. That's what Y/n and Harry got. He supposed they could've spent it talking, but they had plenty of time to talk. Harry just wanted to be close to her, and Y/n wanted the same.

It was weird to see her, to know she was June, and associate her with a different name. But not too bad that he needed a minute to think about it.

In twelve minutes, Harry was out of his shirt and Y/n was working on getting hers off. They knew better than to do anything more than that, but he liked seeing her in a way he never thought he would, and he could only imagine she felt the same. When Y/n finally managed to get her shirt over her head, Harry felt a bit like an ass for staring, but he couldn't help it. He was taking every inch of her in. Every curve, freckle and scar. Y/n squirmed a little under his gaze and attempted to cross her arms over herself, which was when he finally looked back up at her lovely face.

"Sorry. You're quite beautiful."

That wasn't a dick thing to say, right? He avoided stating the obvious, which was he wanted to put his mouth everywhere and didn't quite know where to start, but something crossed Y/n's face. Harry didn't quite know what it meant, but he would.

Though he did get a little worried he said the wrong thing, but before he could ask she pulled him down to her again.

All of that in twelve minutes. Harry wanted more, would've maybe gotten more, but the door to the tour bus flew open, and a voice drew nearer before either of them could separate.

"Harry? You in here? People are losing their minds because—Woah."

Harry was quick to maneuver himself in front of June as Niall's eyes fell on the two of them. He reached down and grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on. "Everyone can keep their pants on. I'm coming."

"Can you?"

"Niall!" Harry said, but June just giggled behind him. He looked back at her to see her smiling.

"It was a little funny."

Shaking his head, Harry leaned forward and kissed the top of hers. "I have to go—Can you give us a minute?" he asked, throwing a look over his shoulder at Niall.

"Yeah," he said, though most of it was covered up by laughter at having caught his friend. "Yeah, I'll—Wait a minute. Is that June?"

She peeked out behind Harry's shoulder. "Hello."

Harry's mind was alphabet soup for a moment while he tried to make sense of what was essentially his two worlds colliding. It would make sense that Niall knew June because he was always hanging out with the 5SOS boys.

"But what about that girl you've been moping about—"

"Niall."

"I'm going! I'm going! I gotta go tell Calum and the boys."

"Niall, no—And he's gone." Y/n sighed and rested her head on Harry's shoulder. Then she playfully pinched his side. "Moping?"

"Oh hush."

J: where are you?

HS: Radio interview. I'll be back soon.

HS: Why?

J: i was gonna do a little shopping. thought you might wanna join

J: BUT i will just go by myself

HS: Sorry. I'll see you after?

J: fiiine

HS: Okay I'm back. Where are you?

J: still shopping!

HS: All you buy are t-shirts. How does that take so long?

J: um...RUDE i guess i'll just put the super sexy panties away

HS: ...please don't hurry

J: that's what i thought

HS: I miss you :((

J: you saw me twenty minutes ago

HS: I want you in my bunk

J: a little late seeing as we're already on the road!

HS: :(((

J: everyone is going to hate me, but do you want me to call you?

HS: No it's fine.

HS: Can you switch buses at the next stop for gas?

J: you're unbelievable

J: yes of course

HS: :)))

HS: Louis wants you to know we're disgusting!

J: tell louis he can kiss my ass

HS: I will do no such thing. Your ass is mine

HS: Louis is right

J: we are disgusting

HS: So... I'll see you in a couple hours

J: can't wait xx

J: but until then (download image here)

and that's a wrap! i hope y'all enjoy the last part! thanks for all the love on this fic, everyone has been so sweet💕💕

tags:

@cookielovesbook-akie @sucker4angstt @l0v3e1i @bellesmith628 @marigold-morelli @obsessedmaggiemay @voniikg @onecrazydirectioner @unabashedcolorfrienddreamer @austinsvlrslut @iheartharlow @jessitpwk @fictionalmenloversblog @onceagainace @zucchinimalfoy @sqrxndipity @indierockgirrl @drwho06 @shakiraa-a @nomyeyebrowsarentreal @sleutherclaw @yeehawbrothers @harryspirate

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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fizzydrink698 · 1 year

Text

conflict, conceal, confess | minho

kinktober day 31: thigh-riding

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 18.1k (💀)

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, (modern!consort au)

warnings: sexual content (thigh-riding, oral sex, fingering, handjob, marking, a whole lot of smut honestly, like 6k words of it), swearing, an ungodly amount of academia

summary:

“Why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard. “Truce?”

“Yeah. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again?”

“Your brother is such an asshole.”

You wondered how many of your conversations with Felix had started with those exact words. In the years since childhood, there had probably been countless variations of this very situation: you collapsing into a seat near Felix, ready to unleash after biting your tongue for however many hours beforehand.

His reaction was second nature at this point. Without even glancing towards you, Felix paused in the middle of rolling out what looked to be shortbread dough and turned to switch on the coffeemaker. “What is it this time?”

“Do you remember how many new people signed up to debate at the start of the year? Had to be at least twenty, right? Maybe thirty?”

“At least thirty,” Felix confirmed. “I gave out blondies to every person that signed up. The entire pan was gone in like an hour.”

Yes, you remembered that day. Specifically, you remembered Felix holding up the empty pan with a big smile on his face and proudly declaring how many people had shown interest in joining. And you’d had to figure out how to politely break it to him that the hordes of first-year students walking back and forth in front of his table were eyeing a little more than just his baked goods.

Sweet boy. Sweet, innocent, oblivious boy.

“Guess how many are left,” you challenged him, eager to prove a point.

Felix frowned, thinking it over. “There were still about fifteen when I was last there. So, ten?”

“Six,” you exclaimed, balling your hand into a fist and planting it onto the tabletop for dramatic effect. “And Minho made one of them cry today.”

In just a few years, you and Minho had transformed your university’s debate team into one of the most successful in the country. You’d won awards, you’d attended international competitions, you’d gained notice from several notable figures in academia. Membership of the debate team had gone from a minor footnote you’d discard in an application to a badge of prestige, of recognised talent.

Minho’s standards were high, shockingly so, but he got results. As a second-in-command in all but name, it was usually up to you to run damage control, to nudge members towards persevering instead of walking out the door. The good cop to his bad cop, the carrot to his stick. You’d be tempted to call it exhausting, were it not for the undeniable rush of satisfaction whenever you succeeded in building up a member where Minho failed.

Lately, however, your efforts were starting to fall short. In just eight weeks, over twenty recruits had quit before team selections had even finished.

“Oh, jeez,” Felix muttered. Before he could say anything more, the coffeemaker chirped behind him, and he wasted no time pouring you the biggest cup he had lying around.

You motioned it over with greedy little grabby-hands, accepting it with a smile.

Felix returned to his shortbread dough and picked up a star-shaped cookie cutter. “Why did they cry?”

You made a vaguely displeased noise through a mouthful of coffee, only managing to word a response when you set the mug down. “I don’t even know. This week’s debate was on the ethics of nuclear power, and I could tell she took pretty much all her talking points from Wikipedia. I assume it was about that. Minho probably got all Minho about it and tore her to shreds.”

Felix paused. You wondered if it was just because he was concentrating on his cookies, until you realised he was hesitating. “…I don’t know. I know Minho takes this stuff seriously, but he’s not the kind of guy to make some poor kid cry over debating.”

“Why not?“ You asked, and you can’t stop the bitterness creeping out into your voice. “It’s nothing he hasn’t done before.”

“Oh…” Felix said, eyes widening in realisation. He lifted his head up to look at you, sympathetic. “Shit, yeah. I’m sorry.”

For the most part, you’d gotten over your experience in high school debate club, but the memories still stung a little.

You’d been so eager, signing up the very second you were eligible, talking Felix’s ear off about how excited you were, how much you were looking forward to it. You’d known that Felix’s older brother - a year ahead of you - was somewhat of a big deal in the club, and you’d maybe imagined him taking you under his wing. Looking out for you, encouraging you with gentle feedback and a warm smile.

You’d gone into your first debate, attempted to expand upon the few points you’d known about the topic, and shyly waited for Minho’s counterarguments.

He had stepped up to the microphone, levelled you with a blank stare, and eviscerated every single argument you’d made. Pointed out every logical fallacy, every gap in your research, every misspoken or poorly worded statement, everything. He’d cut you right to the bone, with zero mercy.

You spent the rest of the club meeting holding back tears, ran all the way to Felix’s house as soon as it was over, sobbing your eyes out – and actually, maybe that was the first of many “your brother is an asshole” exchanges.

Huh. Funny how things come full circle like that.

When Minho returned home about a half-hour after you, you’d stormed into his room and demanded to know why he would treat you so badly. Did he want to drive you away from the club? Did he secretly hate you this whole time?

You’d never forget his response. The shrug he gave you, the arch of one eyebrow as he took in the sight of you, burning with rage, fists clenched by your side. The fucking sigh.

I just thought you’d do better than that.

What a fucking thing to say to a fourteen-year-old. Especially one that looked up to him the way you did.

And, deep-down, there was a certain sting that accompanied his words. Something you could never bring yourself to admit out loud, not even to Felix. An extra flash of pain, because back then you’d…

Whatever. It was ancient history.

You had almost quit on the spot. Instead, you dove headfirst into researching the next week’s topic, determined to beat him, paranoid about every little mistake he might pick at.

And that…

Well, that was your life for the next nine years. Even that one blissful year when Minho had graduated, the year you’d taken over as head of debate club, the year you’d gotten your team all the way to nationals - he still didn’t leave you in peace.

He’d turned up to that final competition, gaze intense, face neutral. You’d spotted him in the audience, unable to tear your eyes away, watching every little twitch of his jaw, every tiny shift in expression, and knew he was picking apart your arguments. Waiting for you to trip up and fail in front of everyone.

It felt like a glorious ‘fuck you’ when your team won that year. You’d held that trophy, looked right into Minho’s eyes, and wanted to scream ‘I fucking told you so’ right in his smug face.

Ugh. Asshole.

“It’s all in the past,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug it off.

Taking another swig of coffee, you reached over and poked Felix’s shoulder, grinning.

“And besides…Minho isn’t the one coming with me to the U.N. next month.”

“Next month,” Felix repeated, slightly in awe, matching your excitement and then some. “Holy shit, it’s so soon.”

It was. In just a few weeks’ time, you’d be standing in front of a U.N. committee giving a speech on commitment to environmental preservation with your best friend by your side. You’d worked for this for months, years even. And you’d be doing it together.

“I’m afraid I have bad news about the U.N. speech.”

You sat there, horrified, as your supervisor – Dr. Koning – shuffled the papers on his desk with a grave expression. “What? What happened? Don’t tell me it’s cancelled.”

“It’s not cancelled,” Dr. Koning said, before pausing. “…But it has been postponed. Certain recent global events have pushed it further down the agenda. The speech will happen next January.”

“January?” You repeated, and horror quickly dawned on you. “No, wait. Felix can’t do January. He’s studying abroad next semester. There has to be some other…”

“I’m afraid there’s not. I’ve tried to speak to the few contacts I have, but changing the agenda of the United Nations is…well, a little beyond our capabilities, I’m sure you can understand.”

“But this is just as much Felix’s speech as it is mine. It’s on environmental preservation, he’s the one that’s specialising in environmentalism, he can’t just get dropped like…what if he flew back for the U.N. speech? That’s doable, right?”

“Even if he could, he would still be missing the weeks of preparation leading up to the speech,” Dr. Koning reminded you, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Unless he withdraws from his study-abroad program, I’m afraid we have to give his spot to someone else.”

You felt like you’d just been punched, right in the gut. Felix couldn’t withdraw from the program. It was one of the main reasons he’d chosen this university in the first place. He’d spent months competing for the limited spaces at the best partner university, he’d e-mailed the faculty there ahead of time to begin networking, he’d based his entire career path on the connections he could make there.

Even the fucking United Nations wasn’t worth the damage his future plans would take if he dropped out of studying abroad.

“…Who’s taking his spot?” You asked, quiet, defeated.

Dr. Koning looked down at the papers, and adjusted his glasses. “Well, there are a few candidates in mind. But at such short notice, there’s really only one feasible choice. One of my colleague’s PhD students, you might know him. Lee Minho?”

…No.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

You choked on the sudden anger bursting from your chest, trying your best to push it down before you started cussing out Lee Minho right in front of your professor. Finally, you were able to respond through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know him. We don’t…really get on.”

Dr. Koning frowned, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are there any incidents I should be aware of?”

“No, nothing like that,” you said. “Just…it’s been a thing since we were kids. We don’t like each other.”

“Well, we can look for others…” he said, before trailing off. Frowning, he leaned forward slightly, granting himself an air of conspiracy, like he was letting you in on a secret. “But, honestly…if this is something you feel comfortable setting aside, just temporarily, you should know that Minho really is the best candidate. By quite a wide margin.”

Of fucking course he was.

You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes and fighting the urge to start massaging your temples.

“…Maybe,” you relented, even if it took every ounce of willpower you had. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good to hear,” Dr. Koning said, smiling. “I really do hope the two of you can work together on this. Both of you have shown astounding potential. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

“…Mm-hm. Me too.”

It was a cold, crisp Monday morning, and you found yourself stood on the steps of the lecture halls. The expression on your face was enough for the dawdling first-years around you to give you a wide berth, allowing you to scroll through your e-mails in peace.

Scroll through your e-mails, and wait.

For him.

Felix had mentioned that Minho was sitting in on a talk from a visiting financial expert on the state of global economics, and you figured now was as good a time as any to confront him about the speech.

…And by ‘confront’, you meant ‘patiently and politely open channels of communication’. Of course.

Fuck, it was freezing.

You shivered, pulling your scarf just a little tighter around your neck, and exited out of your e-mails to shoot a text to Felix.

You

Who in their right mind voluntarily sits in on an economics lecture at eight o’clock on a Monday morning?

Lixie

…

i mean

…literally you last week

You

OK first of all

That was a fucking Guillaume Van Bebber seminar

The man has a Nobel prize

Second of all

That wasn’t a Monday

Third

Shut up

Lixie

ok no cookies for you

You

Wait no, what??

I take it back.

Take it all back.

You’re my bestest friend in the whole world.

Bestest and smartest.

Waittt

You were so distracted texting Felix, you didn’t notice the doors to the lecture halls opening, and the slow stream of students beginning to file out.

You did, however, notice a familiar voice.

Your head snapped up to see Minho at the top of the steps, talking with who looked to be the guest lecturer. The two were standing still, rather than walking along with the rest of the students, positioned just out of the way so they could continue whatever conversation they were having without interruption.

Cool, even more waiting.

You shifted your weight, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat to keep warm, and watched as Minho continued to speak – and, unbelievably, managed to make this lecturer laugh.

You blinked.

What the fuck? Minho didn’t make people laugh. He made them miserable, yes, but never laugh.

And then, suddenly, as if he could sense your insults, Minho looked over and locked eyes with you. His eyebrows raised slightly, probably in surprise at seeing you on campus so early in the morning. You made sure to maintain eye contact – an old habit with Minho, by this point. You hated being the first to look away, it always felt like weakness.

He turned away, saying something to the lecturer with a slight incline of his head.

The lecturer blinked, before nodding. You watched as, with a warm smile, the lecturer extended what looked to be a business card to Minho.

Minho accepted it, the two exchanged one final handshake, before Minho turned on his heel and descended the steps.

Towards you.

It was a little unfair, you wanted to grumble, that Minho always looked so put-together, no matter the time of day. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, perfectly suited for the chilly October morning air, under a tailored beige overcoat. It looked designer, the plaid pattern on its lining looking vaguely familiar, but that was standard for Minho’s wardrobe. You’d known since you were a little kid that Felix’s family had money.

Like, fuck-you money.

You forced your eyes up to his face before they travelled any further downwards, but you knew from a glance that Minho was wearing some form of tight black jeans. They were a staple of his wardrobe, and you hated them. You hated any and every reminder of Minho’s…

Well, Minho’s fucking tree trunk thighs.

Which you also hated.

With a passion.

He did dance as a kid. And some kind of equestrian thing in his teenage years – because, again, fuck-you money – which all contributed to…

You know what?

Didn’t matter.

Because you hated them. They weren’t worth mentioning.

“We need to talk about the U.N. speech,” you said, as soon as he got close enough, cutting straight to the chase.

“OK,” Minho nodded, approaching closer. You paused, confused, as he showed no sign of slowing. He drew closer and closer, and something tightened in your chest, as he–

He brushed past you, shoulder nearly bumping yours, continuing onwards past you.

You stilled, rooted to the spot for a moment, blinking at the empty air where he had just been standing.

Shock quickly morphed into incredulous anger, and you turned sharply to storm after him, blown away by his rudeness. “Hey, where – what the fuck?”

Minho paused, turning to face you, halting so suddenly that you almost bumped right into him. You stumbled back a step or two, before righting yourself, as Minho asked. “…Wait, did you mean now?”

The way he said it, confused, as if you were the strange one for not specifying the obvious.

“No, I was thinking in three weeks. But let me just check my calendar first,” you retorted, deadpan. “Yes, now. Why else would I be here?”

“For classes,” Minho pointed out, gesturing to the lecture building he’d just exited.

You opened your mouth instinctively, before pausing.

Because the honest answer, that you were here because you’d been waiting for him, now sounded…

“…Look, are you free to talk about the speech or not?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest.

Minho stared at you for a moment, before giving you a shrug. “I’ve got about an hour before my next class.”

“Good.”

“I usually get coffee around this time, while it’s quiet.”

