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fizzydrink698 · 1 year

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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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itsghvstfvce · 11 months

Text

WHAT'S IN A NAME | PART 2

pairing : tara carpenter x fem!reader

summary : you can keep running, but you can't run from who you are. | read part 1 here!

word count : 4.1k

warnings : scream vi spoilers but anika lives here bc she deserves better, violence stab stab stab, mentions of blood, swearing, reader is momentarily athletic, and as usual, shitty non-proofread writing lmao

Tara drags you back to her apartment with Sam and the rest of her friends that evening.

As you expected, Sam was not on board with you staying with them since you were practically a stranger to everyone. But once she saw Tara beg with the cutest pout on her face, Sam knew there was nothing she could do. She did, however, stick to your side for the entirety of the trip home to ensure you don’t do anything funny which was pretty damn intimidating; after seeing what happened at the frat party, you knew better than to fuck with the older Carpenter. Tara, Mindy, and Chad all snickered at the obvious nervousness that was evident on your face despite your protests of not feeling nervous at all.

At the apartment, Chad and Mindy set the table for dinner while you and Tara prepare the food. The two of you steal quick glances at each other, smiling as you silently check each other out.

“So where’d you learn to cook?” Tara finishes chopping carrots then drops them in the pot and you start stirring, adding a variety of seasoning at the same time to enhance its flavour.

“Self-taught. Ever since I came to the city, I had to learn how to live on my own which meant learning how to cook.”

“Where’d you move from? Do you keep in touch with your parents?”

You halt your movements at the mention of your parents and Tara takes immediate notice of this.

“Sorry, I must have hit a nerve. You don’t need to answer, I get-”

“No, you’re good,” you place the ladle down to the side and face the younger Carpenter to give her your full attention.

“Most of my life I stayed in Cali. I decided to leave for college because I wanted to see what else the world had to offer.”

“And you thought New York was the best place to go?” Tara raises her eyebrow.

You chuckled at Tara’s remark, “well it did lead me to you so yeah, I think it was,” you didn’t mean to come off as flirtatious but it’s the truth. Running away and coming to New York allowed you to meet Tara, who is now all smiles and tries to fight the pink tint that was making its way onto her cheeks, causing you to smile too.

“And your parents?” Her smile fades slightly, knowing she may be treading in dangerous waters. You take a deep breath in before answering her.

“My parents are good people. I have nothing against them.”

“Then why do you get tense when I bring it up?”

“It’s just that we haven’t talked since I came here. I’m sure they didn’t want me to move out but I pushed for it anyway, so I’ve been hesitant to reach out; only because I don’t know if they’d want to talk to me after leaving them,” Tara takes notice in the way your breath hitches slightly, trying to hold back the tears from falling. You really missed your parents; you didn’t want to run away but you couldn’t handle the life you had at home.

Tara walks towards you and grabs your hand that was gripping the counter. You relax at her touch, and she leans her head into your chest.

“I’m sure they miss you as much as you miss them, Y/N. They’re your family and family is always going to be there when you need them to be, whether you like it or not,” Tara then takes a quick look at Sam who was placing extra pillows and blankets down for everyone and a small smile makes its way onto her face. “But just know that you don’t need to contact them right away. Do it when you feel ready.”

“I honestly don’t see that happening anytime soon, but I’m definitely thinking on it.”

She takes her head off your chest and looks at you, eyes darting between the both of yours and you find yourself getting lost in her dark brown orbs once again. But to your surprise, the shorter girl takes a step back, her gaze moving from your eyes to the ground and the hem of her shirt suddenly becomes more interesting.

“I think you should get out of the city, though. Like, the three of you I mean, I wouldn’t blame any of you if you wanted to go. We put you guys in a lot of danger and-”

“That’s very thoughtful of you Tara, but I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” she glances up from her shirt to meet your eyes again but the sudden sound of fake gagging catches the both of you off guard.

“Will you two just make out already?” Mindy complains while setting the cutlery on the table.

“Mindy that is so inappropriate, come on dude!” your face heats up at the embarrassment while Tara and Chad just laugh at the current scene in front of them. But the atmosphere immediately changes when Anika points out the news being reported - Sam was being accused for the killings that took place last year in Woodsboro and they claim she placed the blame on Richie and Amber. When Sam mutes the TV and marches to the dining table, you plant yourself beside Anika while Tara, Mindy, and Chad try to comfort the eldest, deciding that it wasn’t your business to meddle in right now.

“So you and Tara, huh?” Anika asks out of the blue, nudging your arm with her elbow.

“Nah, I think it’s way too early to be saying there’s anything between us.”

“But you like her, don’t you? I mean come on, you look at her the way Mindy and I look at each other.” You simply smile and shake your head. You knew what the truth was anyway and judging by the smile on your face, Anika probably knew the truth now too.

Then multiple phones start going off at once, including yours. Hesitant, you pull out the device from your sweater pocket, and once it’s unlocked, you’re greeted with a picture of Quinn being attacked by Ghostface in her room. First you whip your head towards her door, then turn to the four still sitting at the table before all of you get up and crowd in front of Quinn’s room, grabbing Tara by the arm and pulling her close to you to stop her from doing anything irrational.

The screaming and the banging suddenly stop. The silence is eerie. The six of you stand outside Quinn’s room waiting for any sound or sign of life.

You wait.

And wait.

And wait. Until Mindy finally breaks the silence.

“Run!”

The door opens and Ghostface shoves a butchered Quinn towards all of you. The corpse falls on top of Anika and she lets out a blood curdling scream, leaving you frozen in your spot. Chad grabs Tara and they sprint towards the exit, the younger Carpenter yelling for you to follow but the rest of you couldn’t. Ghostface was right in front of you, and if any of you tried running, he could tackle you immediately.

You’re still frozen. You want to move but your feet are stuck to the ground, and you feel helpless. But you finally gain control of your body when he comes forward and slashes Mindy in the arm. As Sam frantically looks for a knife and you apply pressure to Mindy’s arm, Anika tries to hold onto his legs to stop him from hurting Mindy any more, but it backfires when he wraps his hand around Anika’s neck. She visibly turns red and struggles to get him off of her, but it was no use; he's much stronger than she is. Ghostface effortlessly picks Anika up, hand still tight around her neck, and slams her right against the brick wall where he plunges and twists the knife right into her abdomen causing another scream to escape from her throat. He mercilessly sinks the knife even deeper into the girl, making her scream even louder than she already was.