“…OK? Good for you?” You said, frowning slightly.

Minho kept staring, looking…strangely expectant.

What, he wanted a pat on the back for having coffee in the morning?

Finally, with a sharp exhale that could almost be mistaken as an exasperated sigh, Minho turned away and set off walking again.

Rude. You were literally just having a conversation? Now, he just expected you to follow him?

Ugh.

Reluctantly, you did just that, having to quicken your pace to match Minho’s stride with those…fucking gargantuan legs of his.

Legs that didn’t matter. Because you didn’t notice them. At all.

To your surprise, Minho didn’t head for Muffin House, the main coffee shop on campus. That was your go-to place for caffeine – it was cheap, they had a bunch of muffins in different flavours, and they had an irresponsibly large number of discounts on extra espresso shots for students.

Instead, you had to follow Minho down a little side street nestled between two of the towering science blocks, cut across a near-deserted car park, and finally took a right towards a quiet little pocket of buildings on the edge of campus.

You would have walked right past the coffee shop entirely, were it not for Minho suddenly ducking through the doorway of a non-descript stone building. You paused, and it was only after looking up and studying the front face of the building that you noticed the sign for Kwon’s Koffee.

Inside, it looked indistinguishable from other coffee shops on campus – except it was far less crowded, with only a few tables taken up by exclusively postgraduate students.

This was definitely one of those little insider-knowledge haunts for PhD students, like Minho. And the idea almost made you want to hate it on principle.

You joined the queue behind Minho, gaze wandering toward the board of coffee specials.

…Fuck, OK, they did look pretty good.

Still, the principle of the matter remained.

“You realise Muffin House was so much closer, right?” You asked, glancing at Minho.

Minho made a face. “Yeah, but their coffee is shitty.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s always bitter.”

“Yeah, because it’s made to go with the super-sweet muffins,” you said, slowing your words as if trying to explain the concept of taste to a toddler. “They balance each other out.”

“Which means if you don’t get muffins, you’re shit out of luck,” Minho pointed out, and glanced over his shoulder at you. “And I never get them.”

You stared at him, genuinely affronted by this statement. Yet another thing to add to the colossal-sized list of reasons to dislike Minho. “What? Why? How?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“How are you and Felix even related?”

“It’s because of Felix,” Minho argued, and you had to admit, your interest was piqued. “Who do you think was the test subject for all his recipes?”

“What, were they bad?” You asked, intrigued.

Minho smiled ruefully. “Some were. But the most dangerous ones were the great ones. There’s only so many whole pans of brownies you can inhale before your body just rejects sugar on sight.”

Huh.

You forgot, sometimes, how close Minho and Felix were. It didn’t entirely fit in with your general doctrine of ‘Minho = The Worst’ so it was often banished to the back of your mind.

You supposed even the absolute dregs of humanity usually had at least one redeeming quality.

…Wait, this was coming dangerously close to an actual conversation with Minho.

“I think you’re just a coffee snob,” you dismissed with a shrug.

Minho rolled his eyes, and that brief façade of reasonable humanity vanished. “If Muffin House figured out how to brew coffee without burning it to shit, I’d drink it. But they haven’t yet, so…”

You opened your mouth, already raring to start an argument, but it was at that moment that the person in front of Minho in the queue finished ordering. Minho turned away from you, and walked up to the counter.

You followed closely behind, and it was only when your attention shifted from Minho to the person behind the counter that your eyes lit up.

“Seungmin?”

Seungmin blinked, leaning to the side just a little to look over Minho’s shoulder at you, surprised. “Oh, hey! Long time no see.”

Seungmin had been a stalwart member of your debate team for the first few years of undergrad, until he landed a job as research assistant for one of the most respected professors on campus. You had a lot of good feeling towards him, not least because he – along with Felix – often acted as the mediator between you and Minho.

He must have remembered that role too, as his gaze soon shifted back and forth between you and Minho, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Wait, are you two getting coffee? Like, together?”

You saw Minho bristle out of the corner of your eye, and you fought back a scoff. Did he really find it so insulting to be seen in public with you? “Yes, we are.”

Seungmin’s eyes flickered between the two of you again. “…Voluntarily?”

Minho answered this time, seemingly through gritted teeth. “Apparently.”

“Huh,” Seungmin said, mostly to himself. “Interesting.”

“Can we order now?” Minho asked, impatiently.

Seungmin shrugged, ignoring Minho’s rudeness, and set about taking your orders.

(Of course, Minho took his coffee black. Pretentious motherfucker probably had a whole thing about palate and bean aroma or whatever. You threw in a muffin with your order, to spite Minho more than anything else.)

It was only at the end, when it came to payment, that Seungmin looked up again at the two of you. “Are you guys paying separately, or…?”

That was kind of a dumb question.

“Separately,” you said, pointing out the obvious.

“Very separately,” Minho echoed, giving Seungmin a very pointed look.

Impressively, Minho’s glare did little to change Seungmin’s expression. In fact, Seungmin only smiled a little wider, calmly reverting back to his standard customer service script. “…OK. Cash or card?”

After payment, it only took a few minutes of waiting for your coffee before you found yourself sat at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, facing directly across from Minho.

The two of you sat there in silence, coffee in front of you.

How did you…how did you even start a conversation with Minho that wasn’t an argument? Usually, you relied on him to say something incorrect and pounce on it.

Now? You had to figure out how to be…nice. Civil. All because of this dumb speech.

You watched Minho shrug off his coat, turning in his seat to drape the coat over the back of his chair. The black turtleneck he was wearing underneath was surprisingly form-fitting, and when he turned back around to face you and pick up his mug, your eyes dropped down to your own cup before you gave into the urge to scowl openly.

Sometimes, you wondered if it would be harder to hate Minho if he were less attractive.

It was a thought you crushed down the second it came into your head, but you couldn’t entirely deny it. There had been moments, unspeakable moments, when you started dating someone, that your brain betrayed you and compared them to Minho. It was like he had to just…infect every part of your life. He had to ruin everything.

You swallowed, curling your fingers around the handle of your mug, tapping the edge of it with your thumb. “…So, the speech.”

“The speech.”

“I assume Koning already talked to you about it?”

“Yes.”

“…And?” You said, resisting the urge to scream. This was like pulling teeth. “Your thoughts?”

Minho sat back in his chair, eyeing you closely. “Why the U.N.?”

Easy question. So easy, you’d almost call it moronic. “It’s the U.N. It’s literally where I want my career to take me.”

“You want to work at the U.N.?” Minho asked, and you could almost mistake his tone for interest.

“Yes,” you said, confidently, half-prepared to defend yourself in case Minho decided to find your ambition laughable. Screw him. “The Human Rights Council, preferably, but I wouldn’t say no to a job in the General Assembly.”

“Who would?” Minho remarked, deadpan.

“Ergo, a speech there. It wasn’t easy, but we managed it,” you said, not even pretending to be humble.

“…It’s impressive, honestly. What you’ve achieved.”

“What me and Felix achieved,” you corrected him automatically, but honestly, you were a little thrown. That sounded…dangerously close to a compliment. From Minho.

“Koning said it was your idea,” Minho said. “You came up with the proposal, and you were the one ballsy enough to actually submit it to the U.N.”

“Yeah, but the speech is literally on environmental preservation–”

“International NGO commitment to environmental preservation,” Minho interrupted, and you bit down the sudden flare of anger that he felt the need to correct you on your own fucking speech topic. “International commitment is your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

“And Felix is literally specialising in environmentalism,” you reminded him, and it was then that one of your biggest concerns about this whole situation reared its head. “Which reminds me, actually, why did they pick you to replace him on it?”

Minho stared at you for a solid moment, eyebrows slowly raising, as if he couldn’t believe you were being serious.

You felt yourself bristling, growing defensive. “What? You’re a politics student, not–”

“My master’s thesis was literally on environmental activism. I help teach undergrad classes on green politics and ecological efforts in government policy. How do you not know this?”

…OK. So, fine, maybe you didn’t pay that much attention to what Minho actually studied. Why would you? You imagined it would only piss you off more, reading through his fucking glowing examples of academic writing – like, seriously, in your second year of undergrad, one of your professors used one of his essays as a literal example of how to do the assignment.

You scoffed, lifting your coffee up to your mouth, muttering under your breath. “Ego-logical efforts, more like.”

Minho tilted his head, clearly having heard every word you just said. “What was that?”

You stared him down, taking one long, unabashed drink of coffee, before setting your cup down. Maintaining eye contact, you forced your most innocent smile. “Nothing.”

Another moment of silence fell between the two of you, as Minho’s mouth twitched. You could tell he was very tempted to call you out, and you almost wanted to dare him to say something. Going this long without some kind of conflict with Minho felt…weird. Strange.

Instead, Minho sighed, and you couldn’t imagine the visible shock on your face when his expression actually softened towards you. “…Look. I know you really wanted to work with Felix on this. It’s really shitty that this got taken out of your hands.”

…What? What the fuck was happening here?

He continued. “I’m sorry you got screwed over like this.”

What the fuck was in this coffee?

“I’m not trying to butt in and mess with everything you’ve prepared,” Minho said. “I genuinely just want to help you. I know we’ve got…issues.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Sometimes people just don’t get along,” Minho said, eyes flickering downwards to his mug as he took a sip of coffee. “But I hope we can be professional about this.”

You fought the urge to scowl, but you couldn’t quite stop yourself from clenching your jaw at the assumption.

You could be professional.

You could be insanely fucking professional.

“Yes, I hope we can,” you said, your voice perfectly level. Calm. Composed. Professional. “So, actually, until this speech is over…why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard by your choice of words. “‘Truce’?”

“Yeah. Until the speech is done, we’ll try to be nice to each other. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. You backtracked slightly. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again, for the next few months?”

Minho didn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking the proposition over.

You took another sip of coffee, trying your best to leave it at that. But you couldn’t help but add, pointedly. “I mean, I don’t think it’ll be hard for me. But if you think you–”

“I’ll manage,” Minho interjected, dryly, unimpressed. “You’re the one who starts it most of the time, anyway.”

“I don’t–” you bit your tongue, taking a second to claw back your patience. “…I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

You sat just a little taller, frowning. “OK. So, we’re decided.”

“Yep.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

“…Good.”

“Good.”

“Great,” you said, maybe just a little eager to get the last word. Maybe.

It was only when you took another sip of coffee, content with yourself, that Minho dropped the sudden curveball. “My housemates are throwing a Halloween party this weekend. Maybe you should come.”

You very almost did a spit-take with your coffee. “What?”

“If you’re so interested in a truce,” Minho added, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface of the table, and that was when you recognised the invitation for what it was.

A challenge.

Minho was absolutely trying to get you to chicken out.

You straightened your shoulders. “I’d be happy to,” you said, and it sounded vaguely threatening.

“Great, I’ll let them know.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Minho said, his words so edged, you could imagine them slicing into you.

Yeah, this truce was definitely going to last.

This was a terrible idea.

You hesitated on the pavement outside of what was very obviously a Halloween party in full swing. You’d purposely waited a little, hoping to avoid the awkward early stages of house parties, your imagination filled with dreadful images of being one of the first to show up and having to make conversation with Minho.

The later, the better. More people to act as a buffer, and a better excuse to get drunk.

Hopefully, fingers-crossed, maybe Minho had already gotten absolutely wasted and wouldn’t even notice you were there.

Bolstered by the thought, you shot a text to Felix – who should already be inside, having volunteered to swing by early and help his older brother with decorations – to say that you were here.

OK.

Breathe.

Go.

You marched up the path towards the front door, refusing to be distracted by the partygoers scattered around the front yard, smoking and chatting and one couple leaning against the wall and already looking very handsy.

The front door was open, and you made your way inside, senses alert for any sign of Felix (to approach) and Minho (to avoid) as you did so.

The house was impressively large for student housing – of course it was, Minho lived here – and yet, every room held a crowd of people. Dancing, drinking, having fun. A drunk girl, dressed in what looked to be some variation of zombie Disney princess, stumbled into you, giggling apologetically as she did. Her drink – a can of something, maybe a bottle – was icy-cold as it brushed against your thigh.

You should have worn something longer, you thought. Your costume was cute, and dare you say, maybe even kinda hot, but it was not cut out for any temperatures colder than a room full of warm bodies. Just the walk up to the house had you shivering, just a little.

Your hunt for Felix led you from room to room, as you tried and failed to prevent yourself from rolling your eyes at the size of this place. Someone had set up tables – multiple – for beer pong in one room, while another room hosted an impressive speaker system for dancing, while another room was all softly-lit and calm background music, clearly the designated room for quieter, laid-back conversation.

A layout that checked all the house party boxes, sure. But a terrible place to try and track someone down.

Eventually, somehow, you found yourself in the kitchen, and it was here that you wondered whether you should just give up for a second and grab something to drink. You’d find Felix at some point, hopefully. Just as long as you didn’t run into…

“Oh.”

You turned at the voice, instinctively, but on second thoughts maybe you should have pretended not to hear.

Minho was standing in front of you, leaning against the kitchen counter.

And he…

He looked…

Holy fucking shit.

From the fake blood on his billowy white shirt and the painted-on bite mark on his neck, he was clearly some kind of vampire. Someone – maybe Minho himself – had applied the subtlest amount of eyeliner, and between that and the rumpled dark hair, and the…

Fuck, those were leather pants. Skin-tight.

Oh, you had to leave right now–

“Hi,” you said, standing your ground.

“You’re late,” Minho noted.

It was only then that you realised Minho was part of a loose cluster of guys, all of whom turned to see who Minho was talking to.

And one of them, to your intense relief, was Felix.

“Hey!” Felix greeted, wandering over to throw an arm around you in a half-hug. He was a cheerful drinker, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t help your confidence a little to see someone so unambiguously happy to see you here.

When he pulled away, you noticed that the little hand-drawn stitches around his neck had already started to smudge. Miraculously the little fake plastic bolts on either side of his head remained intact.

“I like your costume,” Felix told you. “It’s very…pink.”

“It is very pink,” you agreed, looking down at yourself.

When you glanced up, you caught the way Minho’s eyes flickered upwards too, as if he’d just finished looking you up and down.

You tensed a little, preparing yourself for some kind of critique. Lee Minho, champion appraiser of cheap Halloween costumes.

To your surprise, however, Minho quickly averted his eyes and took a deep swig of the drink in his hand.

“I like your costume too,” one of Minho’s friends chimed in. He was kind of cute, all dark hair and big brown eyes, so adorable that his werewolf costume came across as looking more like a chipmunk. “What are you?”

You smiled, relaxing a little. “The most accomplished woman of our time.”

The guy blinked, looking briefly thrown for a second, eyes back on your costume as he tried to decipher who you were.

But Minho, astonishingly, cracked a half-smile. Which, for Minho, was practically a laugh. “Are you Barbie?”

“Yes,” you admitted, reluctantly, half-tempted to lie just to be petty. Except, damn it, no more pettiness. You’d agreed.

“Barbie is the most accomplished woman of our time?”

“Princess. Astronaut. President. I am prepared to fight you on this.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’ll win.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, and again, his gaze flickered downwards. What, was it so shocking to see you in pink?

You shifted your weight, and you almost folded your arms over your chest before you remembered what the neckline was like on this dress. Maybe not.

Unbeknownst to you, Felix and Minho’s friend exchanged a look.

Clearing your throat, you turned your attention to the large and varied alcohol selection littering the kitchen counter. “So, what can I get to drink here?”

“Minho can talk you through it,” Minho’s friend suddenly announced, patting Minho on the shoulder. Minho blinked, tearing his eyes away from you to look at his friend. “I’m gonna go find Chan, he promised me a beer pong rematch. Felix, bro, you should come with.”

Felix hesitated. “…Actually, maybe I–”

“Nah, come on,” Minho’s friend insisted, hooking his arm with Felix’s, cheerfully pulling him away. “Be my cheerleader.”

You stared, as it dawned on you that your biggest support in this minefield of a conversation was being frogmarched away.

Right. OK. Alone with Minho.

Cool.

You chanced a look back towards Minho, only to find him still watching you, and you quickly diverted your attention to the alcohol again. Smoothing down your skirt, you forced yourself to shrug. “I thought about coming as Frieda Dalen, but I figured no one would get the reference. She was–”

“The first woman to speak at the U.N., yeah.”

You snapped your head back to stare at him, bewildered. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Minho raised one eyebrow, and you were genuinely irritated that, in combination with the hair and the blood and the outfit in general, it almost…almost maybe twisted something in your gut. “My first official university debate was about the history of women in global affairs. She was a good factoid. 1946, right?”

You fought the urge to scowl as you confirmed his answer. “Yep. 1946.”

And, because even the tightest of leather couldn’t dull your burning dislike of seeing Minho smug, you pressed him further.

“Do you remember which country she was the delegate of?”

“No,” Minho admitted, tilting his head slightly to one side as he looked at you. After a moment, he straightened up from where he’d been leaning, gaining an inch or two of height in doing so, forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to continue meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”

His words should have sounded patronising.

Except, there was a strange edge to his voice, almost a playfulness but not quite. Not a lightness, because it definitely didn’t feel light. It felt kind of heavy, actually.

If you didn’t know any better, you would almost mistake it as…

“Minho!”

Both of you jolted at the sudden shout, barely having the time to turn towards it source before a tall guy with a Phantom of the Opera mask and ridiculously pretty long, blond hair staggered into Minho and hugged him.

You blinked, too caught off-guard to even appreciate the bemused expression on Minho’s face as the pretty guy mumbled into his shoulder. “Minho, I think…I’m druuunk.”