You glance towards the kitchen to find Sam still trying to find any kind of weapon. Realizing she was taking too long, you release Mindy’s arm and rush towards Ghostface, grasping his shoulder and turning him to face you before swinging a right hook right to his face. With no other option, Sam grabs the knife block and knocks Ghostface in the head making him fall to the ground. You help Anika up while Sam assists Mindy, and the four of you run into Quinn’s bedroom. Meanwhile, Tara realizes none of you were behind her and yells at Chad to go back upstairs, but to her demise, the door was locked and she left her keys inside. She begins to panic, worried about what could happen to her sister, her friends, but most importantly, you. Chad wraps his arm around the girl and starts leading her down the stairs.

You plop Anika down beside Mindy and watch as Sam holds the door closed. The banging stops after a while, but Sam notices the bathroom door was open.

“Y/N, the bathroom door, hurry!” Sam whispers, and you rush to go close it.

“Oh fuck! That guy’s dead,” you cry out loud, frightened by the sight of a carved up man in a literal blood bath. Distracted, you nearly miss Ghostface at the door and you frantically try to shove him out of the bathroom, slamming the door onto him multiple times. He manages to plant his knife into your left shoulder, luckily missing your carotid artery due to the awkward angle. You scream out in pain but still push with all your might to get him out the door. Sam comes to your side to help you push, and when he’s finally outside, you lock the door and help Sam push the dresser to block it. Ghostface doesn’t stop banging and kicking the door so you lean against the dresser to add extra weight. In the corner of her eye, Sam catches sight of Danny in the neighbouring building and he brings out a ladder for the four of you to climb across. With no other choice, Sam reluctantly agrees with his plan.

“You guys go first, Y/N!”

“What? No! Somebody needs to hold the door, let Anika and Mindy go first, then I’ll be right behind you Sam. Go!”

Just as you instructed, you watch as the three of them slowly but safely make their way across the ladder. Once they were all in the safety of Danny’s apartment, they all cry out for you and you look at the door one last time before rushing to the window.

“Come on, Y/N! Slow and steady, you can do this!”

You were never really afraid of heights, but the thought of having to cross a very unstable ladder that was high up in the air just to escape a killer heightened your anxiety by tenfolds. You breathe in deeply before taking your first step, carefully shifting your body weight as needed to avoid making the ladder more than it needed to. The encouraging words that were once spilling from the audience standing at Danny’s window start to become less frequent and eventually stop all together, causing you to stop in your tracks. You look up at them for the first time and find all of them looking like deer caught in headlights.

“What?”

“Y/N, you have to move right now!” Mindy yells almost in desperation.

You turn your head and you find the familiar black and white mask managed to make it into Quinn’s bedroom. You’ve only made it just halfway across and with Ghostface now trying to throw you off the ladder, you tried to pick up your pace.

“Come on Y/N, you gotta move!” Sam yells as Mindy and Anika watch nervously, trying their best to help Danny weigh the ladder down and keep it stable. Despite their efforts, it becomes harder to keep yourself steady. Ghostface repeatedly tosses the ladder up and down and he eventually gets it to turn over on its side so it’s no longer parallel to the ground. Everyone who was watching scream and cry in horror, fearing you'd fall right off but you maintain a solid grip. You looked down and watched how your legs dangled in the air. Your hands were getting sweatier with each moment that passed by and Ghostface clearly wasn’t going to stop until he saw your body smothered on the ground beneath you.

“Y/N you can do this, we got you! Don’t look down!”

Their voices made you look up and you can see the desperation they had to keep you alive. Gathering all the energy you had left, you swing your body to give yourself momentum and cross the remainder of the ladder Tarzan style. You’re finally able to reach for Sam’s hand but you lose your grip on it when Ghostface gives the ladder one last toss, leaving you to hang on the ladder with one hand. The blood and sweat that was on your hand was making you slip more and more until you could no longer hold yourself up. As your hand releases the ladder, Sam, Mindy, and Anika scream at the sight of your body falling in the air. You curl yourself up in attempts to protect your head and break the fall using your left shoulder by making direct contact with the dumpster that was beneath you before rolling off of it and onto the ground. Your entire left shoulder, along with some of your ribs and God knows what other bones in your body, were definitely shattered from the impact and you also felt extremely light headed, but the important thing is you weren’t dead. You deliver that message to Ghostface when you catch him looking out the window, flipping him off with a smirk on your face as the three girls sob and breathe a sigh of relief.

You wake up on a stretcher just outside an ambulance to find Tara, Mindy, and Anika sitting in the back of the vehicle itself with its doors opened. You carefully try to move but pain shoots through your entire body like lightning. The younger Carpenter shoots her head in your direction when she sees you move and she’s quick to grab ahold of your hand.

“Y/N, you’re awake!”

“Hey there daredevil, how you holding up?” Mindy asks.

“I can’t lie, I'm pretty fucking high right now,” you smile and the three of them giggle.

“What you did back there was seriously insane. Like you wouldn’t believe her upper body strength, Tara! She deadass looked like Tarzan or something,” Anika explains excitedly, but it quickly dies down when Mindy starts to talk again.

“Okay but even though it was sort of impressive to watch, you’re still on my suspect list. That could’ve just been a little act to throw us off our tracks. We still don’t know a whole ton about you, other than the fact that you’re part monkey.”

“Hey, I’m no monkey, I'm a human being!” the amount of drugs in your system cause you to slightly slur your words. Mindy smirks and decides to use your woozy state against you all while Anika shoots her girlfriend a knowing smile.

“Hey Y/N, what do you think of Tara?”

“Mindy!” the girl in question protests.

“Tara? Oh golly, she’s an absolute gem!”

“Yeah? Think she’s pretty?”

“Pretty damn gorgeous if ya ask me!” Tara starts to blush at your honesty.

“Okay Mindy that’s enough, let Y/N re-”

“Chad..” Ethan emerges from the crowd and cautiously makes his way towards all of you, worried about the state of his friends at the moment. Chad, however, was unhappy to see his roommate and he slams Ethan against a car to question his whereabouts the previous night. Even after letting him go, Mindy doesn’t allow Ethan to step foot near you.

“Step the fuck back. You’re at the top of my list.”

“I had econ!”

“Ohhhh, econ!! What's econ?” you ask, clearly still in a drugged state.

You spend the day in the hospital trying to recover, immense pain still spreading through your body. But when Tara tells you about Gale getting attacked and their plan to try and catch Ghostface, you beg her to let you help out.

“Are you sure you want to be discharged now? You still have a long way to go before you’re anywhere near being fully healed,” the charge nurse asks as she hands you a few papers to sign.

“I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t important. There are lives on the line and I need to help out. Thanks for everything though.”

“Just be sure to take your meds and show up to those follow up appointments, young lady.”

You smile at the lady before making your way down to the hospital lobby where you meet Tara and everyone else.

“You look like absolute shit,” Chad teases.

“Yeah, well you try falling off a ladder then pretty boy” you retort, and he playfully lifts his arms up in surrender.

“Alright captain, where we headed?” you turn to Tara.

“I’ll explain everything along the way.”

“Wait, where’s Anika?”

“I told her it was best if she stayed out of it. She’s safe with her parents,” you nod your head in approval seeing as you definitely didn’t want to see more people getting hurt.

The seven of you travel through the streets of New York City until you’re met with the busy atmosphere of the subway stations. To what you were able to get from Tara’s explanation, there was a massive theatre that held Ghostface memorabilia from over the years, and you were going to try and lure him there so you could all attack him. Although some were protesting against the plan, you thought it was better than just standing around and waiting for his next attack.

The subways were particularly packed with commuters trying to make their way to the different Halloween parties being hosted all over the city. Almost everyone around you was wearing a costume so technically, you were the ones who stood out in the crowd. It was easy to get lost with the amount of people around, so you held onto Tara’s hand as tight as you could but you didn’t miss the glare burning into the back of your head from her sister.

Despite your efforts to stay with them, the number of people made it extremely difficult to keep up. Mindy trails behind you and calls out for Chad to wait up while you call out for Tara, but Danny and other civilians push their way onto the train to force you, Mindy, and Ethan to stay back on the platform and wait for the next one. You watch the train pass by before taking a look at Mindy who lets out a sigh of frustration. The two of you are startled by a hand that touches your shoulder which just turned out to be Ethan.

“Get your Ghostface ass away from us, Ghostface.”

“Wait, so you trust her but not me?”

“I saw Y/N fall off a ladder last night so I know where she was. I can't say the same for you, though.”

“I keep telling you guys I had econ!”

“Just keep your distance, Ghostface,” Mindy pulls you away from Ethan and you two walk further down the platform as you wait for the next train.

“Hey, did you notice his eye?” you ask Mindy while she tried to make him look away from the two of you.

“No, why? Did you see something?” she turns to you.

“It looked like it was starting to bruise. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure I landed a right hook onto Ghostface last night. You think it’s a coincidence?”

“That’d be one hell of a coincidence. He definitely has to be Ghostface, I’m calling it right now. But you’re still not completely off the hook, got it buddy?” you give Mindy a tight lip smile and nod almost immediately, causing her to giggle at your nervous reaction.

The train ride was anything but pleasant. With the success of the Stab films, there were a number of Ghostface costumes on the train, causing you and Mindy to be on edge the entire time. Unfortunately, you and Mindy couldn’t stick close together due to the number of people separating you two, but you made sure to keep a close eye on her and to your surroundings.

But thanks to the flickering lights, it was hard to pay attention to your environment when you couldn’t see anything. You frantically turn your head in every direction to ensure you had every space covered and checking on Mindy if she was okay. When you turn your head to the left, you find a Ghostface mask who happened to be staring right at you. You want to think it’s just another random in a costume but the way he keeps his gaze fixed on you gives you the feeling it’s not just a random person.

Anxious, you try and make your way closer to Mindy so you could stay together but as soon as you started to move, he did too. There were a bunch of people in your way, leaving you no choice but to push through them and not even bothering to say sorry. At one point, the lights shut off and it takes a while for them to come back on. You continue your trek to Mindy but it’s no use because people were being bitches stubborn and wouldn’t move out of the way. You look back to see if Ghostface caught up to you, but you can’t make out anything in the dark. The lights finally come back on and Ghostface is nowhere to be seen, confirming your suspicions that it was most likely a stranger.

But when you turn back around to push your way through to Mindy, Ghostface is right in front of you. You attempt to scream but his hand is faster and immediately covers your mouth before pushing his knife right into your stomach. A muffled scream can’t be heard with how loud the train was and the people around you were, so you were left there to struggle and Mindy didn’t even know. He shoves the knife deeper into you and the two of you slowly fall to the ground, yet no one around you seemed to notice what was going on. Ghostface finally pulls the knife out and starts walking towards Mindy but you can’t get up to stop him. The announcer on the train comes on to indicate that the train will be arriving at the platform soon which catches him off guard, and you think he won’t have enough time to attack Mindy, but you were wrong. Ghostface quickly stabs Mindy approximately in the same area as he did with you before he makes a swift exit off the train. The two of you are clutching your stomachs, putting pressure to try and minimize some of the bleeding. Ethan notices both of you and immediately calls for help while he tries to drag both of you out of the train at the same time. He drops you by a nearby post where security guards gather and call for medical services.

“Are you guys okay?!”

“Yeah, we’re so good” Mindy’s sarcasm doesn’t fail to make an appearance despite being in pain.

“Goddammit. I got it wrong again! What the fuck?” she grunts in pain. You, on the other hand, start struggling to keep yourself awake. Your eyelids feel heavy and it’s becoming harder to breathe, the rest of your body feeling limp until your head crashes onto Mindy’s shoulder.

“Y/N, stay with me, come on!”

“I’m just gonna take a nap Min, don’t worry, I’ll be up in no time.” Mindy can feel her heart break hearing the nickname come from you for the first time. Her voice is the last thing you hear before finally letting your eyelids close themselves.

“Fuck this franchise.”

a/n: hello again, reader >:) i'm giving y/n some of chad's armor plot bc let's bffr, anyone would die falling off a ladder like that lmfaooo anyway, thank you guys for all your patience! the next part will be the last one and you will finally get to know who y/n is :) hope u enjoyed!

#scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #itsghvstfvce

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stevieharringtonwifeguy · 1 year

Text

after my post about steve being just as obsessed with eddie as he is with him, i had to write something for it. with a little extra transfem!stevie flavour bc i have a serious problem

also on ao3 here

Robin has had enough. She’s spent all this time telling Stevie she’d always be there for her, but this is where she draws the line.

Stevie’s staring at Eddie Munson again.

Robin looked up from her shitty cafeteria food when she heard a dreamy sigh come from her best friend. Stevie had that look on her face again, the hopelessly besotted one that made Robin sure cartoony little love hearts would start popping up next to her head. Robin followed her eyeline and, yep, there was Eddie Munson, super-senior leader of the dungeons and dragons club, sticking carrot sticks up his nose to the uproarious laughter of his group of nerd friends. Robin shook her head in appalled fascination.

“Stevie. Babes. Why.”

Stevie turned towards her, tilting her head in confusion. “Huh? Why what?”

Robin waved a hand towards Eddie’s table. “Your obsession with Eddie Munson. It baffles me.”

“Wh- I mean-” Stevie flushed, looking back across the cafeteria with a shy little smile. “Just look at him, Robs.”