You took that as the perfect opportunity to back out of this…interaction with Minho, even as something strange twisted inside of you. You quickly grabbed the closest drink you could and retreated out of the kitchen as fast as your dignity would allow.

You needed to drink. And maybe dance. Anything to distract you, before your mind wandered anywhere dangerous.

This wasn’t working.

Drinking your problems away was a terrible idea in and of itself, but you’d been tempted to give it a go. After your second drink, however, you were blindsided with the intrusive thought of getting wasted and throwing up in Minho’s bathroom, and all the humiliation that could go with it, and it had warned you off alcohol for the rest of the night.

Dancing, your alternative solution, had worked for the first hour or so. You had let loose a little, but as your drink-fuelled buzz slowly faded, you found yourself growing increasingly uncomfortable by the stale air and the press of warm bodies. You were getting hot, something under your skin beginning to itch.

You needed to get out of here, just for a moment, to clear your head.

With crowds of people blocking your way to the front door, you decided on a different path towards some peace and quiet. Upstairs was mostly left untouched, understandable since there were no drinks to be found and no music playing, and you breathed out a sigh of relief when you reached the top of the stairs and turned a corner, and found an empty hallway.

Perfect.

Before you could think twice, you sat down on the floor, your back against the wall. The relief of taking a break from standing in these heels was immediate, and you let your head loll backwards, closing your eyes.

You just needed a few minutes here, you decided. Just to recharge.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t open your eyes, but you felt your expression immediately sour. Of course it had to be the worst possible person to find you here, alone and close to misery, sitting in the hallway.

Minho approached, or at least, that was what you gathered from the sound of his footsteps. He came to a halt fairly close, pausing, and spoke up again.

“How are you this wasted already?” Minho asked, and there was surprisingly little amusement in his voice at the idea. In fact, you’d almost mistake it for concern.

“I am distressingly sober, actually,” you replied, slowly opening one eye to glare at him, but it was half-hearted at best, and you closed it again. “Just needed some quiet. Had a headache.”

Minho didn’t say anything in response. In fact, it was silent for so long, you started to wonder if he’d walked off without you even noticing, when he suddenly spoke up again. “I know a good place for quiet. And for fresh air, if you want it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes again, fixing him with a look of suspicion. Admittedly, whatever he was suggesting sounded like the perfect place for you right now – which was exactly the reason you were so suspicious. “Where?”

“It’s pretty nearby,” Minho said, and to your disbelief, held out his hand.

Your eyes flickered from his face, to his outstretched hand, to his face again, before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself up to your feet by yourself. To his credit, Minho withdrew his hand smoothly, seemingly unaffected by your refusal to take it.

“After you,” you said, still reluctant to let down your guard.

Minho nodded, and set off down the hallway, going just a little further from where you were sitting, and stopping in front of a door. With a glance back to you, probably checking to see if you were still following, or if you’d lied about being sober and collapsed while he wasn’t looking, he opened it and wandered inside.

You took a few steps towards it – and then caught one look inside the room and halted dead in your tracks.

That was…

Was that…?

“Is that your fucking bedroom?” You asked, in pure disbelief.

Minho stopped, turning around to look at you, and how the fuck could he look so calm about this? “…Yeah? Last time I checked, why?”

“Why? Are you…” you trailed off, scoffing, before putting on your best Minho impression. “‘I know a good place, come follow me’ and it’s your bedroom. Come on.”

“I wasn’t…I was talking about the balcony. There’s a balcony through…” Minho gestured vaguely towards the far wall, where you realised the huge ceiling-to-floor curtains hanging there must be hiding the doors to it.

Of course he has a balcony.

Of course.

For once in his life, Minho looked just the slightest bit ruffled as he finally caught on to the incredibly obvious implications.

He swallowed. “Look, if you’re not comfortable, that’s–”

You interrupted him with a scoff. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

In fact, to prove just how comfortable you were, you marched into his room, forcing yourself to appear entirely unbothered.

“See? Fine,” you said. “Just, maybe lead with the balcony thing next time, so you don’t look like some massive sleaze.”

Again, Minho’s reaction surprised you. Instead of anger or annoyance at your accusation, Minho cracked another half-smile. “Fair.”

…Yeah, you really weren’t used to this whole ‘nice’ thing between the two of you. It felt weird, like the very foundations of your dynamic were shaken by it.

As Minho led you towards the balcony, you tried your best not to look too closely at his bedroom, as much as your curiosity protested otherwise. The most detail you got was that it was fairly neat, fairly clean, and he had a stupidly large bed. Which, you know, Minho, fuck-you money, that made sense.

You point-blank refused to dwell on it.

As soon as he slid open the door, you quickly leaned forward and breathed in that refreshing cold night air, and felt your headache fade just a little. It was only when you stepped out onto the balcony that you truly felt yourself relax, and the tension built up in your head began to ease.

“Better?” Minho asked, and you heard him come up from behind you, coming to a stop beside you to look up at the night sky. You couldn’t make out many stars from here, thanks to the light pollution of the city, but it was still undeniably a pretty cool view.

“Yeah,” you admitted and, begrudgingly, you turned towards him to mutter. “…Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I won’t be too long out here,” you added, feeling the weirdest need to justify accepting this kindness from Minho, to downplay it. “I’m not exactly dressed for October weather.”

Minho paused, keeping his gaze fixed on the night sky above and very much not on you. “Yeah.”

…Yeah?

You frowned, unable to stop yourself from feeling slightly defensive. “I mean, you’re one to talk.”

That got his attention. Suddenly, Minho had no problem looking at you. “What?”

“Your pants, Minho. Did you paint them on yourself?”

And you realised then and there that you must have made some kind of error, because Minho looked genuinely amused. Glancing down at himself for a moment, his eyes wandered back up to meet yours, and there was a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. “What, do you like them?”

You stilled, faltering just slightly, before retorting. “I’d probably like the cow they’re made from more.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not real leather,” Minho quipped back. “If that’s your only issue with them.”

“Well, you know, the fake leather industry is actually…” you trailed off, because your comeback sounded lame even in your head. “Whatever.”

The two of you fell into a silence, both watching the stars for a moment, listening to the thud of the bass downstairs and the muffled cacophony of voices.

And then, quietly, reluctantly, Minho spoke. “…Can I ask you a genuine question?”

If it was about the pants, you might actually throw him off this balcony. “OK. You’re not guaranteed a genuine answer, but go ahead.”

“The U.N. speech. It was your idea. If you want to go into human rights, why are you doing a speech about the environment?”

You paused, genuinely flustered by his question. Your response came out jumbled. “I don’t…you know, the two aren’t mutually exclusive, environmental damage is having a huge impact on–”

“Yeah, but that’s not what the speech is actually about. It’s a great speech, but why isn’t it on a subject youwant to do?”

“Who says? You? You don’t know what I want,” you shot back, irritated, refusing to admit that he’d touched a nerve.

Rather than snapping back at you immediately, Minho took a deep breath, calming slightly. “…You’re right. I don’t. I shouldn’t assume.”

What was this? You didn’t want him to agree with you, you wanted an argument. This ‘nice’, truce stuff was really starting to grate on you. “Exactly.”

“It’s just…it’s important that you do what you want, and not try to shape yourself around other people.”

“I don’t,” you argued. “Maybe what I want is for you not to attack every little decision I make. Like you always do.”

Minho’s brow furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. It took a second to realise that he was appraising you, eyeing you thoughtfully.

“You…really seem to dislike me,” he noted.

“Oh, do I?” You remarked, bitterly.

“Why is that?”

You let out a deep breath, mostly out of frustration, but also a little out of exhaustion. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to construct some kind of response.

There seemed to be a multitude of answers to that question. Minho was arrogant. He was atrociously blunt in most social settings and seemed indifferent to the hurt he caused others. He had an exorbitant amount of money and had very few qualms showcasing it. He scared away almost every single new debate team recruit because he was apparently allergic to the concept of constructive criticism. He’d ruined more than one relationship you’d had. Apparently, you talked too much about him, but there were only so many ways to honestly answer questions about your day or how you were feeling without mentioning how aggravating Minho was in some capacity.

But honestly, the more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself slipping back into the shell of that little fourteen-year-old, looking up at the cool older boy with wide eyes and hoping for just one kind word.

And it made you feel so…small. Pathetic.

“Because you’re an asshole,” you stated, simply.

Minho stared at you for a second, before frowning slightly. “I mean, not really.”

…Oh, he decided to say just exactly the wrong thing there, didn’t he?

“You absolutely are. Like, objectively,” you argued. “You literally made a girl cry last week over debating.”

“What? Who?”

“That first-year girl. Dark hair, super perky. You know, when she’s not crying her eyes out.”

Something approaching recognition dawned on Minho’s face, but to your surprise, his expression dimmed slightly. “Oh, her. She told you it was about her debating?”

Well, not in exact words, you wanted to say. But it wasn’t hard to read between the lines, given what you knew Minho to be capable of.

“OK, then what was it about?” You asked.

“She came up to me after our last meeting and asked for some tutoring,” Minho said, before giving you a very pointed look. “As in, a specific kind of ‘private’ tutoring. Very specific. And she was not subtle about it.”

You blinked. “…What?”

Minho’s brow furrowed, visibly searching through his memory of the incident. “To be fair, I might have laughed in her face. In my defence, it was less about her and more about the audacity.”

You pictured the scene, of that girl coming onto Minho, his face when he realised what was happening, and the worst part of you maybe wanted to smirk a little. But you would not indulge it. “Still, sounds like you could have been nicer abut it.”

“OK, yeah, I feel a little bad. But no, it wasn’t over her debating skills. I might be harsh, but you think I’d make someone cry over that and not give a shit?”

Every ounce of amusement drained out of you in an instant, replaced by something cold. “I mean…yeah, you’ve done it before.”

“What? When?”

He didn’t know?

How could he not know?

You might have finished sobbing by the time you’d confronted him, all those years ago, but hadn’t it been extremely obvious?

You stared at Minho for a good few seconds, waiting for him to slip up, to give up the joke. But all you got in return was a genuinely confused expression on his face, waiting for you to clarify what exactly you were talking about.

Oh.

Yeah, he really didn’t know.

Shit.

You swallowed, looking down at your hands, picking at one particularly jagged edge of your thumbnail. “…Me.”

Minho stilled. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head, searching your face. “You cried?”

Oh, fuck this guy. You stiffened, embarrassment roiling in the pit of your stomach, and snapped, seething. “Just forget it–”

“No, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off. When you braved a look over at him, you didn’t find the smirk you were expecting. Minho looked genuinely chastened, watching you with a deep but unreadable emotion. “I…didn’t know.”

You didn’t like this, you didn’t know how to handle…earnest Minho. Where the fuck did asshole Minho go?

“It was just the once. It was my first debate, and you were a dick about it,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug.

“Oh,” Minho said, with such a strangely specific tone that you couldn’t help but look over at him. There was a look of dawning realisation on his face, and the slightest hint of…

Embarrassment?

“I think I remember that,” Minho said, sounding vaguely horrified. “…This is going to sound dumb.”

Minho? Dumb? And aware of that fact? “…OK.”

“And a little pathetic.”

“Good, go on.”

“But I think, at the time…I was hoping you’d ask me for help.”

You stilled, trying to comprehend the string of words that had just left his mouth. Trying to forge them into anything that made even the smallest bit of sense.

“…And you didn’t, I don’t know, think about offering your help? Before humiliating me in front of my classmates?” You asked, and you almost surprised yourself with the way your voice shook with an old, familiar anger. “That didn’t, you know, maybe occur to you?”

Minho turned his whole body to face you head-on, hand curling around the balcony railing at his side. It was in that moment, seeing him entirely, that you glimpsed that blunt, ruthless young man that had cut you so deeply all those years ago – and saw, for the first time, how small he really was. That memory had taken up so much space in your mind, had warped itself until Minho towered over you, a titan, a symbol of each and every one of your failings.

Now, for once, a new image appeared. An awkward teenage boy, too embarrassed to admit that he wanted to be something in your eyes.

You softened, just for a second.

And then, remembering yourself, remembering all that had happened between the two of you since then, you came back to your senses.

“And what about everything after? It’s not like you were nice after that one little misunderstanding, you picked at everything I did for years.”

“In my defence, neither were you. You refused to speak to me unless you had to for years,” Minho pointed out. “And I realised how much you could do, what you could achieve–”

“If you kept being an asshole?”

“If I held you to actual standards,” Minho corrected, and for the first time in this conversation, he was starting to get heated. Good. “The next time the club met, you wiped the floor with seniors. Seniors. You were just as good as me, and you barely had experience.”

A compliment from Minho, however begrudging and biting it was, had a dangerously addicting effect on you. Actually, maybe the begrudging part only made it better. “And what? That pissed you off?”

Minho’s expression faltered, just for a split-second, and that spoke more than any confession could.

“It did,” you said, half-shocked for a second, before pressing on. “So, you wouldn’t get off my fucking back foryears. You even turned up at nationals after you graduated, hoping I’d fall flat on my face.”

“Is that what you think?” Minho asked, incredulous.

“What else would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe…” Minho stopped, before letting out a short, bitter laugh. “Never mind. Forget it.”

You wanted to press him further, but the anger that had sustained you so far was starting to flag a little.

This was just…exhausting, sometimes.

You let out a deep breath, just as a cold October breeze decided to kick up, making you shiver. Instinctively, you folded your arms over your chest, tucking your hands into your sides to get just a little bit of warmth.

Maybe it was time for you to leave.

You looked over at Minho, opening your mouth to say something–

Only to catch his gaze openly, unmistakably, dipping down towards your cleavage.

You stopped.

You stared.

His eyes moved upwards again, finding yours, and he realised he’d been caught.

He tensed, just for a second, and you watched a tangle of emotions play out across his face before he settled on a neutral, blank, composed expression. But he didn’t speak.

He just…looked at you.

Waiting for you to say something? Daring you to say something?

It was hard to decipher, because at that moment, your brain was still 100% stuck on the fact that Minho had been checking you out.

Because that wasn’t some little accidental flicker, his gaze had stayed there.

Minho had been absolutely, undeniably, checking you out.

For all your complaints about the cold weather, it was starting to get very warm out here.

Why the fuck wasn’t he saying something? Anything?

You swallowed – or, well, you tried to at least.

Something had awoken, deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt it starting to unfurl, slowly, your nerve endings beginning to prickle.

“Are you…” you didn’t finish the question, you couldn’t finish the question, because the words ‘are you into me?’ were so laughably alien that they just refused to leave your mouth.

Minho waited, expectant for something, searching your face. Whatever he found – or didn’t find – was enough to make him speak.

“What?” he asked, and it was that same voice he had in the kitchen. Quiet, loaded, just a touch lower in register that almost made your breath catch.

It was like he was challenging you. Goading you. Wondering whether you were too much of a coward to finish that question.

You needed to ask. You needed to say it.

Come on, you were about to talk to the fucking United Nations in a few months, surely you could handle asking one question to Lee fucking Minho.

“Are you…attracted to me?”

Already, you were starting to cringe internally. Already, you were preparing for the worst. You tried to reassure yourself that it was fine, that when he said ‘no’ you could call him out on staring at your chest, he had no room to speak, it was a logical question, it…

Except Minho didn’t say ‘no’.

He didn’t say anything.

And the longer he looked at you, the longer he stayed silent, the more obvious his answer became.

…Oh.

That…

Maybe you were drunk, actually. Surely you had to be. Because the idea that Minho found you attractive didn’t drive you off like you thought it would.

Minho found you attractive.

Minho, the man with an ego so large it could smother a man, a superiority complex so vast it could bring awe-stricken observers to tears, that Minho…found you attractive.

Huh.

As you stared back at him, you were hit with the sudden thought of kissing him.

Which would be a terrible idea.

Because Minho was Minho and just because he was into you, just because he was perhaps objectively maybe a little good-looking, just because he’d admitted that all these years he’d seen you as an intellectual equal, just because he had the kind of thighs that could probably crush a watermelon, he…

He…

You paused, mind-blank, before rising up on your toes and pressing your lips to his.

The first few seconds were strange. Of course they were, it was surreal to feel someone’s lips on yours and know this was Minho, holy shit. You could feel how still he was, how shocked, and you knew he must have been on the exact same wavelength.

And then, he closed his eyes, his hand lifted up to gently cup your cheek, and everything clicked together perfectly.

This felt right, like really weirdly right despite it all. Some kind of base level of brain chemistry was screaming about how right this was, and it had you shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

Was this a bad idea? The two of you had to work together for the next few months, you should have been aiming to keep things strictly professional, personal issues could complicate–

Minho let out the tiniest exhale, recapturing your lips immediately, and your thoughts stopped dead in your tracks.

Fuck professionalism, you’d earned this, you’d been working your ass off for months, you deserved to take satisfaction whenever you could get it.

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up slightly to press the entirety of your front against his. He was warm, shockingly so, and when his free hand moved to press itself into the small of your back, you chanced parting your lips just a little.

Minho followed suit, deepening the kiss, angling his head just slightly. Everything about his touch, how he held you, it was all so strangely gentle in comparison to the usual way he treated you. As if you were an illusion, like if he squeezed too hard, you might disappear.

One of your hands came up to run your fingers up his neck, through his hair, and the drag of your fingernails coaxed a quiet hum out of him.

Every noise you pulled from Minho, every little reaction, felt like winning an argument. It felt like a strange natural extension of your debates, isolating the weakness in the other’s defence and targeting it.

You let your fingers tangle in his hair, biding your time, and when you tested a sharp little twist, you heard his breath catch.

Minho went still, just for a second, just enough to take a deep breath, before grabbing your hip and swinging you around, pushing you up against the sliding balcony door, trapping you between it and him.

The impact was enough to knock a gasp out of you, and he pulled away briefly. You watched him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, breath heavy, as he tried to form words. “Fuck, are you–”

You pulled him back to you, a hand fisted in his shirt collar, too impatient to let him finish the rest of his question. Your kiss was rushed, insistent, and you took your time before you pulled away to mutter against his lips. “I’m fine. Just…fuck it, just keep kissing me.”

Minho’s head dipped towards yours, briefly, as if he were about to do just that – before he paused. “…Ask me nicely.”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, impulsively, heat rushing to your face.

He pulled his head away, his whole body even, until the two of you were just barely touching. He lingered, teasingly close, an amused glint in his eye. “Why, is that want you want? Me to fuck off?”

You didn’t know if he was being sincere or not. You never knew if he was being sincere or not. That was Minho, through and through.

You scrabbled for an answer, brain still sluggishly working through the fact that you weren’t kissing anymore, chest rising and falling with every quickened breath. You found your words, looking him directly in the eye, tilting your chin up slightly.

“Kiss me,” you said, practically venomous, before setting your jaw. “Or I’ll find someone else to do it for you.”

You didn’t know why that was the threat you made. Logically, it held no weight – Minho might have been attracted to you, but would he really care if you kissed someone else? You half expected him to laugh you off, and wander off back to the party without even a glance back at you.

He did neither of those things.

In fact, the teasing look in his eye vanished completely. His gaze turned so intense that you wondered if he could burn a hole straight through you.

When he finally spoke, he was deceptively calm, his voice perfectly even as he noted out loud. “I see. So, that’s how we’re playing this.”

You barely had time to process his words, before his mouth was back on yours, almost feverish, and with a newfound harshness.

You met him with just as much enthusiasm, matching him move-for-move.

A gentle Minho was too complicated. A soft, kind Minho forced you to confront some preconceived notions that you were very happy to keep unchallenged.

This Minho, the one who dragged his right hand down your side, the one who gripped your hip so tightly you could imagine it bruising, this was something you could handle. Something you didn’t have to overthink.

Because, fuck, you really, really didn’t want to think right now. You were sick of thinking, your whole life was thinking.

Minho’s hand slipped downwards to your thigh, his palm sliding around to the back of it before he lifted your leg up slightly to slot his thigh right between yours.

The instant he lowered your leg, you realised exactly what he’d done. Immediately, you felt the press of him between your legs, subtle enough to allow plausible deniability, and yet too firm for you to just ignore. To make matters worse, you were now just slightly off-balance, your foot just brushing the floor.

You couldn’t lower it, you couldn’t regain your balance, without pressing down even more on his thigh. You tried anyway, and the friction resulted in your first whimper of the night, light and breathy against him.

Minho’s grip, still on your leg, tightened.

He dropped his head to press his mouth to your neck, kissing at the skin there – and then he clenched his fucking thigh muscles, and your resulting moan slipped out right by his ear.

Your hands scrambled for him, clutching his shoulders, breath heavy as you tried not to rock your hips. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction, you absolutely refused to. You grabbed a fistful of his hair again, pulling by the roots to drag his head back upwards so your mouths could meet again.

Your kiss was now heated, almost clumsy. You caught Minho’s bottom lip between your teeth and nipped, enjoying the way he hissed, the way his tongue licked over where you’d done it, the way his left hand came up to your face – not to cradle this time, but to clutch, to grip.

His right hand moved up to your ass, giving it one firm squeeze, before suddenly and very deliberately pulling you down and along his thigh. More noises fought their way out of your mouth, and you were too weak to resist just one roll of your hips, chasing that same friction. It had barely been a few minutes, and you could already feel yourself starting to ache, heat beginning to collect at the apex of your thighs.

It was gratifying to learn, when you pulled Minho even closer, forcing the full length of his body to press against yours, that you weren’t alone in that. You felt something firm beginning to press into your hip, and when you slid your hand down to confirm what it was, palm sliding against it, Minho inhaled sharply.

You grinned against his lips, and squeezed him through those damned fake-leather pants.

He groaned, eyes drifting shut for just a second, before suddenly snapping open.

“Come on,” he said, swallowing, and took you by the wrist. Before you knew it, he pulled you away from the balcony door to slide it open again, and hurriedly tugged you inside.

You had been a little too distracted to notice how much colder it must have turned outside, but inside welcomed you with a warmth that radiated through your whole body.

But it took you a moment, brain still in a thigh-induced haze, to realise the full extent of what it meant to be inside.

To be inside Minho’s bedroom.

You hesitated as Minho slid the balcony door shut behind you, drawing the curtains together.

You stared ahead, eyes on that huge bed – and the first hints of panic seized your chest.

Quickly, almost unthinkingly, you grabbed Minho by the arm and pulled him. He stumbled, clearly caught off-guard, but he went along with it, letting you pull him to you and turn, pressing him up against the wall.

Easy. Your back was to the bed now, removing it from your sight, and that strange new weight of anxiety disappeared entirely. You went back to kissing him, hands back in his hair. Your new comfort zone, apparently.

Apparently, however, you didn’t entirely fool Minho, who must have picked up on your tension at least a little.

“I thought,” he murmured, between kisses, and made no move to grab at you like he had outside, “you might want,” more kisses, “some more privacy.”

You hummed, non-committal, your concerns already disappearing as you tried to figure out how to get Minho’s leg back between yours again without outright asking.

“Outside, people can…” he paused, probably because your nails had scraped along his scalp almost accidentally, and he shivered, “hear.”

You pulled away slightly, hiding how breathless you were, fixing him with a playful look.

“Hear what?” you challenged, pretending as if you hadn’t literally moaned in his ear just a short while ago.

Minho didn’t answer, but you knew that expression. It used to keep you awake at night, anger burning through you at just the thought of it. He was smug.

Surprisingly, the sight no longer filled you with burning rage – but it did prompt you to back him up against the wall again, stepping right back into his personal space, and pull his head down to kiss you again.

He relaxed into you, soft and gentle as his hands eased over your sides, which only served to wind you up more. Frustrated, you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and out from where it had been tucked into his waistband, and let your hand snake up under it.

You had learned over the course of the evening that Minho, as mouthy as he liked to be around you, wasn’t the most vocal partner you’d encountered. Maybe that would have discouraged the average person, but you knew Minho. You’d known him for years, you knew every tell he had, the meaning behind every hint of body language.

You knew that when Minho’s breath caught, as your hands ran up his stomach, up his chest, exploring his upper body, it was basically his equivalent of shaking with anticipation.

You took the hint, grasping his shirt with both hands and pulling it upwards. The shirt – some kind of billowy white poet’s shirt, the kind with the little lace-up ties at the neck that he’d left undone and open – was loose enough to remove easily, and you let it drop without a second thought.

Even now, despite everything, you were reluctant to stroke Minho’s ego by openly ogling him. It was a challenge, trying to ignore the smooth skin, the lean muscle, so you dipped your head before he could see your reaction, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of his collarbone.

Again, it felt like a special talent to recognise Minho’s deep inhale, when your hands brushed his chest, for the emotions it betrayed.

Your mouth descended lower, eager, towards his chest – and you let your tongue brush his nipple.

His breath caught again, and when you experimented with a quick nip of your teeth, his grip on your sides tightened briefly.

That was Minho’s equivalent of being horrendously, painfully turned on.

Your hand slid down past his abdomen, cupping him through his pants, and this time you let your palm gently grind against him.

Minho’s body shivered under your touch, and it felt like winning.

And then, suddenly, as if he had somehow read your mind, he scrambled for the zipper of your dress, determined to even the playing field. You briefly pictured denying him, pictured staying clothed while undressing Minho, having that kind of advantage over him.

Tempting, maybe. But then you imagined the feel of Minho’s hands on your bare skin, and you made your decision pretty quickly.

Minho pulled down your zipper, building anticipation as he hooked two fingers under each of your spaghetti straps and slowly peeled your dress from you, letting it pool around your ankles.

His eyes dropped, and his expression changed.

“Oh, wow.”

You couldn’t help but grin slightly, glancing down at what you knew Minho was staring at. Your underwear was a matching set of pastel pink silk, with little hints of lace and ribbon, even a bow or two. You’d taken one look at it and knew it screamed princess.

“I always commit to my costumes,” you replied, refusing to feel even the smallest hint of embarrassment. It was hard to feel so anyway, with Minho staring down at you with dark eyes, drinking the sight in, amusement long since shifted into something else entirely.

He reached forward, tracing the ribbon at the edge of your bra cup with his thumb, before letting it sweep down over the lace – and right over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. “Were you expecting someone to see it?”

“No,” you admitted, half-tempted to arch your back, just to press your breast into the curve of his palm. “Nothing about this was expected.”

Minho hummed quietly in agreement, still taking his time admiring you. He grabbed at your breast, not quite rough but not entirely gentle, fingers splayed, making sure to drag his thumb back over your nipple as he did so. “I never imagined you wearing something like this.”

You were so focused on the weight of his hand on your chest that you almost missed the implication. Almost. “Imagined? You imagined?”

Minho’s eyes darted up to meet yours, looking caught out for just a moment before his expression smoothed again. “Sometimes. Occasionally.”

OK, you had to ask. “What did you imagine?”

“Not this,” Minho stated, stubborn, refusing to give a single detail.

Your mind whirred at the possibilities anyway. What? Did that mean it was the complete opposite of this? What was the opposite of this sugary pink ensemble? Black, sexy? Leather? A whole dominatrix-style thing, was that what Minho was into?

“Tell me,” you demanded, incredibly curious now.

He hesitated, before sighing. “…You know that red skirt you wear sometimes?”

Well, that was not where you thought this was going. “Yeah?”

“I’ve thought about you wearing it at debating. You’re stood behind the podium, most of you hidden from sight,” Minho described, and his voice slowly began to shift. “I’m stood behind you, like I’m reading your notes over your shoulder. You don’t look at me, but your legs part, just a little.”

Your breath caught, as his left hand brushed against your inner thigh, fingertips stroking circles into the sensitive skin there.

“You let me slide my hand up,” he continued, and slowly, his hand begins to drift upwards. “Because you want me to know you aren’t wearing anything underneath.”

Holy shit.

“And you want me to feel how wet you are, waiting for me,” Minho said, pausing his hand just a few inches from the edge of your underwear, waiting as he checked your face for any signs of protest.

You couldn’t imagine what exactly your expression was, but you’re certain that protest was probably the furthest fucking thing from it.

And so, his hand moved, cupping you through your underwear, feeling just how damp the fabric was. Your breath rushed out shakily at the first moment of contact, almost akin to a gasp, body shuddering.

“That’s what I imagine,” he said, and fucking shrugged, even as his thumb pressed directly against your clit.

You moaned, your hand immediately flying up to clutch at his shoulder for balance. Everything about Minho’s touch, the pressure, the pace, screamed relaxed. He wasn’t trying to do anything but just…touch you. Gauge your reaction.

You closed your eyes, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, as his fingers continued to work small, slow circles around your clit, still over the barrier of your excessively pretty underwear.

“Should have known,” you murmured, trying not to gasp, and trying not to push your hips towards his hands. “You’re the type to tease.”

Minho’s voice came low from somewhere above your ear, as his hand moved at that same maddening pace. “Not usually.”

“Ah,” you breathed, understanding. He was on the exact same wavelength as you. Every reaction sparked from the other was a victory, to be enjoyed, to be savoured. “I get it. I’m special.”

Minho murmured something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite make out, and pressed just a little firmer against you. You moaned from the surprise of it, burying your face further into his neck.

Beneath your hand, you could feel his dick twitch, now so firm and so insistently pressing against your hand that you knew it had to be aching, trapped in those skin-tight pants like that.

You moved your hand up, struggling briefly with how tightly his waistband sat around his hips, before your hand suddenly slipped inside, fingers grazing roughly against something slick and warm and hard.

Minho finally moaned, loudly, openly, hips bucking briefly up into your hand. “Shit.”

“What was that you were saying?” you asked, innocently, running your fingers back over what you knew to be his cockhead, teasing. “About no underwear?”

Minho sucked in a breath, and from where your head was resting in the crook of his neck, you could hear him swallow. “…These were already too fucking small.”

“They are stupidly tight.”

“Don’t act like you – fuck,” he hissed, cutting himself off. Probably because you’d squeezed him again.

His free hand found its way to the corner of your jaw, prying your face away from his neck so he could duck his head down and kiss you, hungrily. You reciprocated, basking in the way he groaned against your mouth.

And then, he asked. “Bed?”

You stilled, hesitating. “…Bed?”

Minho paused, pulling away a little to take in your expression. Immediately, you did your best to smooth it out, to appear unbothered, casual, fine.

He wasn’t fooled. “Is something up?”

You swallowed, still trying to maintain your composure. “Besides your dick? No.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, and faked one short, sharp laugh. “Ha. You’re so funny when you dodge the subject.”

“I’m not dodging anything,” you argued.

He paused again, waiting, watching you. And, after a moment, he pulled his hand away from your underwear to wrap around your wrist, gently tugging your hand out of his pants.

“OK, fine,’” you relented, composure cracking. That old familiar dread returned, lodging itself in the pit of your stomach. “I just don’t…do this. All this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, and towards the room at large. “The way it’s all spontaneous, I mean.”

“Me neither,” Minho said, calmly, still waiting expectantly. “What else?”

Fucker.

You scowled, jaw clenching, teeth gritted as you admitted. “And my experience in general, is…one could say limited.”

“I figured as much.”

“Rude,” you pointed out, vaguely offended. You’d had this man fucking shivering from just touching him. And what? Now, he was calling you inexperienced? Amateurish? Like he could tell the whole time? Bullshit.

“No, not…” Minho cleared his throat, looking mildly exasperated. It was a look you often inspired in him. “I don’t mind. That’s why I’m saying this, because I don’t want you pretending when it comes to shit like this. If you’re not going to be honest, I don’t want it.”

Honest.

Shit.

You hesitated, debating internally, weighing the pros and cons in your head. It was so fucking Minho to pick the most aggravating time to do the right thing. Of course, the one time that him being an asshole worked in your favour, he refused to do it.

“Fine,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fine. OK.”

He waited, eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from averting your gaze, looking up at the ceiling.

“Technically…technically,” you repeated, with emphasis, “one might argue that…I haven’t had sex yet.”

Minho stilled, staring at you, eyes widening.

You swallowed, trying to stay firm. “It’s really not a big deal…”

“It is,” Minho argued, tersely, but when you looked at his face, there wasn’t a hint of anger. There was, however, a strong hint of guilt in his eyes. You could practically see his thoughts, the way he replayed everything he’d done tonight, the fear that he’d done too much, come on too strong, picturing you as some blushing innocent virgin he’d deflowered–

“I’ve done everything else,” you said, eager to clear up that misconception. You were far from innocent, there was just one particular act you hadn’t gotten around to. “Hands, oral, all that. Done it. It’s literally the one thing that hasn’t…like, I’ve had relationships, it just never reached the point that…”

It always went around in circles. You wanted your relationship to be serious, to be settled and firmly established and in a good place before it happened – but the time it took to get there made your partners panic, made them think that to go so long without sex, without wanting them, the relationship must actually secretly be failing. And then you’d break up, and you’d be even more guarded and hesitant the next time, and on it went.

“And I’ve been busy with school and my career anyway,” you added, swallowing, forcing a shrug. “Who has the time?”

Minho was still staring at you, but at least the guilt had faded away.

He’d made no move to get away from you, at least, so you took this as a good sign. With a deep breath, you turned around and took slow, measured steps towards that ridiculously large bed, and looked him dead in the eye as you made a point of sitting down on it.

Doing your best to sound certain, reassuring, convincing without leaving a single bit of room for doubt, you spoke.

“I’m happy and comfortable with everything but sex-sex happening. So, if you want that…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase the thought in your head, before giving up with a shrug. “Tough shit, I guess. That’s my line in the sand. Everything else is fair game, though, so don’t get all…weird about it.”

“I’m not getting weird about it,” Minho said, stubbornly.

“You were. Just a little. Like you’re afraid to break me or something.”

Something sparked in Minho’s eyes, and he smiled slightly. “I’d never think I could do that.”

“Good, because you can’t,” you repeated, firmly. “There, honesty. Done. So, either come over here or leave.”

“Leave my own room?” Minho asked, amused.

“Yeah,” you said, doubling down, leaning back to plant both hands behind you on the bed. “It’s my room now.”

For a second, it looked like Minho was going to laugh. And then you caught the way his eyes began to lower, following the lines of your body, the way you were sitting on his bed, clad only in underwear, waiting.

He exhaled slowly, appreciatively. “…This is happening.”

You weren’t sure if that was aimed at you, or himself, but either way it didn’t matter much when he crossed the room in a flash. Barely taking the time to plant one knee into the mattress beside you, his mouth was on yours, hand on the back of your head.

It was a gentle gesture, sweet even, how he cradled the back of your head.

So, just to be certain that he knew exactly where you stood, and exactly how much patience you had for gentleness, you took his other hand and slid it into your panties.

Minho groaned, pulling away from the kiss to look down, and you felt his fingers slip through your folds, the movement made slick and easy by the way you were soaked.