“Yeah, I’m looking. He’s trying to sneeze out a carrot stick he got stuck in his nose.”

Stevie giggled. “I know, he’s so funny!”

Shaking her head, Robin placed a delicate hand on her friend’s arm. “You don’t have to do this, y’know. I know pickings have been slim since you came out, but like. You’re still a catch! You have options!”

Stevie frowns. Robin hadn’t wanted to say it, but she knew Stevie had taken her ‘fall from grace’ after she transitioned pretty hard. She’d gone from King of Hawkins High to near social untouchable, and the whiplash had her privately confessing to Robin that sometimes she felt unlovable, like no one would ever want her again. It was ridiculous, but Robin understood that insecurity. She combatted it by complimenting Stevie whenever she could. And now by trying to dissuade her best friend from falling ass over tits in love with the first weirdo to be nice to her post-transition.

“It’s not that. He’s just so…” Stevie waved her hands around vaguely, searching for a word to accurately describe the apparent wonder that was Eddie Munson. Across the cafeteria, Eddie finally got the carrot stick out of his nose. He threw it towards the bin a foot away and missed, spectacularly. “He’s himself. It’s nice.”

“He’s himself.”

“Yeah! Like, he’s passionate about everything he does, and he’s not afraid of being judged for anything. It’s nice! Most people aren’t like that.”

“Most people are definitely not like Eddie Munson.”

Stevie rolled her eyes at her friend’s flat tone. “Plus, he’s super hot. And you can’t say anything about that one- you’re too gay to be an accurate judge.”

Robin groaned. “Steph, he dresses like an 80s vampire.”

“He has a distinct style!”

“It’s distinct alright- hey!”

Stevie had apparently had enough of Robin’s bitching, reaching over and trapping her in a loving sisterly headlock. They scrapped for a couple minutes, nearly knocking both their lunches off the cafeteria table, before being interrupted with a light cough.

Both girls looked up, Stevie immediately blushing a gentle pink as Eddie Munson appeared before them. He seemed nervous, fiddling with his rings and chewing on his lip. Robin watched the two stare at each other, and oh god. Eddie was down just as bad as Stevie was. He giggled a little manically at Stevie’s attention, pulling a lock of hair in front of his face and hiding behind it.

“Hi, Eddie,” Stevie said in a little breathless tone that had Robin about five seconds away from face-palming. She considered pulling out her phone and recording this conversation, just so that next time Dustin implied Stevie was some kind of goddess of romance Robin could show him the dumb little face she made as she stared at Eddie Munson’s chapped lips. “What’s up?”

Eddie smiled, shuffling his feet a little. “Um, so, my band is playing this Thursday- oh! Wait, I got you something-” He rummaged around in his bag for a second, cursing under his breath, before he finally pulled out a slightly crumpled looking sunflower and presented it to Stevie with a flourish. “A sunflower! Just reminded me of you- because you’re so sunny. Also it kind of matches that sweater you like.”

Stevie’s grin was blinding. She took the flower like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Oh my god! This is- Eddie this is beautiful!”

Eddie grinned and bounced on the balls of his feet a little bit, as if Stevie’s acceptance of his gift had filled him with so much happiness he was in danger of floating away. It was, unfortunately, the cutest thing Robin had ever seen.

“A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl,” he said, and the cringiness of the line had Robin taking back every positive thing she’d ever thought about him. Stevie seemed to enjoy it though, if the pleased blush that spread over her face was any indication. “But I wanted to ask you- totally cool if not, I know it’s not really your style- but I’ve been practising some new songs for y- I’ve been practising some new songs. So, yeah, if you wanted-”

“Eddie,” Stevie interrupted, smiling up at him and placing a gentle hand on his arm. Eddie turned bright red. “Thursday, right? It sounds fun, I’d love to come watch you play.”

“Really? Great! I can pick you up at seven?”

Stevie nodded happily, bringing the sunflower to her face and turning back to Eddie with another besotted grin. “Seven sounds perfect! I’ll see you then! Just let me- I’m gonna go put this in my locker so it doesn’t get squished, but- yeah, I’m really looking forward to it!”

Stevie stood up, grabbing her bag, and hurrying out of the cafeteria. When she reached the door, she turned back and gave Eddie a happy little wave, which he returned with a sort of dazed look on his face. As soon as she was out of the door, he did a weird little jump/fist-bump combination with a loud whoop that had everyone in the immediate vicinity looking over at him.

Robin cleared her throat pointedly.

Eddie looked at her with a sort of deer-in-headlights expression that honestly she appreciated. Let him be scared of her. “So,” she said. “You’re taking my best friend out.”

Eddie blushed a bit, smiling despite his apparent survival instinct. “Yeah,” he said, dreamily. “God, she’s so out of my league.”

“She is.”

“She’s just so… wow.”

“Eloquent.”

“One time I saw her bodily lift that curly-haired kid she babysits out of the way of a car. Like fully carry him a foot off the ground for five steps. And then yell at him for like ten minutes for being a dumbass. What a woman.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, shit,” he said, looking down at Robin with a panicked look on his face. “You’re like, her sister basically, right? Was I supposed to get your permission to ask her out? Wait, no, that’s marriage. Later, then.”

“Okay, that’s enough of this,” Robin said, throwing her hands up and stalking out of the cafeteria, leaving a befuddled looking Eddie behind her.

They were just as bad as each other. Robin had a feeling she’d be cringing at those two at their wedding.

#steddie #transfem steve harrington #stevie harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #also keen eyed readers may notice how much i stole from the notes of that post everyone is so right and hilarious #my fics

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wannaeatramyeon · 7 months

Note

I'm not sure if this is the kind of thing you write but the idea was rotting my brain so I thought I'd try! Basically, I was thinking about Gun hunting down vampire!reader but she's just infatuated with him and is just excited for when he'll come to try to kill her again because it's an excuse to see him.

Anon, sorry for the delay! This one was FUN!

Vampire Hunter!Gun Park x Vampire!Reader

G/N

Stiff lifeless bodies, glassy eyes, pools of crimson.

No pulse, no heartbeat. Skin pale and blue. Left out in the cold murky night, dangled to Gun Park like a carrot on a stick.

He doesn't need to get any closer to the corpses to know this is your handiwork.

The trail leads to you, it always leads to you.

Your lair isn't difficult to find. You move around often enough that other vampire hunters can't track you down. Leave your scent so that Gun always can.

"You're here!"

Your voice echoes, bounces off the crumbling stone walls. Most would mistake your tone for a reunion between two lovers.

Gun takes a drag of his cigarette, ignoring the shadows fluttering around him. Amongst the flurry of movement, his eyes stay glued to one spot.

The far left corner. Shrouded in haze, an unholy aura emanating. It reeks of you.