��You’re so impatient,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound particularly annoyed about it. “All the time.”

“Yeah,” you replied, unapologetic. “I know what I want.”

“Mmhm. And so do I,” he said, and pulled his hand out of your underwear. You opened your mouth to argue, to question why, until you felt his hands move to your back, to the fastening of your bra.

He unhooked it easily, sliding the straps off your shoulders. Pushing up from the bed to stand tall, Minho let the bra fall from his hands, before reaching down to grab at your waist and pull you to standing.

He kissed you again, briefly, ignoring your bewildered expression, before switching your positions – him sat on the bed, you standing over him.

“These are staying on. They’re a bitch to peel off,” he told you, and your gaze was practically glued to his hand as it ran up his faux-leather-clad thigh before he gestured to your underwear. “It’s up to you, what you do with those.”

Your hand, unthinkingly, drifted to the lacy hem of your underwear.

“…What, no preference?” you asked him.

Minho stared at you, eyes dark, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly with knowing, and didn’t reply.

Heat flooded your belly. You swallowed once, and hooked your fingers around your waistband, stripping out of your underwear before you could think twice.

He reached for you immediately, his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. From what you could tell, he seemed to be guiding you towards straddling his lap – to which you took the slightest detour at the very last second, planting your knees either side of his thigh, the very same one that had been pushed between your legs on that balcony.

How very familiar a feeling. And yet, how very different, because now you were pressed against Minho’s naked chest, and when you kissed, one hand went straight to your bare breast, the other arm hooked around your bare waist.

Logically, you should have felt exposed – but there was very little room for logic here, not when Minho was squeezing you so tightly against him. You felt…enveloped by him. By his warmth.

It was…nice.

And then you finally let go of those last few traces of stubborn pride, and let yourself grind down on his thigh, and it was fucking fantastic.

You moaned, breaking the kiss to press your forehead against his, and rocked your hips faster. His thigh was so solid under you, thick bands of muscle from a lifetime of sports, clenching and unclenching. Heat pooled in your gut, spiking with every rock of your hips, every drag of your clit against him.

You felt Minho’s hand drop from your waist to curl around your hip, gripping tightly, urging you to keep moving. You pulled your face away from his, just in case – headbutting him in the nose, no matter the context, would very probably be a mood-killer – and instead lowered your head to plant kisses on the side of his neck.

Minho tilted his head back, just a little, granting you better access, his breath escaping him in one long, shaking exhale. You were forced to grip onto his shoulder with one hand, just to steady yourself, still grinding down on him.

Tension built between your legs, pulsing with every heartbeat as you continued to grind against him, and your kisses grew clumsier. Open-mouthed, harsher, teeth scraping against sensitive skin in a way that left Minho gasping.

“If I left marks, would it…” your voice was sluggish, raspy, dazed, “would…can I?”

It was a silly question, because the obvious answer was ‘no’, he wasn’t going to want any reminders of this temporary lapse in sanity.

And yet, Minho’s reply was immediate. “Yes. Yeah, you can, if…that’s…”

He broke off, with a noise so low in his throat that you could almost feel his chest vibrate from it, as your mouth latched onto his neck.

Your movements weren’t deliberate, not exactly. You had no strict intentions of marking up Minho’s skin, but it was just whenever it felt good. With every new sudden jolt of sensation shooting through your body, you sucked, leaving a path of your own pleasure scattered intermittently along his neck, the base of his throat, the swells and dips of his collarbone.

Minho reacted to each, and when you thought to look down, you saw his dick straining against his pants, so much so that it was even starting to pull his waistband away from his skin, revealing glimpses of what lay underneath.

You watched his hand lower to his crotch, as he tried to adjust himself, to figure out a way out of his discomfort. Without thinking, you reached down and pushed his hand away, letting your own slide into his paints.

Minho sharply inhaled, as you slid the palm of your hand over the head of him, letting your fingers grow slick, before wrapping your hand around his length.

He was hard, very obviously and very painfully hard.

And all of that was because of you.

Because he wanted you.

You felt your body physically judder at the thought, your thighs clamping around his. Something sparked inside of you. Up until now, you’d been turned on – obviously. You were naked on Minho’s bed and straddling his thigh, of course you’d been turned on, but it had been manageable. Like burning coals, smouldering, blazing hot to the touch, sure, but under control.

This, seeing him like this, was as if someone had jabbed right in the heart of those coals, oxygen rushing in and flames erupting, sparks crackling in the air. No longer under control, but all-consuming and desperate.

The muscles of your core clenched so tightly that it was almost painful, and with a ragged breath, you finally began to ride in earnest.

Minho clutched you with one hand as you moaned, his other snaking down to join yours on his dick. You let him guide your hand, controlling how hard you squeezed him, how slow you pumped him. Honestly, at this point, you didn’t have the concentration for it on your own, not when your legs were starting to shake with every new press of his thigh. You could feel something build, like a wave swelling, the crest just in sight but not quite…

“That’s it,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to your chest. His eyes were dark when he pulled back, watching the way you bounced. “You’re…God, you’re fucking hot, do you know that?”

His words only drove you further, stoking something within you, and you moaned in response.

“Oh, is that what you like?” Minho asked, eyes lighting at his new discovery. His moved the hand on your waist to settle on your breast, squeezing lightly. “Me telling you how good you look?”

“Minho,” you muttered, half-warning, half-longing.

“With our history, I’d have thought you liked me mean,” he continued, and you should have wondered where that smart mouth of his had been this whole time.

He leaned in, kissing your neck, following upwards, until he reached your ear.

“But that’s not it,” he observed, murmuring into your ear. His hand – the one on yours, the one helping you stroke his dick – quickened, gripping yours just a little tighter, and his breath caught for a second, before continuing. “You want to hear how good you feel. How good you are.”

You whined, your body faltering for a beat, before picking up again.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You like praise,” he said, so very confident. Knowing, almost, like there was something else to it. Something he recognised, intrinsically. “You want me to admit how…fucking perfect I think you are.”

“Minho.”

You felt him twitch under your hands, felt the way he reacted to the way you breathed his name.

“Because you are,” he said, the words falling from his lips, as you grew even more frantic. “You are, you are, you’re good, you’re perfect, you’re…fuck, keep going. I can feel how wet you are, you…”

Fuck, fuck, it was too good. Too good and yet not good enough. There were tears in your eyes and your legs burned from how tightly they were clamped around Minho’s thigh, how desperately you’d ridden him, trying to chase an orgasm you just…you just couldn’t quite…

“Maybe you should fuck me,” you whined, voice hoarse, shaking. You’d spent the last five minutes essentially edging yourself, your brain was fried, and all you could imagine was how easy it would be for Minho to pull you over just a short distance onto his dick, let it fill you, maybe it…

“Don’t. Fuck, don’t say that,” Minho gasped, trying and failing to make it sound insistent, final. You could see the effects of your words. He was tempted, he was sorely fucking tempted. You knew he was picturing the exact same thing that you were. “I’m not taking your virginity at a fucking house party. You…”

He broke off with a moan, letting whatever words that would follow die on his tongue as you squeezed him.

“I need…I need more,” you gasped, through gritted teeth. Your body was starting to betray you, your legs starting to give out before you could reach your climax.

You buried your face in his neck, panting.

“I can’t…fuck,” you moaned, before one little word fell from your lips, the one word he’d asked for so long ago, out on the balcony, “Please.”

With a sudden, sharp breath, Minho hooked his arm around you and rolled you over, pressing you into the mattress. Your hand slipped out of his pants as he moved, hurriedly, down your body.

He paused at the apex of your legs, glancing up. “Are you OK with–”

“Yes,” you hissed, your hand fisting in his hair and pushing him downwards. You were so close, you were so close, and his thigh wasn’t between yours anymore, and you just couldn’t… “Yes, fuck, please.”

You could glimpse the beginnings of a smirk as he followed your hurried pushing, but before you could even register it, you felt him lick one long stripe along you, and your head emptied of all thoughts.

His mouth was hot and wet and almost immediately targeted your clit, leaving you shaking as you ground up into his face without shame, chasing the orgasm that had been just inches away for so fucking long. You could barely breathe from it, each breath wracking your body in almost-sobs, every muscle stiff and coiled in desperation.

You felt Minho hook an arm under your leg, pulling it up so that it could sit on his shoulder, parting you just a little wider.

You arched your back, your head pressing even further into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. When you spoke, it was barely coherent, a loose string of words. “…H-hands, fingers…please, whatever it…Minho, I’m so close, I’m…ah…”

You felt him slide in a finger – two fingers? More? You didn’t know, you didn’t care, you just knew how close to the edge you were. Your muscles were locking up, body shaking, even as Minho placed his free hand on the curve of your hip, thumb brushing your skin in small, reassuring strokes.

Your grip in his hair tightened, mind going blank, tears in your eyes as you gasped. “Yes, keep – keep…keep–”

You came, and it felt like shattering. Your body’s muscles locked, rigid, shaking, as your own moans rang in your ears. At some point, your thighs had clamped around Minho’s head, your one anchor as you tried to come back down to earth.

It was like every rational thought, anything with even the slightest bit of complexity to it, evaporated. You were left weightless, on your back, dazed. Slowly, sluggishly, your gaze drifted to Minho.

What a sight, you thought. Pretty.

His cheek was pressed into the flesh of your inner thigh, skin flushed so pink, head tilted down so that most of his face was hidden by his rumpled hair. He was kneeling, and you saw that his hand had returned to his dick. It was as if he were trying to be discreet, almost quiet, even as he desperately pumped himself.

Barely even thinking about it, you reached down. His breath caught when you wrapped your own hand around him again, letting him guide your movements once more.

His head lifted, and you caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes looking up at you. Always so unreadable, even now, even when burning.

Your mouth moved before your thoughts could catch up. “You’re…”

You didn’t know how to finish that. Gorgeous? Annoying? Terrifying?

All of it was true, none of it felt right to say in that moment.

You just watched him, eyes locked, until he choked out a moan, squeezed his eyes shut, and came with a soft, low, “fuck.”

It felt dirty, almost voyeuristic, to watch him cum. But even if you didn’t look, you still would have heard him, you still would have felt it on your hands, your thighs. You still would have felt the way he slumped forward, head dropping to your chest, forehead pressed against the valley between your breasts, his quick, deep breaths against your skin.

You still would have felt the way it all fell quiet – until it was just you, Minho, and the impending repercussions of what just happened.

What you’d done.

What had you done?

Your head dropped back against the mattress, looking up at Minho’s ceiling but not really seeing it, as your senses slowly returned to you.

Shit. Fuck. Every other fucking expletive, they all ran through your head.

What the fuck had you–

Minho cleared his throat, lifting his head up off of you. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your face, and you tried to school your expression into something neutral, pushing down the storm of thoughts in your mind.

You didn’t know why, but you expected him to withdraw from you immediately. Maybe that was doing him a disservice, but it was true.

That was why you were so surprised by the kiss he pressed to your temple, strangely gentle, even as his usual sardonic tone crept back into his voice as he spoke. “Let’s clean up first, overthink later.”

“I’m not overthinking,” you argued immediately, because old habits died hard even in a fucking surreal situation like this.

He didn’t laugh, but there was the slightest twitch to the corner of his mouth as he replied. “Sure.”

He sat up, and you caught the way he winced, probably in newfound discomfort over the state of his…current attire. While he attempted to strip out of his ruined pants with anything close to dignity, you pushed yourself up to a seated position, trying to look anywhere but him.

What now? What now? It was all well and good for him not to overthink, but you couldn’t drive away the sudden flood of consequences that threatened to overwhelm you. Of all times, why did it have to be now, when you were forced to interact with Minho so much more? You’d have to work with this man for the next few months, fuck, you had to talk at the U.N. with him. What would people say?

What would Felix say?

Something powder-blue and soft entered your field of vision, smelling of detergent and lavender fabric softener. You blinked, looking up to find Minho offering you a towel, and you wondered how long you must have zoned out, wrapped in your own thoughts. There wasn’t quite a smile on his face – nothing so extreme like that from Minho – but there was something gentle in his eyes.

You took it, swallowing, and cleaned yourself up as best as you could. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Minho pull on a pair of black sweatpants – and when he straightened up to standing, you finally clocked the blooming purple marks littered across his skin.

“Oh, fuck, your neck. I’m so sorry,” you gasped, mortified at the blooming purple marks on Minho.

He glanced towards you, and gave you half a shrug. “It’s fine.”

They were very much not fine. They were prominent, the kind of hickeys you’d be embarrassed to leave on a long-term partner, let alone a…

A…

Well, whatever Minho was.

You swallowed. “It’s not, have you seen them?”

He paused.

“…Yes,” Minho replied, firmly, and there was something about his tone that made you stop, that made you stare at him.

He stared back, face perfectly neutral but refusing to look away. The implications were not lost on you, and your face began to warm.

Clearing your throat, you set the towel by your side and reached for your clothes, having to get up to pick up each item along the shameless trail that ran from the bed to the balcony doors, gathering them in your arms in a small, pink pile. “Please tell me you have your own bathroom.”

Minho laughed a little, nodding towards the door to your right. “Where do you think I got the towel from? Through there.”

You spent a few minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose yourself, trying to clean up properly, slipping your costume back on. The strange feeling in your stomach didn’t ease up, not even once. In the mirror, you looked almost exactly the same as you had when you first stepped into Minho’s room – but how was that possible, when everything had changed?

Fuck, just…you didn’t need to think about it. Deal with it later, deal with all of it later. You just needed to get out and get some space and distance and just…

You drew yourself up as high as you could, squaring your shoulders, and pushed open the bathroom door.

You found Minho standing in the middle of the room, seemingly in mid-step, turning quickly to face you. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was…what? Pacing?

“I can’t stay,” you stated, trying to sound firm. You mostly succeeded, were it not for the slightest hesitation you had, the faintest strain to your voice.

Minho paused, catching it immediately. “…Do you want to?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. It felt like a trap, even now, as if Minho was preparing to pull the rug out from under you. You wished you couldn’t imagine that level of cruelty, and yet you feared it, however irrational it was. “…I don’t want people to talk.”

Minho eyed you for a second, and yet again waited before he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words before they left his mouth. He settled for a very simple, very Minho statement. “Fuck people.”

At any other time, in any other situation, you would have rolled your eyes. You even felt the urge now, tied up in the same desire to go back to normal, to pretend everything was fine. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“It is,” Minho argued, but there was no irritation in his voice. Just quiet. “But I get it.”

“This was very…uh,” you swallowed. “…Impulsive.”

“Yes. It was definitely that,” he replied, and was he even capable of being any more cryptic?

You glanced away, finding it difficult to look him in the eye as you admitted, quietly. “…But, uh, good.”

Minho paused. “…Yep.”

Couldn’t he just say what he was fucking thinking? You needed to know, you needed to know if he was on the same page as you, if he was also thinking that it was too weird to just leave things like this. Silent and awkward and just…dancing around each other like this.

You swallowed, and folded your arms over your chest. You weren’t quite brave enough to look at him again yet, but you spoke up again. “Did you…have a good time too?”

And just when you were expecting another cryptic little non-response, Minho decided to cut straight to the point and catch you off-guard. “I had a great time.”

You blinked, shocked enough that your eyes darted back to him without a second thought. “…Good. That’s, uh…good.”

It was so strange to see him like this. Lee Minho, always so put-together, never a shred of vulnerability – and there he was, hair mussed, shirtless, barefoot, taking a breath as he tried to put together his next words.

“I had a great time,” he repeated. “With you. And…”

He stopped.

“And…?” You asked.

His mouth opened. Closed. And opened again. “…I…you don’t have to go.”

You felt something warm unfurl in your chest. “Minho, do you want me to stay?”

“…Yes.”

You took a step forward, tension melting from your shoulders, replaced with a new curiosity. You couldn’t quite believe this was happening, and yet…

Well, you couldn’t let him off that easily.

“Yes, what?”

He exhaled, making a sound almost akin to a huff. You recognised that sound, you knew it from debating, from arguing, from whenever you caught a weakness in his defence and pressed him on it. “Yes, I want you to stay.”

You took another step. “Why?”

This time, he scoffed, as if it could hide the slow flush of pink making its way up his neck. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and wow, this was fun. “Yes, you do. You’re too smart not to.”

You grinned. “Thanks, but no. You’re going to have to say it.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I am,” you said, without shame, and added. “You’re into that.”

He sighed, and gave in. “Yes, I am.”

“Well done,” you laughed, finally drawing it out of him. “You’re into me.”

Minho eyed you for a second, still just a touch out of reach. Like he’d done it on purpose, kept just enough space to protect himself.

You watched the way he hesitated, and for once, his mask slipped and his face gave away just a peek into what he was thinking. You could see the thoughts warring within his head, the way he hesitated before committing.

“…More than just that,” he said – he confessed – softly.

Just four words, but the meaning behind them was loaded. They hung in the air, obvious, weighty, vivid.

You froze, taking them in. You didn’t know why, you didn’t know how, but despite everything that had occurred tonight, Minho still had the ability to surprise you.

More than just that.

More than just…

Oh.

That was all your brain – your proudest attribute, your big, university-educated, sharp-witted genius brain – was capable of thinking.

Oh.

“So…” Minho said, before trailing off, watching you, and eventually forcing the smallest of shrugs. “Don’t go.”

You were still reeling. You tried to make it all fit, every piece of information you had. The gentleness he’d held you with, the strange softness he’d had, the look in his dark eyes when you threatened to find someone else to kiss, the way he smiled sometimes when you were trying to piss him off, the way he just…watched you in conversations, in arguments, like he was just as interested seeing you think as he was countering the words that came out of your mouth.