You always make it so easy.

He takes a final inhale, filling his lungs and veins with nicotine.

Lets the cigarette fall to the floor, slipping from his fingers. Waits for the ember to extinguish, then lunges.

Leaps the entire threshold of the old manor hall in a blink of an eye. A blur of muscle and power and savagery.

You're barely able to track his movements. You might not be able to completely evade him even if you tried. But why would you? You've missed his touch.

Gun's hand is gripped around your neck as you're slammed into the wall, forcing the breath out of your lungs. If you were human, your back would have been broken.

You're not. It will leave bruises at best.

You think of it as a caress.

"Come to see me again?" You choke out, throat straining against the fingers pressing into your windpipe.

His hold tightens and you consider scrabbling for breath. Digging your nails into him and ripping his skin open.

"To kill you." Gun corrects, leaning in. So close you could taste the smoke on his lips. See the bloodthirst and interest in his eyes.

"Admit it," Your hand comes up, flexing the full force of your power and you remove his own with ease, "You've missed me."

"You are causing too much trouble for me."

"Gunnie," you purr with a wide smile, "Don't say that."

"Didn't I tell you I would kill you the next time I see you?"

"You always say that-"

His hand comes up again to your throat and he squeezes. Tight and constricting. He's relentless, always has been. One of the reasons you were drawn to him.

It’s crushing this time. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s too much.

Yet. When you try to free yourself, you find yourself completely helpless.

What the...?

You look at him, brows furrowed, trying to work out what is happening when-

You see the exhale from his lips. The vapour rising.

His eyes, turning from the warm brown that you're familiar with. That you've fantasised many days about. Clouding over, darkening, dimming.

Until they're completely obsidian.

Two pure white irises stare back at you.

Same as yours.

Shock, and fear, flashes across your face.

Two sharp fangs glint in the moonlight when he growls in your ear, menacing and low.

"This is my territory."

He sinks his teeth into your neck, and it is nothing like you imagined.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism fic #gun park #gun park x reader #park jonggun #park jonggun x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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starlettechild · 3 months

Text

🌿 ʜᴀʀᴠᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴇꜱᴛ 🌱

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

CONTENT: Tav receives a special visit from an accomplice on the day of harvest fest while they get the crops in their garden ready. Crack and Fluff, Raphael has a crazy big crush on Tav and he tries to play it cool.

⚠️TWs:⚠️ None! They/Them pronouns are also used to avoid reader dysphoria.

NOTES: I had a ton of fun with this and I wanted to write some crushing Raphael for all of you guys! Yes he’s a devil, but the man literally has a pedestal for your contract… you can’t tell me that he’s not crazy about Tav in a way that makes him goofy. I also really miss summertime.

The sunrays from above beatdown on Tav as they work in their garden. The defeat of the elder brain has settled over the passing years, and the whole ordeal left Tav craving for a quiet life. A life connected to their hobby, gardening! Though having a reputation of being the “Hero of Baldur’s Gate” makes for a more successful business, Tav is proud of the crops they are able to grow in their garden and trusts their quality. They adjust their sunhat, wiping off some beading sweat from their brow as their skilled hands cut and store a variety of vibrant vegetables in a woven basket. They’re so deep in their work they don’t notice the uninvited guest that has planted his shining shoes in the dirt.

It’s only when they turn their head to gauge the position of the sun do they find their view blocked by a shaded Raphael, hands on his hips and staring down at them. The sight causes them to slightly jump and yelp, which earns a pleased grin from the cambion. The infernal bastard was probably waiting to do that.

They rise, positioning the filled basket in the crook of their arm, mirroring his disapproving stance. “Go on. Mock me from going to praised hero to common farmer.” They jest, daring Raphael to make a witty and degrading remark on their position, but he only holds a hand to his heart. “I would do no such thing! Such humble work! I’m almost impressed by your batch!” They can tell with the sickly sweet tone Raphael takes that he is in no way being honest, which makes them cross their arms, the basket shifting with their movements. They have to resist the urge to stick a carrot in the devils mouth to get him to be quiet.

“Whatever it is you’re here to try and bargain me into, please speak quickly and loudly. I need to go wash these off.” They give the devil a long stare before treading off to the nearest source of water behind their home, and the devil trails after. “Bargain? Can a man not even visit an old acquaintance anymore without such accusations? Truly heartbreaking, Tav. You’d think such a humble farmer would know how to treat a guest!” His once again dramatized words make Tav grumble in response: “You’d think a devil would know how to be more appealing and pleasant to speak to.”

The ever-so typical Raphael doesn’t lift a finger to make himself useful as Tav washes the crops in the river. Instead, he finds a nice position in the shade under a tree, giving Tav an innocent look when their head turns to him. Let’s see how cocky the infernal bastard wants to be when I bury his head in the ground. Tav’s mind fills with images of Raphael doing yard work as they kick back and relax. The cambion would surely die if he had to pick up a shovel, and they’d love to see him try to carry buckets of water to and from the river on his own.

The crops shine with freshness from the river, and Tav sets them back in the basket to transport. Raphael still lingers at the tree, intently watching them as they work, and catching up with them when they walk back to their home. Placing their basket on their counter, they walk back out to their garden, already planning to begin planting fall crops for the next harvest festival. Raphael peeks outside the basket, grimacing. “I like my carrots skinned and boiled. The appetite of peasants is truly disappointing.” He picks up some carrots with his hands, setting them back down quickly with disgust. “Keep your hands away from them or I’ll find out if I like my devils skinned and boiled, Raphael!” Tav truly has the instincts of a gardener, sensing his meddling all the way from their yard. How he missed this banter! He should visit them more often. Korilla provides detailed descriptions of their daily activities, but she can’t provide true conversation between the two!

Raphael walks to the back, finding a lounge chair to sit on, folding one of his long legs over the other, hands behind his head as he watches them work. Too sunny! He gets up to swipe the sunhat from Tav, placing it on his own head. Luckily his horns aren’t there, or they’d surely burst through the seams of the worn-out thing. This earns a sharp glare from Tav, the roots of their hair slightly frizzed and messy. Their expression softens when they take in Raphael with the sunhat, though. Earning a smile instead before their head turns back to the dirt. He wants to see that sight again! His hand flicks, a pair of darkened spectacles appear between his fingers. He settles them on his face. When they don’t notice his wonderful display, he conjures a glass of lemonade, beginning to sip loudly.

Tavs head slowly turns, looking over to the devil. Their brow raising as they view the cambion, face shaded by the sunhat that is surely not of his tastes, and a pair of darkened spectacles. The glass of summer lemonade paused at his lips as they take in his dramatics. A smile cracks its way from the annoyed expression, and they throw their head back and laugh. It’s a sight that warms Raphael’s heart. A sound he thinks that may kill him if he never hears again. Poison him, if he doesn’t hear it daily. Their laugh is so delightedly contagious, and it earns a laugh from him as well as he takes off the sunhat and spectacles. He stands, setting the glass on a nearby table, the ice slowly beginning to melt with the heat of the afternoon.

“Well, humble farmer, may this pleased spectator accompany you to the market?”

Tav rises from their spot in the dirt, dusting off their hands. “He may, as long as he knows that purchasing squash and fruit does not mean the customer is bargaining their soul.” They grin, swiping their sunhat back from his hands.

The two make the walk to Baldur’s Gate with the slowly setting sun, Tav’s basket in hand, and the other, entwined with Raphael’s.

#bg3 writing #bg3 fluff #raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #bg3 fanfiction #raphael fluff #raphael baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3 raphael #Spotify

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kisscara · 1 year

Note

I don’t know, of course, you will take this into account, but if so, I would like to suggest that you write to Scara and Kuzushi to go to the store.

on an errand! [scaramouche x gn!spouse!reader] ⎯⎯ + baby kuzushi and baby kaede, modern au, fluff

(p/n) = parent name

"what a cute boy," a woman giggles, tugging at her boyfriend's shoulder while nodding her head toward the little child pushing a training grocery cart. kuzushi's long indigo hair gets in the way of his eyes for a moment and he shakes his head to rid of it from interfering with his vision any longer.

he continues to follow scaramouche on his hind legs and babbles, "papa, what next?" scaramouche often looks at his phone before looking around the grocery store. "we need more milk formula for your sister. she's run out in just a short amount of time," scaramouche replies, eyes narrowed as he examines his options.

he stops in his tracks and kuzushi does the same, not without tightly holding onto the cart so it doesn't stroll away. "hup!" kuzushi puffs his cheeks full of air and sighs when he finally gets the cart to stay still. scaramouche places a can of formula into the cart.

"this one will do fine, right?" scaramouche examines the rest of the cans and kuzushi firmly nods, "mhm!"

he suddenly suggests, "toy!" scaramouche chuckles at the sight of his son's eyes lighting up with excitement. "toy, for kaede!" kuzushi exclaims, jumping up and down.

scaramouche nods, "that's right, kuzu... we do need to get some toys for kaede." he leads the way once more with kuzushi by his side.

kuzushi points with a chubby finger, querying, "papa, what that?" scaramouche hums, "that's for exercising. see those big black circles on the metal stick?" kuzushi purses his lips, "mhm." scaramouche adds, "they're called weights and they're very heavy."

kuzushi lifts his arms up, grinning, "like me?" scaramouche carries the toddler in his arms and kuzushi squeals with delight. "no, not as heavy as you, sweetheart. you're light, compared to those weights." scaramouche laughs as kuzushi slides back down onto the floor.

"papa use those." he says, flattening his attire and rushing back to the cart. scaramouche proudly scoffs, "what have i been saying? your papa is very strong, after all-" kuzushi disrupts his sentence, "kuzu strong too."

kuzushi innocently looks up at him and scaramouche weeps, "you ruined my perfect moment, you adorable bundle of...!"

kuzushi pushes forward, "papa, look! toy!" he giddily drags his father to the aisle and scaramouche follows after him. "what do you think kaede will like?" scaramouche interrogates. kuzushi juts out his bottom lip. "dis." he holds up a stuffed bear that was practically three times the size of him.

scaramouche deadpans, muttering, "i think a human sized bear might scare her." kuzushi puts it aside and grabs something else from the shelf. "lookie! w-we get gee-ruff." kuzushi shakes the pink giraffe in his hands and giggles. scaramouche smiles, "it's giraffe, baby."

he pats kuzushi on the head and adds, "we can get it. that way, both you and kaede can have giraffe stuffies, hm?" kuzushi emphasizes his, "mhm!" and plops the giraffe into the cart which was full of other baby necessities.

"you've been a good boy today. do you want to get something?" scaramouche asks the energetic ball of sunshine, who was much more occupied with fixing his messy hair. kuzushi shakes his head, "mm-mm. me hungy!" scaramouche closes his eyes with a grin, "alright, i'll cook your favourite at home once we finish up here."

kuzushi continues to push the cart with a skip in his step, "yay!"

scaramouche double checks the grocery list on his phone. "we need apples and carrots-" out of nowhere, kuzushi makes a gagging noise. he shudders, "carrots." scaramouche smirks, "you gotta eat your carrots, kuzu. they're good for your eyesight."

as scaramouche grabs a plastic bag for the fruits, kuzushi stops the cart next to him. he looks at the many fruits and vegetables and his lips fall agape in awe. scaramouche lets kuzushi help him with putting in the apples.

kuzushi murmurs, "heavy..." he huffs and places the final apple and scaramouche smiles at the sight of the exhausted toddler. "tired yet?" he jokingly asks, but kuzushi yelps, "no! kuzu, big boy!" he hugs scaramouche's leg and scaramouche chuckles.

kuzushi continues to pout while clinging to his father as scaramouche puts carrots in the bag. "there we go. lastly, we need a few new pacifiers."

kuzushi perks up and looks at his father with those round, violet eyes. "why more patchi, papa?*" he asks, shoving the cart forward to follow scaramouche.

**kuzushi tends to call pacifiers patchi for whatever odd reason that little boy has.

scaramouche glances at one of the many shelves in the aisle. he takes a small set of four pacifiers and tosses it into the cart. "kaede needs some pacifiers too, sweetheart. just like you do," scaramouche mutters as he playfully pinches kuzushi's cheek.

kuzushi exclaims while closing and opening his hands, "home, papa! wan' (p/n) 'nd kaede!" scaramouche chuckles, "alright. i'll pay for all of this and we'll go straight home." at his response, kuzushi claps a few times with a giggle.

when they get to the cashier to pay for the materials, kuzushi tries his best to help out scaramouche with placing things on the conveyor belt.

the boy is on his very tippy toes, huffing and puffing as he puts the pink giraffe for last. the person behind the cash register suppresses a laugh. scaramouche pats his head a few times while getting out his credit card, "well done, kuzu." kuzushi has a proud and cheeky grin on his lips.

"such a sweetheart!"

you continue to weep from your baby's cuteness while taking pictures of her from every adorable angle possible since you bought her a new cat onesie. kaede mumbles and kicks her legs, slightly moving up the crib. you put your phone aside and carefully scoop her up into your arms.

she sneezes and rests her head against your shoulder while you rock her. "ah, papa and your big brother should be home soon. they're at the store getting you some things," you say in a small voice while walking into the living room.

you watch your step out of caution, just in case kuzushi left some of his toys laying around. kaede wiggles around and starts whining. you pat her back, cooing, "there, there, honey." then the sound of the door opening causes you to turn around with a smile.