When you laid it out like that, when you visualised it like points in a debate – with so many in the for argument and frighteningly little in the against – it seemed so obvious.

“I…” your words came out hoarse, dazed. “…Yeah, I can…not go.”

Minho’s eyes searched every inch of you, trying to figure out what exactly you were thinking.

“…You look like you’re about to pass out,” he observed, bluntly.

“You just said you like me, can you blame me?” You asked, hysteria close to creeping into your voice.

Minho didn’t reply for a second, still watching you. “Is it such a surprise?”

“Yes,” you blurted out, instinctively, until you took a second to actually think about it. “…No? Yes and no? I don’t…you’re, like, annoyingly hard to read.”

“Am I?” Minho asked, but the corners of his lips were twitching, suggesting he already knew the answer to that. “I’d say the same about you, but honestly, sometimes you’re an open book.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Especially when you stare at my mouth.”

Your eyes snapped up back to his, blinking, caught. There was definitely amusement in his gaze now, a glimpse of relief creeping in.

You scowled, face beginning to heat. “You’re enjoying this.”

He smiled, not a trace of hesitation behind it, a real and genuine smile, and finally stepped towards you. “I absolutely am.”

“Assho–”

You were cut off, as Minho ducked his head down to kiss you, and you couldn’t even pretend to do anything other than respond eagerly.

The next time the two of you got coffee, on another cold autumn morning when you were ten minutes deep into a squabble over geopolitics that you were determined to win, Seungmin had the grace to at least act surprised when Minho bought you a muffin and slipped his arm around your waist.

“Wow,” he murmured, deadpan, watching the way you relaxed into Minho’s side, even as you unpicked every thread of his argument. “Gee. Who would have guessed?"

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sturn777 · 29 days

Note

hiii, can you do that reader is a influencer and LOVES 10 things i hate about you, so she's bestfriends w the triplets and matt is inlove w her and he invites her to see the movie (maybe in his house or in a cinema, idk) and in some moment they confess to each other :)

thanks<3

10 ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ

matt sturniolo x reader

no use of y/n

@st7rnioioss @its-jennarose @timmyscomputer @kriissy4gov @liz-stxrn @sunrisemill @mattssluttywaist @riasturns @mx0qin @junnniiieee07 @alorsxsturn @nonameisthegameandilovejake

Today had been long after filming with the triplets for a good few hours - for both your and their channel. First you had done baking then you had done Omegle like many of your fans had requested for your channel.

You had met the triplets through a social media post, you posting about how funny they were after one of your fans recommended them to you and Matt just so happened to scroll past and reply.

In all honesty, Matt wouldn’t usually comment on tiktoks or address anything - but he took a glance at you and thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Even in your state of pyjamas and messy hair, lying in bed whilst you recording a tiktok giggling to yourself. Utterly perfect.

After that you sent him a message through instagram to which he responded as soon as he saw the notification - again, not a normal occurrence. But he really couldn’t help himself.

When you and the triplets first collabed of course the ship comments came - and no surprise it was between you and Matt.

Now, your fans knew how much of a romantic you were since you were always sharing your love for the movie ‘10 Things I Hate about You’ all the time - so they immediately started comparing you to Cameron and Bianca. Claiming you’d be the sweetest couple in the world.

You had seen these comments and it wasn’t like you were acting on them, they just encouraged your crush. You already found Matt beyond attractive, sweet, caring, funny- you get it. But no way you would ever act on it.

Matt can remember the first time he had watched the rom-com. The two of you were sat on FaceTime and were talking about films - a common topic for the both of you.

“Have you ever watched 10 things I hate about you?” you asked him, sitting up in bed to get comfortable. The brunette racked his brain before shaking his head, to which your jaw dropped. “Matthew! What are you doing? Get off this phone call right now and watch it- do not talk to me until you have!” you exclaimed passionately, hanging up the phone to which Matt chuckled.

The boy sent a message: calling you rude for hanging up. He opened up Disney+ on his TV and began to watch the show

Ever since it had been the both of yours go to movie whenever you hang out. Playing cards? Chuck it on in the background! Cooking? Where’s the tv remote? Cant sleep? You guessed it!

The two of you lay down on his bed, the television in front of you playing your movie. Currently Kat was up in class reciting her poem - which you had memorised.

Matt watched you and smiled as you whispered the words under your breath as you had been doing the whole movie, he absolutely adored it.

He didn’t know where your obsession for the movie started but he could agree it was a good film. The two of you would send edits and tiktoks to each other about it constantly. Matt would use it as a way of silently confessing, and he knew that’s what he wanted to do.

“I don’t hate you, you know?” he hummed. Your head moved up to face him with your eyebrows furrowed, you laughed.

“Well obviously not.” you rolled your eyes playfully, rolling onto your stomach to face the boy fully, unintentionally getting closer to his face.

He swallowed lightly, “I actually really like you.” he tightly his head, his nose gently brushing yours. A smile crept its way onto your face uncontrollably, a pink blush joining along. You hummed, thinking he was playing with you.

“I really like the way you talk to me, I really like your hair.” he started listing, grabbing a piece of your hair and twirling it between his fingers as he held eye contact with you. “I like the way you can’t drive so I have to drive you everywhere, I like it when I catch you staring and you play it off, I like your airforces that you refuse to replace even though their beaten to the bone, I like the way we read each others minds, I like it when you prove me wrong even though I want to be right, I like the way your bad at lying and smile every-time, I like it when your make me smile, I like it when your around me, I like it when I get a random call from you and the conversation flows naturally, but mostly I like that fact that I like you.”

You stared at him speechless, a blush now gracing his face at the words coming out his mouth. When he finished he smiled at you sheepishly. He went to open his mouth again, to take away his words, but you got there first.

Leaning forward you placed a hand on his jaw and kissed him lovingly. He kissed back gently, smiling into it happily. Slowly you pulled away and giggled into his neck, him chuckling with you. “I hate you so much stupid!”

“No you don’t.” He teased.

“I really don’t.”

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mytaiyakeylover · 1 year

Text

so precious.

synopsis: you’re finally ready for your first kiss, but shoto can’t seem to get the hint.

pairing: shoto todoroki x gn!reader

warnings: none. just fluff, fluff, and even more fluff! well…maybe just one minor curse word.

word count: 1k

Heterochromia eyes blinked in confusion at the lonely piece of paper lying on the desk. The words 'Kiss Note' were written in cursive across the blank space. There wasn’t much else written on it, aside from one single sentence that said, ‘If you can guess how many times I’ve tried to kiss you this week, I’ll give you a big surprise<3’ —(Y/n).

Shoto furrowed his eyebrows as he read the words. An invisible question mark seemed to hang above his head. The boy scanned the nearly empty classroom, hoping to find your familiar figure. It was still early in the morning, and only a few members of the Bakusquad and some other students were present.

Your desk appeared empty, leaving him confused as you were usually one of the first to arrive at school. His gaze then returned to the note, the invisible question mark still very much present. He just couldn't seem to comprehend the message you had written. Have you been trying to kiss him? The aspiring hero struggled to recall any such moments.

A sudden gust of wind softly blew against the shell of his ear, accompanied by a quiet “Boo.” The dual-haired boy blinked at the familiar voice as a pair of arms sneaked around his waist. Your chin rested on his broad shoulder, and Shoto could see a small pout on your face.

“(Y/n)-chan,” the boy spoke, tilting his head slightly downward to get a better look at your expression. ”I'm sorry, but I can't remember any attempts you made to kiss me.” You huffed at that, arms unwrapping themselves from his waist as you crossed them over your chest. Cheeks puffed out frustratedly, making you look like an angry chipmunk.

“Does this mean that I won't be getting a surprise?” The expression on your boyfriend's face showcased nothing but utter cluelessness, making him resemble a confused puppy dog. You couldn't even bring yourself to be angry with him because of how adorable he looked in that exact moment. Though he had never been one for surprises, it still made him feel somewhat disappointed that he would not be receiving one from you now.

Shoto will admit, he did notice that you had been acting rather strange these past few days. For example, that brief moment when you had applied lip balm after commenting on how dry your lips were. He didn’t think much of that, but then you asked him if he wanted to try it out himself — which he did — and you ended up pouting for several hours straight, refusing to even look at him. Back then, he simply thought that you did not like to share your things with him and meant that he should go and buy one himself.

Truth be told, he still failed to understand how that could be related to your kissing attempts.

Then there was that time when you had introduced him to a strange game that was called the ‘Pocky Game’, where two people were supposed to eat one Pocky from each end, and the first person whose mouth comes off the Pocky or the player that gets to the middle first loses. He had found it pretty odd at the time as he didn’t understand what the main purpose of it was. Neither did you give any further explanation.

You didn't get to see who would win because Mina suddenly interrupted, dragging you away while claiming that you had something serious to discuss. Now, as he recalled that moment, he could faintly remember your shouts at the pink girl, whining about how she had just "ruined everything" while Ashido sounded like she was laughing at something extremely hilarious.

Lastly, he remembered yesterday evening when you had been watching a romantic movie together. The main leads were sharing a passionate kiss, and Shoto could still remember the way you sighed while saying, “I wish someone would kiss me like that.”

Was that what you were trying to do? Trying to get him to kiss you? Then why didn’t you just ask him? Shoto wouldn’t mind kissing you. That’s what couples do, right? He would be happy to fulfill your wishes.

“(Y/n)-chan, are you trying to say that you want me to kiss you?” His words were so blunt, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks heating up. You thought you heard some snickers and noticed more of your classmates entering the classroom. Mina sent you a cheeky grin and a thumbs up.

“Sho-chan,” you mumbled, hiding your now red face behind your hands. “You’re too precious, I swear...”

The dual-haired boy took a hold of your hands gently before removing them from your face. A faint pink hue dusting his cheekbones as he began to lean in. His lips were soft against yours. Warm, sweet and tender. It was relatively short, but for you, it felt like an eternity.

Hearts beating erratically within your rib cages, a stark contrast to the slow and sensual movements you were displaying. A part of you would like to continue, to never stop, and Shoto seemed to share your sentiment. He was such a good kisser, a part of you wondered if this really was his first time. He was just being so careful, like he was afraid to hurt you — were he to make any sudden movements. Treating you as if you were as fragile as glass.

However, the sweet and tender moment was short lived as a loud growl could be heard coming from behind, urging the both of you to finally break apart — albeit hesitantly. Then your eyes fell on a certain angry pomeranian who was thrashing around, while Sero, and Kirishima were struggling to hold back. A giggle escaped your lips as your (e/c) eyes made contact with his crimson. Right eye twitching he spoke in a low, irritated tone, “Get a room you damn extras.”

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theblue6ook · 13 days

Text

Other Lovers PT 4

Summary: After, Y/N’s ex-fiance cheated on her, she is in a state of depession and acceptance. Her ex is in the stage of bargaining.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Hello everyone. I’m back. Sorry, these were up later than they were supposed to be and thank you for being patient during my personal emergency. I also have two fics coming out soon! We’ll be back to our normally scheduled uploads ;) [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname]

Y/N was typically the early bird at the office. It was normal to see her trotting in around 6 am. She was a classic worker bee with a never-ending workload. Today was different. She officially arrived at the office around 4 am, still sporting her silk red gown. Mud and rubble hung from the wet hem. Blotchy and swollen from crying, her eye makeup barely clung to her cheeks.

Not sure where to go, or what to do, she lay on the Wayne Enterprise balcony, Level Fifteen. The sky was a deep, silky black. Y/N stared up into the dark void. She saw nothing. Honestly, you could never really see the stars in Gotham, not with the thick smog, but still, she stared, lying on the cold concrete.

If anyone saw her here, she was sure she would get fired. Or should be.

Y/N couldn't even remember what prompted her to come here. After catching Russ at Mary Anne's, or I guess catching him in his new apartment, she just started walking. It was completely on impulse. She didn't have a destination in mind, and yet, somehow, here she was. At the office, bathed in sweet darkness.

Her bare back pressed against the gritty concrete, hair fanning around her head. She slid her fingertips over her bare ring finger. It felt freeing. It felt lonely. My best friend of nine years. Gone. Sighing, she squinted up once against, trying to find the tiny lights behind the clouds. They were there. Somewhere.

Bruce perched on The Waldorf, one of the nearby buildings, and stared at Y/N, who lay emotionless. The black Gotham sky moved above her, surrounding her in inky darkness. She stopped crying a little over two hours ago but still did not move from her spot on the balcony. Bruce sighed, stepping off the rooftop to move in her direction.

He swung up onto Wayne Enterprises and moved into the penthouse. Still covered in his cowl and leather, Bruce moved toward his bedroom to grab some clothes. His goal was to get her off the balcony and out of the office before the morning workers started showing up. You can only keep employees off a closed level for so long, and he didn't want to raise suspicions.

Grabbing a plain black sweatshirt, Bruce swiftly tugged off his armored leathers and pulled the soft material over his head. He could blame his sweat on a morning workout. Throwing on some grey joggers, he took his personal elevator down to level fifteen. It only took him a few steps off the elevator before he could see her through the window panes. She laid still. Bruce would have thought she was asleep if it wasn't for her wide eyes still staring at the sky. Sliding the door open, Y/N sat up quickly and covered herself with her arms, shocked. It was almost as if she had just realized she was still wearing her silk gown.

Quickly and embarrassed, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" Bruce leaned against the doorframe, waiting for a response. Y/N turned away from him and huffed, laying back down. It didn't seem like she even knew the answer. "No one knew where you were. Not Carrie. Not Alfred. I was upstairs, so I figured I'd see if you were here."

"What were you doing at the office at 6 am?"

"At my penthouse, Y/N."

"Oh." Honestly, she had forgotten he had a penthouse. Bruce's richness tends to allude her. Hesitantly, she flipped her phone over, flicking the screen on. Six missed calls from Carrie. Seven from Alfred. She was so fucking screwed. "Shit."

Finally, Bruce walked over to her and bent down beside her. He tilted his head, looking at her. She sat in a damp dress, and her makeup had run down her cheeks, but she was still Y/N. He put his hands around hers and said quietly, "C'mon, let's get you upstairs. I'll let Alfred and Carrie know I found you."

Y/N finally looked up at him and lightly nodded. Pulling her off the ground, Bruce embraced her, rubbing his hands up and down her cold arms. Finally, he led her inside the office and up to the penthouse.

The penthouse held a different vibe than the office. Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of it. While the office had been consistently updated to balance the flow of working people, the penthouse seemed frozen in time. It held a gothic charm, something that could only be described as Old Gotham. Large, cathedral-like windows covered the living room wall, and jewel tones littered the surrounding area. It was similar in wood tone and style to Bruce's office now that she thought of it. Y/N couldn't help but wonder if this is what Wayne Enterprises had looked like in its heyday.

Placing his hand on the small of her back, Bruce led her to one of the plush leather sofas. He placed his hands on her biceps and spoke softly to her, "I should go tell Alfred and Carrie that I found you, but if you want to wash up, there's a bathroom in that room over there, okay?"

Y/N nodded once again, seeming to have lost all interest in talking. How could she talk when she was just so embarrassed? Not only did she call her engagement off, but now her boss had to take care of her. As Bruce walked off, she threw her head back groaning, and stood, heading towards the bathroom.

It's probably not employee etiquette to shower at your boss's house, but Y/N needs one. So she turned on the water. Hot. So hot, it almost burned her skin. She felt like she needed to scrub violently. Wash every cell Russ had ever touched, caressed, loved. The water pattered against the tile floors, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out her thoughts. What Russ had done had finally, really sunk in. It was branded into her mind. The way he thrashed against Mary Anne. The way he raised his hand to her. It was engraved into her bones.

She lifted her head to the faucet, letting the water run down her face. It was all getting so overwhelming. The fan. The water. The silence. The thoughts. Knocking. There was knocking. She quickly shut the water off. Wiping her face with a towel. How long had she been in here? “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving some clothes out for you. I have to go run down to the office. There’s a meeting.”

“I can come with you-”

“No. Stay up here.”

Throwing a towel around her, she approached the door and cracked it a decent amount. “I can seriously change and come with you.”

“I think you should stay up here," he argued, "Mental vacation.”

“I don’t want a mental vacation.”

“You’re taking one.”

“Fine,” she sighed.

“I’ll be back in 30," his eyes quickly darted to her bare legs, "Just get comfortable and hang out until I'm back."

She watched him look back at her one last time before finding his way out of the bedroom. Turning toward the bed, she noticed a pair of sweats neatly folded. She picked up the sweatshirt, folded it in her hands, and slipped off her towel. You never realize how tall a person is until you try on their clothes, and this pair of sweats swallowed her whole. She had noticed they looked worn well. Curious, she brought the sweatshirt up to her nose and breathed in. The scent could only be described as Bruce.

There was a light hint of cologne, something expensive, surely, but overtop of that, she could smell rain. Gotham rain and leather. These were no back closet finds. These were his. She wasn't sure why she felt surprised. It was his penthouse, and they were his clothes, but the sentiment made her grin.

Stepping out of the bedroom, her pants dragged against the ground. She stepped over to the leather couch once again and buried herself into the pillows. Staring up at the ornate ceiling, she grabbed her phone off the coffee table, ready for the insane amount of calls that awaited her.

She turned her phone in her hand and finally switched off the Do Not Disturb. She expected calls from Carrie or Alfred, but immediately a call from Russ came through. She denied it. Another call from Russ. Denied. Looking through her phone history, he had now called seventeen times. Lighting up her screen once more, there was another call from Russ. Frustrated, she answered it.