"hi, sweetie!" you exclaim, watching kuzushi excitedly kick his shoes off and waddle towards you as scaramouche closes the door behind them.

kuzushi wraps himself around your leg like a koala to a tree. "miss you, (p/n)," he says, rubbing his nose against you. you laugh, "i missed you too but go wash your hands first, hm?" kuzushi nods and scooches away before standing back up to hurry to the washroom.

scaramouche chuckles, "that one's been a bother." he heads into the kitchen with the grocery bags and you follow after him. "oh, but don't you find it cute, how he wants to help out?" at your remark, scaramouche smiles.

"maybe." he sets down the bags and takes out the pink giraffe. scaramouche peers at kaede, who glances back at him with (color) eyes. "look, kaede. your brother chose this for you," scaramouche whispers, gently prodding the stuffed animal against kaede's fist.

kaede babbles and rubs her hand against the giraffe's head. you grin, "seems like she likes it. don't you, honey?" kaede gurgles, her little hand gripping onto the giraffe. scaramouche softly laughs and places it in between her arms.

kuzushi's footsteps patter against the wood floorboards of the house as he runs over. "(p/n), i help papa!" he happily jumps up and down and you titter, "very good, sweetheart! i bet you're hungry, aren't you?" kuzushi wordlessly rubs his tummy and nods.

kaede begins to fuss and you hand her to scaramouche. he steadily props the baby's head on his shoulder and rigidly rocks her. "lucky for you, i made your favourite," you say as you lead the small boy into the dining room.

kuzushi squeals, "yay!" he climbs up onto his designated chair in the dining room and hops on it repeatedly. scaramouche follows you, murmuring, "you didn't have to, my love. i could have done it when we came home, knowing you already have your hands full with kaede."

you reassure your worrywart of a husband as you serve a bowl of vegetable soup for kuzushi, "it's alright, darling. kaede is quite the sleepyhead anyways." scaramouche peers at the snoozing baby and hums in surprise.

"is it fine for her to sleep so much? i'm afraid she won't be using all of that energy for other things like crawling," scaramouche adds with a frown. you pause before smiling at him, "she'll be an energetic little girl very soon just like her brother, so you have no need to fret."

but at the same time, scaramouche didn't want his little kids growing up so fast.

he closes his eyes and mutters, "nevermind. i can't even imagine the thought of her getting a partner." you laugh, "where did all of that come from?"

kuzushi curiously perks up, "a partner? i wanna' partner!" he playfully giggles and scaramouche lightly scolds him, "not yet, kuzushi!"

#📼 — 　𝓦.𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.#gender neutral reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin imagines #genshin imagine #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfics #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfictions #scaramouche #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff

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avocado-writing · 7 months

Text

Kinktober 7

7. Anonymous Sex, Nonconsensual, Somnophilia

Aziraphale rarely sleeps.

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or not. It can be lovely to wake in the morning to find him up and waiting for you while he reads, a warm smile stretching across his face as he whispers “good morning, nightingale.” But that very same fact can be a little off putting - it’s hard to get to sleep when one of your partners just lies there awake all night.

Crowley loves to sleep. Sometimes you wonder if he’s more cat than snake, the way he finds a puddle of sunlight to lie in and dozes off. He twists his body into all sorts of contortions which you can’t imagine are comfortable but never hear him complaining about, either.

The two of you can tell Aziraphale is tired. He’s having difficulty holding conversation, isn’t as efficient at shooing customers away as he usually is. The angel needs rest, but he is as stubborn as an ox, so just telling him that will amount to nothing.

No. Aziraphale needs a carrot, not a stick.

So you and Crowley do what you do best: sweet talk him.

“I’m just saying,” you tell him, carding your fingers through his soft hair, “sleep doesn’t have to be boring, my darling. In fact it can be quite lovely. Have you ever had an orgasm someone’s given you while you’re asleep?”

This piques his interest. The angel puts down his book and looks up at you, a light dusting of pink beginning to fill his cheeks.

“I can’t say that I have, dearest.”

“Well, I’m sure that we can change that,” Crowley chimes in, a devilish smile creeping across his face, “you’ll have the best rest of your life, angel.”

He’s so easy to tempt, and he is ever so tired. So that night when you all lay down to sleep, Aziraphale is naked as a cherub and pressed between the two of you. He shuts his eyes and lays back but there’s no mistaking the rise and fall of his chest for someone who’s actually settled for the evening.

“Aziraphale, for this to work, you have to be asleep,” you tell him gently, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. He shivers in anticipation.

“But it’s so… you’re so… we could always…?”

You and Crowley exchange a look. Your angel and his earthly delights. So you tire him out, fuck him until he’s boneless, and then watch slip into sleep properly when he’s exhausted.

Crowley wipes his mouth on the back of his arm and the two of you listen out for his breathing: there it is: rhythmic, soft, dead to the world.

Time for part two to begin, then.

Ever so slowly, so as not to jostle him too much, the two of you start to take position. You help spread Aziraphale’s legs and hoist his arse into Crowley’s lap, his hole open and already used from earlier. Crowley watches you begin to stroke the angel’s cock. It only takes a couple of pumps before it reacts, beginning to grow hot and heavy in your hand, ripe for fucking. You press a kiss to his head as he gets fully there, grinning at the taste of yourself on him from where you rode him earlier.

You look up to see Crowley watching you intently. You give him a cheeky wink and press a kiss to his dick too, already so hard that he’s bobbing against his own stomach. He lets out a long, choked sigh through his nose and you press your finger up to his lips - shh. Be quiet. Don’t wake him. The demon lets his tongue, his long serpentine tongue, dip out and twist around you wickedly.

Crowley lines himself up and slides easily into Aziraphale’s hole inch by inch. The angel’s breath hitches for a second and Crowley freezes, but when his chest begins to slowly rise and fall again he carefully sheathes himself all the way to the hilt. He takes a moment to adapt to the pliancy of Aziraphale like this, how easy he is to manoeuvre, how willing even when in dreams.

Gently he pulls out and presses back in. It’s such a small rock of his hips that Aziraphale barely moves, but you do hear the little sigh of bliss he lets out.

The floodgates open.

Crowley keeps fucking him like that, shallow and careful, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside. As he goes you plant your mouth over Aziraphale’s stiff member. His girth is always a lovely stretch for your lips and you think, for a moment, that it’s a shame he’s not awake - one of his favourite sights is one of you taking him down to the base.