“Usually when someone is denying your calls it’s because they don’t want to fucking talk to you.”

“Babe-”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not anything to you. Clearly.”

“It wasn’t like that. It was a mistake. After, all the things we’ve been through Y/N-”

“That’s what makes it so much worse. All of that and still you find someone else-”

“It wasn’t like that-”

“You were moving in together, Russ!” She sat up, angrily.

“I made one mistake. One fucking mistake, Y/N. I don’t think that’s worth giving up on us.” She rolled her eyes. Here he goes again, saying the same shit.

"Maybe it's you, Russ. Maybe you're not fucking worth it," she spat at him, tears in her eyes again. She didn't mean that, and she knew it, but some part of her hurt, and it wanted him to hurt too.

“You think it’s been easy with you? You think you’re a cakewalk, Y/N. I just needed someone who’s not all about work all the time. Someone who makes time for me.”

“Great. Hope you got her.”

“You’re not better than me, Y/N. You’re not.”

“I never said I was.”

“No, but you’re acting like it,” he said. “Besides your job, what do you even bring to the table?”

“What table, Russ? You can’t afford one.”

She heard him promptly cut the line. Angrily, she chucked the phone into the couch diagonal from her. Russ was always like this. A glass canon. He could dish it out, but the minute it came back around, he could never take the heat. Hearing a ding come from the elevator, she turned with a frustrated look on her face.

“Woah,” Bruce raised his hands, “I’m back early I know, but let's take a breath.”

Y/N rubbed at her eyes, and looked back up at him, “You went down to the meeting in sweats?”

“I said I was going. I didn’t say I was looking nice," he defended himself, and for the first time in fourteen hours, Y/N began to chuckle. Gradually, her chuckle turned into a deep laugh, and she laughed hard. "Oh god. What is my life? I can't believe you went down there like that."

“I look better than you did earlier,” he said, plopping down beside her. “Besides, I didn’t really sleep last night. I’m tired, cut me some slack.”

“Yeah, same,” she whispered.

Silently, Bruce sat thinking. He looked over at her one more time before opening his arms to wrap around her. She let him wrap his hands around her waist, but she didn't expect him to pull them down onto the couch. Pushing up onto his chest, she looked at him bewildered. He glanced at her with a lazy grin, “Let’s just take an hour-long power nap. Right here.”

“You do know you have like seven beds up here right?” she whispered to him, like they were the only people in the world.

Bruce grinned at her once more, opening her arms to give her a chance to escape. Instead, Y/N grinned back. Just this once, she was going to cut herself some slack. Slowly, she leaned down, placing her cheek against his jaw, and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Their bodies easily slid together, legs molding, arms wrapping around each other. The scent of leather and rain flooded her senses. She had never felt so safe. @pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess

#batfam #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batmom #bruce wayne #batboys x reader #slow burn

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kimi240302 · 3 months

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Come back to me Part 1

A/N: Before you read this, I want you to know that my native language is different. So I am very sorry for any mistake. Nevertheless, I hope you will like my story and enjoy it.

Summary: The love story between Alec Volturi and Y/N Swan, was an unexpected one. Both didn't know what to make of each other when they found out they were soul mates. But they worked on it and created a beautiful strong love that not even Bella's hatred for the Volturi could destroy. But as in any good love story, tragedy was impossible to avoid in theirs. It came as unexpectedly as their love itself, and made the Cullens and Bella seem to win, while Alec and the Volturi were losing their light in the darkness.

Alec Volturi x Swan!Female!reader

Main Post / Twilight Masterlist/ Come back to me Masterlist

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"I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night me met I dont know what I´m supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you"- Lord Huron/ The Night We Met

Helplessness or powerlessness

Alec didn't know exactly which feeling had been eating away at his insides every day for the past two months, or was it perhaps both? Ever since he'd gotten the call from the Cullen Doctor that the woman he loved more than anything in the world was on the verge of death, Alec had felt like he was in a freefall into darkness. He was not present and yet not absent enough to be able to shut off his emotions from the pain he felt all the time.

Lost in thought, he looked down at his mate and ran soothing motions over her hand that lay in his. Y/N was still lying in the hospital bed in the hospital room in the city that Alec Volturi had learned to hate even more in the last two months than he had hated it before, Forks.

He had not been told exactly what had happened to her, because no one knew for sure how Y/N had left the road with her car and ended up in the lake. There was no storm that evening, no wet or slippery roads or anything else that could have caused the accident. The rest of the facts were also just speculation. Y/N had managed to get out of her car, but the temperature of the water was too cold for her to have the strength to swim to the surface afterwards. She had lost consciousness and only survived by pure luck. This lucky charm was called Jacob Black. He and the other wolves had heard the crash and had run as fast as they could to the lake.

"I always thought that our twentieth birthday would be the only bad memory that would burn itself into my brain and never want to leave." Alec looked away from his sister and ran both hands over his face. He felt something he hadn't felt in several centuries, tiredness. The vampire would love nothing more than to lie down next to his mate, close his eyes and simply sleep away Y/N's absence. But he had long since lost this ability, something he had never regretted until this moment.

Jane, who was standing at the window, looked at her brother in shock. It was the first time she had heard him speak since Y/N's accident, she had come back to check on him every now and then and had never been able to get more than single words out of him. The second thing that shocked her was that she and her brother had never spoken about what had happened, not since they had both turned. Jane sat down in the chair next to Alec and looked at him searchingly. "I'll be honest with you, brother, I've forgotten exactly what happened. Either it was too long ago or my memories are trying to protect me." Alec turned to his sister in surprise. "Really? My memories want to torture me, in this case, I guess. I remember every little detail."

He fell silent for a few moments, turned his gaze away from Jane and looked through the window at the cloudy sky. He had to grin slightly. He hated this town and yet its weather seemed to know exactly how the vampire felt at that moment.

Alec noticed how his sister's gaze seemed to bore deeper into his side profile with every passing second of his silence. His gaze lingered stubbornly outward as he continued. "I remember how you, me and mother were eating dinner when the villagers kicked down our door. I remember them chasing us through the forest with flaming torches and insults. I remember how we were captured and dragged to the dock on the shore. How we were tied to a stake on a pyre and insulted further. I remember mom trying to get to us and fighting against the people holding her. I remember how she broke free. How they grabbed her just before the stake and pushed her to the ground. I remember how she was kicked by the people she had known since childhood. I remember her choking on her own blood." Alec turned his head back to Jane. "But you know what the worst memory from that day is?" The blond vampire shook his head. "The flames. I remember the pain and the smell of our skin burning off piece by piece."

There was an intense silence between the two siblings for a few moments.

"Since when do you remember every detail?" Jane's voice had changed to a soft tone that she only used with her brother and Y/N. Alec's eyes drifted to his mate, reflecting the pain of the last few weeks. "Since the day I saw her lying here like that. Since then, I can't get it out of my head that fate always manages to sweeten my life, only to ruin it afterwards." The black-haired vampire jumped up and walked over to the window. "Alec, Y/N is alive. Carlisle…" "The Cullen doctor, doesn't know if she's waking up. He doesn't even know if she'll ever be able to breathe on her own again without that machine." Alec ran his fingers through his hair again.

His gaze wandered to the machine that displayed Y/N's vital signs and beeped along with her heartbeat. He looked at the machine, from which a tube led into his mate's throat. Alec knew that if it wasn't for that tube, his lover wouldn't even be breathing. The vampire took a closer look at Y/N. Alec swallowed, because there was hardly anything left of the girl from two months ago. Her skin was white and stretched against her body so tightly that you could see every single bone. Her cheeks were sunken and black spots had formed under her eyes. Her hair looked dull as it had lost its shine.

"I should have kept her in Volterra and bitten her the first time we met. Then she wouldn't have had the idea to come back here." Jane stood up instantly and stood in front of her brother, drawing his gaze from his mate. She put her hands to her brother's cheek and looked deep into his eyes.

"Alec, if you had kept her in Volterra the day she was dragged into our world without any preparation and turned her against her wishes, do you really think Y/N would have fallen in love with you? Do you think she wouldn't have listened to the Cullens and seen you for the monster you are to that clan? She would have hated you for the rest of your immortal lives. You would never have been able to reach her." Sadly, Jane turned her gaze to Y/N and back to her brother. "If she doesn't survive this, which I hope she doesn't, at least you had a time together with her that you would want to remember. Y/N loved you and always will. Hold on to that Alec, I beg you not to lose hope now."

Alec let his head grow heavier in his sister's hands. "What if I bite her now…. Maybe I can end this nightmare." Alec lifted his head stepped away from his sister and began his pacing. "I should never have let her go to Forks. The Cullens and her sister don't care about her safety like me, you, or the rest of the Volturi!" His eyes wandered helplessly back and forth between his sister's face and the lifeless-looking body of his mate. The feeling of powerlessness spread through him again, drilling into his bones like a disease.

Jane shook her head. "Carlisle said that our poison might just kill her faster and you couldn't stop her from coming to Forks. After all, she wanted to say goodbye to her father. You know she wouldn't have been able to see her father after her transformation." "Then I should have gone with her…" "Alec, you can't undo what happened. So stop blaming yourself." "I can't lose her Jane, I can lose anyone but her." Jane nodded knowingly. "I know Alec." She whispered. Alec stopped and accepted his twin's embrace. He tightened his hands in her top and lowered his head into the crook of her neck.

They were both there when their master Marcus lost his mate and how he was broken by it. They also saw how he suffered every day. Jane didn't want her brother to suffer the same fate. That's why she had taken the message that Y/N wanted to be turned very well. That way, the young girl would be out of the danger of being human. But ever since the call had arrived in Volterra saying that Y/N was on the brink of death, the thought that Alec could end up like Marcus was a shadow of every action the siblings had taken. Jane couldn't lose her brother and even if the blonde vampire didn't want to admit it, the same was true for Y/N. For the young girl had burned herself into her cold, non-beating heart. Jane also knew that it wasn't just her, but every single vampire who lived in Volterra.

Y/N had earned the nickname "The Sunshine of the Volturi". Because no matter how many prejudices the Cullens and her sister had tried to put into Y/N to turn her against the Volturi. The young woman had created her own images of each individual vampire, which placed her in a special role for each one. For the three kings and their wives, she became a daughter, someone they all wanted to take under their wing and show everything the world had to offer. To Felix, Demetri, Santiago, Afton, Chelsea and Jane, she became a sister. For the rest of the Volturi guard, she became a friend. For Alec, she became his companion, the love of his life and his best friend. What united the Volturi was one thought when it came to Y/N; they all wanted to protect her, whatever the cost.

Alec detached himself from his sister completely, walked around her and sat back down by his mate's bed.

"I'm so sick of this hospital room." He murmured. Carefully, Alec reached for Y/N's hand and clasped it with both of his. Slowly, he brought it to his mouth so he could leave a kiss on her fingers. Alec cursed his vampire existence at that moment, more than on other days. Because she had taken away his ability to cry. All he could utter was a silent whimper. Alec carefully placed Y/N's hand back on the mattress. He leaned towards the bed so that he could place one of his hands on her cheek while the other stroked tenderly through her hair. His eyes clouded over with pain.

"Did you know that you are so important to the Volturi that even the kings themselves were here to see you? Although Master Aro could see you through Demetris or through someone else, all three wanted to see it with their own eyes." He paused for a few seconds. "I think by now every Volturi has been here once. Your sister and the Cullens throw a fit every time they see another one of us." Jane quietly sat back down in her old seat and watched her brother closely. He removed his hand from her cheek and placed it on Y/N's hand.

"What I want to say to you, my Love, everyone misses you and everyone prays, I don't know to what or to whom, that you will open your eyes and brighten our lives with your light again. Volterra is so cold and dark without you. I miss you, so terribly that I can't even describe it anymore." Alec bit his lips and squinted his eyes. Jane placed her hand over Alec's and Y/N's. "Y/N I beg you come back to me, don't leave me behind in this world."

Jane opened her mouth to say something reassuring, but she was startled and looked down at the hand she had placed on her brother's and Y/N. Alec's eyes snapped open too, his movements in Y/N's hair stopped.

"Tell me you felt that too! Tell me I'm not going crazy Jane!" Jane just looked stunned at their joined hands and then at Y/N's face. "Alec…" Alec took his eyes off the hands and looked at his sister. She pointed at Y/N with her free hand, "Look!"

Y/N's eyelids twitched slightly and all hell broke loose.

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@rosedpetal @bofadeezs

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cobaltperun · 4 months

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Lost (14) - Collide

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 5.1k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Where do we go from here when they're tearing down our lives?-

The steaming mug of hot chocolate, a warm blanket, and another night all alone. If only there weren't so many memories tied to this house she would have moved somewhere, at least to an apartment or something. It was just too hard to think of anywhere else as her home. Even now that she had a second chance in you.

In a way, at the very least.

You've said it once, you're not Zack. You're still the only family he had beside her. At least as far as the family that accepted him goes. So, in a way, you were the only living reminder of him. You made her so happy when you visited her. And you brought the most wonderful, loving girl, with you.

Her phone suddenly rang. Maybe it was you, she rarely got calls from anyone else, but you made sure to call every now and then. Then she'd get to talk to you, Tara, and sometimes even Sam. Now that she thought about it, she had an unread message from you, she got it while she was at work and then it slipped her mind to read it later. That was probably why you were calling. So, Susan picked up her phone.

"Hello, Susan," she didn't recognize the voice. Maybe it was one of the patients from the hospital, or a doctor or a nurse she rarely talked to.

"Hello, I'm sorry, but who is this?" she took a sip from her mug, waiting for the answer.

"Oh, no one important. I was actually calling because of Y/N, she told me you are her half-brother's mother and that if anything happened, I could call you," Susan immediately sat up straight at that.

"Did something happen to her?" she wanted to hang up and call you right away.

"Not yet, no, but it could. So, what's your favorite scary movie?" Susan, having read the books after what happened to you, recognized the line. She remembered the state you and Tara were in when you came to her house.

If what she heard was true she was done for. The killer was with her. So, she hung up, quickly opening the messages. She didn't even get to type a single letter before a knife stabbed her back. She cried out, dropping her phone. The piercing of her flesh continued as the figure of a masked monster in black robes came into her line of sight. The stabs would have been enough, but the killer made two deep cuts on the crooks of her arms. She'd bleed out slow enough for it to hurt, but quickly enough so that no one could help her.

And then the monster left her, lying on the floor.

She could barely move her arms, but the adrenaline still pumping through her veins helped her reach the phone. She managed to type exactly three letters as her vision became blurry and hit send. She wouldn't be found until two days later when a neighbor noticed her doors were left wide open.

Thousands of miles away, all the way in New York you were woken up by your phone. You groaned, reaching over to your nightstand, and seeing the message. You smiled. Leave it to Susan to respond with only one word.

"Mhmm, Y/N," Tara hid her face from the light coming from your screen.

"Sorry, Love. It's Susan. I'm guessing she's down to spend Thanksgiving with us," you kissed the top of Tara's head when you felt her smile against your neck. It was Tara's idea, really. So, you went and invited Susan to spend a week in New York, since you hadn't seen each other ever since you came to New York.

Her response? Fun. You figured that was a 'yes' and sent her a thumbs up, which she immediately read. No response came, but you expected that. You'd just call her after you figure out a proper plan for that week. Which would have to wait, because you had another exhausting week ahead of you.

~X~

Nine, god damn, hours. You felt like you were just about ready to kick Thomas' ass for just dropping a two-week-long vacation on you out of the blue. If only it was your vacation.

So, instead of canceling his classes you were replacing him. Instead of doing the morning sessions and the second afternoon training session, which would mean 4 and a half hours at the gym, you were stuck with Thomas' sessions as well. Which basically meant you were at the gym from 6:45 am to 10:15 a.m., then again from 11:45 a.m. to 3:15 p.m., and finally from 4:45 to 8:15 p.m. So, nine hours of training people and an hour and a half to keep the gym running. By the time you came home after the third training session, you were too exhausted to do anything.

Tara hated it even more than you did. You tried, you really did, you'd go back home after each double training session, and you'd buy flowers, things like that, but it didn't help much. You loved how needy Tara was, how she wanted to spend time with you, to be held by you. Right now, her neediness proved to be a double-edged sword.

You tried to watch a movie with her, but you fell asleep. Tara understood that. She did not understand how you fell asleep last night while she kissed your neck. She wouldn't even look at you, or speak to you when you dropped by after morning sessions.

That's how you ended up right where you were now. Waiting for Sam, because you had a feeling it would be better if Sam was with you when you came home. You couldn't be more thankful when she came out of the therapy much sooner than she was supposed to.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," you greeted the moment Sam got into the passenger seat. Then you noticed the look on her face, that defeated look that told you she opened up a bit and it didn't go well. "Rough therapy?"

Sam looked at you, her eyes softening as she noticed just how tired you looked. "Rough day?"

You turned the engine on, loving the way the car came to life. "You have no idea," you sighed, just ready to get home, take the coldest shower possible to keep yourself awake, and hopefully make up for the last night's inability to stay awake. At least driving wasn't an issue. You never bothered to seek an explanation, but whenever you were driving you were completely awake, no matter how little sleep you had, or how tired you were. Step out of the car, sleepy, behind the wheel, completely awake.

"Tara?" Sam guessed, though that probably wasn't difficult, you saw how cranky Tara was this morning. Sam must have seen it as well.

"Uh... let's just say I fell asleep when I shouldn't have," you blushed, hoping that Sam wouldn't question it further.

"You've been exhausted ever since Thomas left, I'm sure Tara understands that," Sam did not avoid further questioning.

"Yeah, not when you fall asleep while your girlfriend is kissing your neck," you grumbled through clenched teeth. You didn't need to turn to look at Sam, you could feel the incredulous look on her face. In your defense, Tara was warm, and lying on top of you, and you were tired, and the kisses felt really comforting and good. Comfy and sleepy was a combination not even you could beat.

Sam suddenly began stifling a laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just funny," well, you'd probably laugh about it once Tara gets over it. "You two will be fine, Tara just misses you, you know?"

You nodded, not taking your eyes off the road. "I know, Sam, I miss her too," you couldn't help but smile, it was just a small lover quarrel, not even that, really, since you didn't have the capacity to participate.

"I have an idea," you were vaguely aware of Sam pulling out her phone. Was she calling Tara? Probably.

No one answered though and you were suddenly reminded of what happened roughly four months ago.

"You know you're supposed to pick up when I call," Sam's concerned voice made you even more worried. "I got out of therapy early and Y/N is driving me back home. I was thinking we could cook dinner tonight. I mean, if that's what you'd like," she left the message and sighed.

"She probably, ah, I don't even know, maybe her phone is charging?" you were grasping at straws, but you weren't ready to think of the other options just yet.

"Or she's at a party, Omega something," Sam buried her face in her hands, trying her best to not get frustrated right away.

"What party?" shit, you were starting to think falling asleep last night was the worst possible timing, ever.

"There's a frat party tonight, she really wanted to go, but I begged her not to," the arrangement you and Sam managed to get Tara to agree to, remained unspoken.

After Tara first disappeared and went to a party the three of you came to an agreement. She could have her parties, as long as you or Sam were with her. Mindy or Chad wouldn’t do, Tara refused to listen to them, she refused to stop unless you or Sam made her stop, and as worried about Tara as they were, they didn’t exactly want to go to parties to babysit her. You wouldn't stop her from having fun or drinking until she reached a very specific point between drunk and no longer aware of what was happening.

You hated just watching over her, but you tried to step in sooner exactly one time before she got drunk. The next time there was a party Tara went and disappeared again, so you just figured it was better to stay by her side and make sure she was fine than to drive around the whole damn city looking for her.

"I don't know how to reach her, Sam," the mental toll of watching Tara cope in one of the worst ways possible was slowly getting to you. You'd do anything to get her to stop drinking like that, but she just wouldn't listen to you. "Should I just drive straight to that party?"

Sam thought it over. "Let's check if she's home first."

You both knew it was extremely unlikely, but you still hoped.

You hoped even as Sam unlocked the apartment, but you couldn't hope once it was clear Tara wasn't there. You leaned against the wall, completely awake now. "She didn't even bring her taser," you pointed out, huffing as you began pacing the apartment. You knew you should already be heading out to find Tara, but you just needed a moment.

"I'll go get her, rest for a bit," you wanted to argue when Sam said that, but honestly, you just felt relief. "I'll call you if she's not at that party."

"Thanks," you just let her, not sure how drunk Tara would be, or if you were ready for another hunt all over New York, so if you could delay it even for ten or fifteen minutes, you'd accept that opportunity.

"How the fuck am I supposed to help you, Tara?" you leaned back against the sofa, letting your eyes close just for a moment. The next time you opened your eyes it was because of your phone ringing. "Did you find her?" you immediately got up, ready to get the car keys if Sam didn't find Tara.

"I did. She's pissed though, she should be at the apartment in a minute or two," Sam warned you.

"She's pissed? Brilliant! Just perfect!" you hung up just as you yanked the doors open and saw Tara climbing up the stairs.

"Don't you even start!" she yelled the moment she saw your mouth opening.

You felt really close to snapping as you stepped outside the apartment to meet Tara. "Oh, I'm sorry, did your party get interrupted?"

You could see she was going to walk by you and get inside, but the mocking in your tone made her halt right next to you. "It did! And you know what? I was about to hook up with a guy!" if you were any less tired, any more attentive to the way her eyes immediately filled with regret when she said that, then maybe you would have been able to control your temper.

Not tonight though. "Well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time you were with someone while loving me, now, would it?!"

Tara recoiled as if you slapped her. "Do not bring Amber into this, Y/N!"

"Hey, come on, this isn't like you," Chad tried to get between you two.

"Stay out of this," you warned, but Tara was already heading inside.

"No need! We're done talking!" she yelled while marching to your room.

"Oh, no, not this time, Tara!" you went after her, catching the doors just as she was about to slam them shut.

"What do you want, Y/N?! I'm living my life, you hear me?! it's mine, not ours!" she screamed, pushing her finger into your chest. "You're possessive, you won't let me go to any party alone; you've become even more controlling than Amber!"

You threw your hands up in the air, just for a moment looking anywhere but at Tara. "Maybe I wouldn't have to be if you had an ounce of self-control! Or do I need to remind you how I found you the two times you were at a party on your own?!"

"What of it? I ended up in a bad place twice, and? Surely, I've run out of all the awful things that can happen to me by now!" she was having difficulty breathing and the red haze that had overcome you faded away.

"And if you haven't? If someone takes advantage of how drunk you are?" you stopped shouting, even though some of the anger was still there.

Tara just shrugged. "Add it to the list, I guess," you stepped away from her and went outside the room. "Y/N!" she gasped your name but didn't come after you, a coughing fit kept her in place.

You came back to the room, unpacking the inhaler you got a few days ago. "Your current one ran out, right?" you pulled her down to sit next to you and brought the inhaler to her mouth. "I can't, Tara, I can't take it if something happens to you again," you could only hope she would finally hear you. Judging by the way she clung to you, gripping your shirt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, a tiny bit of you hoped she would hear you.

"You're not angry with me?" she asked, tired of shouting as well, tired of being angry, of not having you around since you started covering Thomas’ part of the training.

You almost told a lie. "I am, but I'm more worried about you than I'm angry at you," especially when her asthma gets triggered. At that point, any argument can wait and you guessed those pauses also made both of you calm down.

"I wasn't really going to hook up with anyone. I just wanted, I don't even know what I wanted. To make you angry, or to hurt you, I guess? I regretted it the moment I said it," she confessed, tentatively climbing into your lap for comfort.

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension between you two dissipating with every moment.

"I'm not messed up," she whispered into your ear, the desire to continue what she started last night evident in her eyes, but you shook your head.

"No, you are. You are still drunk," you weren't about to do anything with Tara while she was even slightly drunk.

Tara responded with a huff and pulled back from you as much as she could while still sitting on your lap. "Fine, fine," she knew better than to argue with you on that.

A knock on the doors caught your attention and Tara got off your lap so you could go and open the doors.

"Oh, thank God you're not fighting anymore," Anika said as soon as she noticed neither one of you was frowning.

"Told you love birds would be fine," Mindy patted her on the back.

Chad coughed. "More important things people," he reminded the two and you tilted your head to the side. "You need to see this," he pointed toward the TV and you felt a shiver run down your spine due to the worried look on his face.

You couldn't believe the nightmare was starting again. Someone was brutally stabbed and a Ghostface mask was found at the scene of the crime. Even worse than that Mindy recognized the names and from the look on Tara's face so did she.

"You know them?" you asked as you sat down next to her.

"Barely, not that it matters, this isn't about us," you could see the worry in her eyes, the fear that it actually was about all of you.

That's when Sam came in, followed by a guy you came across every now and then. Danny? Tara thought something was going on between Sam and him, but she didn't have proof and you weren't about to ask Sam if she wasn't going to talk.

The moment Sam figured out what was going on it was like someone flipped a switch. "Pack a bag, we leave in ten," you and Tara just looked at each other.

"Sam! Wait, Sam!" Tara went after her into the kitchen.

"We're leaving town," Sam ordered, not even for a moment considering Tara's objection.

You walked in, hugging Tara around her waist from behind to calm her down, she just had an asthma attack and you wanted her to feel safe. "Sam, you know running away didn't work last time," sure, you came back to Woodsboro willingly, but Amber and Richie were going to use Chad, Mindy, and Liv as bait anyway.

"It'll work this time," Sam picked up the biggest knife you had and went back to the living room.

Tara got out of your hug but began holding your hand. "Hold on, let's talk for a second. 'Cause this might not have anything to do with us," Tara followed after Sam, trying to reason with her.

"Are you serious?" Sam demanded, finally turning to look at Tara.

"It's a big city! It's Halloween. Everybody's wearing masks! You don't know-"

"Tara! Tara, this isn't a coincidence! You knew him!" Sam interrupted.

"Barely," Tara leaned back into you, prompting you to once again place your arms around her waist.

"Chad, Mindy, back me up," Sam turned to the twins.

"I mean it is a bit..." the expression on Chad's face showed he agreed with Sam.

"Too close to home," Mindy basically finished for him.

"Sam, we finally got our lives together here," you took Tara’s side, yes there were issues, yes, Tara wasn't handling things properly, but you were building something here.

"We'll do that again, somewhere safer," Sam assured you, not even wasting a second to push back against any arguments in favor of staying.

"So, you're just making the unilateral decision to abandon my and Y/N's college education and flee the fucking state!" Tara clenched her fingers around your hands. The weaker grip in her left hand nearly made you reconsider.

"Y/N," Sam turned to you, looking for support. "Please don't take Tara's side just because it's Tara."

You shook your head. "Sam, I'm not going to run every time there's a hint of danger. If we do that we'll always be on the run, I won't live like that and if Tara doesn't want that-"

"Which I don't," Tara quickly chimed in.

"Then I won't let you force her to live like that," you could feel Tara's anxiety rising as Sam remained silent.

And then the phone rang, and Tara nearly jumped in your arms. She wasn't the only one affected, everyone was put on edge by Sam's phone ringing.

Sam went over to the phone and rejected the call. "It was Gale," she said, which wasn't a good sign. Especially since Gale's book didn't exactly make any of you the fans of the reporter.

"Why did everyone freak out when her phone rang?" you almost forgot Ethan was there.

"You gotta keep up, my dude," Anika just told him.

Sam's phone rang again, this time from an unknown caller, and though anxiously she still picked up. "Yes?"

There was a pause for a few moments. "Yes, it's me," Sam replied to whoever was on the other side of the line. "Okay, okay, I'll come," she hung up. "It's the police, they want me to come down to the station," she didn't waste a moment and picked her jacket up to leave.

Tara just looked at you. There was no need to talk, you grabbed your jackets and you turned to Chad. "You guys be careful," you went after Tara, grabbing the keys on the way. You considered driving, but the police station wasn't that far and it was late, it was Halloween and people were partying, so maybe walking was a better option.

You caught up with Tara at the bottom of the stairs and she gave you a quick, though a bit uncertain, smile. "We'll be fine, Love," you quickly leaned down to kiss the top of her head and then she led you outside, after Sam.

"Sam, slow down," Tara called after her sister.

"Tara, no, get back inside, lock the doors," Sam immediately rejected the idea of Tara coming with her.

"Are you serious? Now you don't want to stick together? Besides, I have Y/N," and both you and Sam knew Tara would feel better if you were there for both her and Sam.

"You heard the boss, Sam, don't fight this," you offered Sam a cheeky smile and she just shook her head.

"Fine, let's go."

~X~

You were about ten minutes away from the station when Sam's phone rang again and you saw that the caller was... Richie?

"The fuck?" Tara said exactly what you thought.

"I never deleted his contact," you raised an eyebrow at that. Really, Sam? "This is coming from his number."

"Don't pick that up," Tara told her, but you were already tuning the conversation out, instead looking around the three of you.

Whoever was behind this now couldn't appear out of nowhere. You couldn't see anything suspicious behind you, but you felt Tara quickly grabbing onto your forearm. You turned around and saw a man approaching, holding a phone, so you stepped in front of Tara and Sam, ready to act the moment he made any move.

There was no need for that, the man just walked by the three of you.

The police sirens put you on edge as you made sure Tara was close to you.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, asshole," just as Sam said it you noticed a movement to your right.

And there it was. The familiar robe and mask coming almost out of nowhere, hidden by the darkness. You pushed Tara toward Sam and stepped between the two and the reoccurring nightmare. You did a quick jab followed by a hook, sending the figure into the bicycles behind him.

Something felt wrong. He fell too easily. As if he decided to fall. "Run!" you ushered Tara and Sam, not that you needed to as Sam was already getting Tara away from the could-have-been fight.

You turned back when you caught up to them, to see the Ghostface chasing after you.

"Y/N?!" you saw fear in Tara's eyes, the confusion caused by you of all people running.

"Something's different! I don't know what, but it just feels wrong!" you liked to think years of fighting gave you a good sense of what someone can and can't do in a fight and you didn't like one bit what happened right there.

Your words only increased Tara's fear. "Help! Please!" She cried out, hoping maybe someone would hear her.

"In there!" Sam pointed at a bodega just around the corner.

The three of you ran in, with Tara and Sam cutting the line and pleading for the clerk to call the police. You just stood with your back behind them, waiting for Ghostface. You saw him at the door, looking much bigger than you. Tara, probably still thinking about what you just told her, grabbed onto your forearm, and tried to pull you back. "Please, Y/N," you glanced back, seeing the fear in her eyes. That one moment was enough for everything to go wrong. Ghostface quickly killed two men, tossing them aside and advancing toward the three of you.

"Sam! Don't!" judging by Tara's screams you figured Sam was pulling her back.

You relaxed, easily shifting into a fighting stance. As wrong as it felt, you knew there wasn't a way out without a fight. Besides, if you could end this now, you'd have only one more Ghostface to worry about.

"Hey!" the man working at the bodega shouted and raised a shotgun, firing it at Ghostface. As the Ghostface vanished behind the shelves you couldn't help but wonder why the man didn't just shoot first. You know, without warning the clearly armed and dangerous masked individual.

"Go out the back!" he told the three of you.

Well, you weren't about to waste that.

"Thank you!" Tara said, but as the three of you got to the back doors you realized it was locked. "Shit! Keys! We need your keys!"

The man turned to give them to her and Ghostface took his chance. Stabbing the man and taking the shotgun, shooting the man that tried to help you.

The three of you ducked behind shelves and you glanced at Tara. You've fought Ghostface before. You were afraid before. But back then you were afraid for Tara. Now you were afraid of the killer. There was nothing you could do against a shotgun. There was no way you could get shot and survive, let alone continue fighting. There was no way Tara or Sam would survive and just for a moment, between fight, flight, or freeze, your body chose to freeze.

Ghostface shot the freezers behind you, shattering the glass. Sam began moving again, trying to crawl to safety, trying desperately to keep Tara alive. Tara, however, wouldn't move an inch without you.

Another shot knocked a bunch of cans down, halting your escape and making Tara squeeze your hand. That snapped you out of it and you pulled the two of them back toward freezers. From the looks of it, you did that just in time as Ghostface came to the side you were on mere moments ago. You looked at Tara and moved, staying crouched as you moved toward Ghostface. You'd go around the shelves and try to take him down from behind.

Your heart hammered in your chest when you turned around the corner and saw a shotgun right in front of your face. You weren't fast enough to get it out of the way, no, you were allowed to grab it and lift it up. "Run!" the last time you screamed as loud as you just did Amber was holding Tara at gunpoint.

"Y/N!" Tara screamed your name, but you didn't look at her, you looked at Sam.

"Take Tara and run, damn it!" you yelled, pushing the shotgun up to make sure Ghotface couldn't shoot any of you. You couldn't focus on anything else, not on the screaming or Sam's frantic attempts to get Tara out of bodega, you could only focus on the fight. You felt a small sense of relief, knowing that as long as you kept holding the shotgun Ghostface wouldn't be able to let go of it either.

The moment you vaguely heard the doors opening you yanked the shotgun down and kneed the man in his stomach. There wasn't even a grunt, but he tossed the shotgun away so that neither of you could use it. You let him, using the small opening to land an uppercut to the jaw, followed by several hard and fast punches to the face. You pushed him into the counter, continuing the assault. It felt wrong. It felt like your punches barely affected him. He was moving, reacting to your punches, but it was too much, it was as if he was moving on his own, and not due to your hits.

A hard hit to the side knocked all the air from your lungs and he easily pushed you back. He slammed his shoulder into you, taking you to the ground. You gasped for air, barely having time to put up a guard before a fist could connect with your face. You recognized this feeling all too well. You were in this exact position plenty of times. You raised your elbow, hitting his jaw and getting up just enough to put him in a chokehold.

Another hit to the side nearly made you let him go, but you squeezed harder, trying to find a way to snap his neck despite the mask. The third hit to the side loosened your hold enough for him to get on his feet and slam you back down on the ground. You felt like everything was spinning as he repeated the same motion again. Lifting your entire body up and slamming it back down on the hard floor. By now you were too shaken to even hold onto him.

And then you went flying, right through the glass and onto the pavement.

"Y/N!" that was Tara's voice. Shit. She didn't get far enough.

"Run, you idiot," you wheezed as you rolled over, trying to get on your hands and knees. The police arriving saved your life.

Tara was immediately with you, yet you barely heard her saying your name, you barely felt her worried touch. A single thought went through your mind as the police officers scattered around the perimeter and all you could see was a mask on the store's floor. 'I can't beat him.'

A/N: Scream 6 starts! Nothing to say here. Thank you for reading! Updated on: 30.03.2024.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #scream #sam carpenter #jenna ortega x reader

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