His head hits the back of your throat and you hum around him before starting to bob up and down. You do your best to match Crowley’s pace, an unhurried lovemaking entirely meant for the receiver. And you can see it’s working, too. Even from your vantage point you can see the way Aziraphale visibly relaxes, all the tension from his muscles escaping with each thrust, each suck.

Aziraphale comes in your mouth a few minutes later, gasping quietly in his sleep. As you lick him clean and swallow you see your demon sigh, happy, and his erratic hips movements stop. He pulls out of Aziraphale gently and you admire the drip of his cum from the angel’s thoroughly used hole.

The two of you kiss, slowly and passionately, before you lay back down into bed, either side of your angel. You tangle your fingers together across his plush stomach and fall asleep tucked up against him.

The next morning Aziraphale is a little sore, but in a very good mood indeed.

@bootlmoth @elleofdragons @angelic-anarchy27 @yeethaw13 @candlewitch-cryptic @kwyn-q @rat-that-writes @buryustogether @letthenightingalessingagain @ltlthetrifecta @angiestopit @purplefrog1sblog @wereallbrokenangels @angelspathway @clarina04 @belilwen @chaospossum @eightsdoctor @oo-delallymrcrow @silcosmoke @climbingivy97 @live-logs-and-proper @project-sad @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @imagination-phantom @anonymously35 @corgis04 @peytonpenguin37 @catlynharper @unabashedgentlemenpirate @wolfe-houler @darktealrat @mxxny-lupin @willbedecided @detectiveapparatiagreen @shadowluna25 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @xquinn-bartonx @blue-bell22 @foolishprincipalitee @fandomawesomeness @eweweweewewe @latersgaters-steven @llamaproblem @night-affiliate @randompost18 @hunterispunk @jessica-laufeysdottir @uxcaran @bunnymallowo @jae-michael @jelly-terror @larkiesparkie

#aziraphale x reader x crowley #crowley x reader x aziraphale #avo's kt 23 #fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween

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dearbraus · 8 months

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Between the Stacks ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— Lisa Minci

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, dni if you are not sapphic, afab!reader, reader described as being able to have visible bruises, oral (reader receiving), power bottom lisa, subtop reader, liberal usage of canonical pet names, reader is referred to as puppy, praise, teasing, tit sucking, semi-public sex (in the library) and making out. ⊹ Run time. 4.0k ⊹ Note. This fic as been marinating in my drafts for a while, the smut isn't my favourite as I'm a bit rusty but I hope you all enjoy <3

The Knights of Favonius Library is quiet, unusually so. It lacks the usual hum of life and hushed chatter that bounces off the ornate pine wood shelves. All that lingers in the deep recesses of the thick stacks is the quiet jingling bell that’s attached to Lisa’s wide-brimmed hat. If you closed your eyes you might’ve been tricked into thinking one of Maraget’s kittens had gotten loose in the library, but the telltale sound of Lisa’s heels clicking alongside her bell told you it was her.

“You should probably take this off,” you whisper, a coy smile, “Lest we want Jean to suspect that we’re milling about after hours.”

Lisa tosses you a look over her shoulder, “She’d surely scold us, and wouldn’t that just be terrible!” She laughs, swiping her gloved fingers across her forehead to push her bangs out of her eyes, “The Acting Grand Master barging in here to tell us off, are you shaking yet my dear?”

“No!”

Sticking your tongue out at her, you take a single, daring, step closer to her. Lisa’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead when you delicately pluck her hat from her head. Tossing it to the floor, you try not to cringe as dust flies up from the shelves.

“Dear me! I really should get Noelle in here to do some cleaning,” Lisa whines, her lips falling into a pout.

“That’s not Noelle’s job!”

“It kind of is.”

The innocent look Lisa sports crumbles all too quickly, like she knows no matter how well she wears it, it’ll never convince you. Pressing your fingers to her jaw, you bring her gaze back towards you, “It’s not, but you know I’d be more than happy to be put to work.”

“I’d love nothing more than to put you to work, cutie,” she hums, “But, not in the way you’re thinking.”

Cocking your head to the side, you narrow your eyes at Lisa, “Oh yeah?” You question, “And what exactly am I thinking then? Since you and that genius brain of yours know everything.”

Smoothing her gloved thumb across your bottom lip, Lisa offers you a smirk. It makes a shiver zip up your spine, goosebumps dotting along the length of your arms despite the balmy summer air that filters through the cracked open windows. Pressing down on your lip to expose your teeth to her, Lisa chuckles at the small whimper that crawls up your throat.

“Obviously you think I want you to be my maid,” Lisa says, as it if truly were the most obvious thing in the world. Initially, you did think that’s what Lisa was aiming towards, getting you all worked up only for her to ask you to help her finish dusting. It wouldn’t be the first time Lisa would dangle the carrots in front of your nose, nor would it be the last, “Though, I must admit you would look absolutely scrumptious in a maid dress.”

Allowing her other hand to fall around your hips, Lisa continues on with a laugh, “However, what I had in mind was a bit more … racy …” She hums, “C’mon darling don’t play dumb, you know exactly how I want you.”

“I do?”

It’s a genuine question. At least you hope it came across as convincing enough for Lisa to share some of the wicked thoughts that were bouncing around her mind. You liked it better that way, when Lisa indulged you with the depravity a scholar like her could conjure up. Not that you weren’t all that creative, but there was something about the language she used, it boarded on academic like she’d learnt it just to explain all these complex theories and concepts and still wanted to be seen for the brilliant mind she was even amidst the throes of pleasure. It was fucking filthy. You shivered at the mere thought of it, preening in hopes of her indulging you once more. After all, there was no better place to flex intellectual prowess than Mondstadt’s one and only public library.

“You do,” Lisa settles on a hungered expression, it doesn’t quite mask the pithy swamp of lust that permeates her green eyes but it keeps you from coyishly leering. The lilt of her tone tells you she’s grown tired of your games, tired before they had ever truly begun but she was never one to play by the rules of another, “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

You nod, and your eyes find themselves trained on her lips. They’re painted a lovely shade of pink, it’s glossy enough that you know she’s wearing something but still neutral enough for foolish men like Huffan or Pallad to think they were naturally like that. You liked it better when she painted them with something rich and deep, a colour that would mar the pale skin of her face when you smeared it; something that would mark you too when she blotted her lips along your neck and jawline. This, this would do though.

“Yes,” you breathed, wrapping your hand around her wrist, “Enlighten me, you know I’m nothing but a fool around you so I need you to fill in the blanks.”

Your teeth catch the fabric of her glove, it’s loose around the tip of her thumb and dangled precariously in front of your face as she tugged and taunted your bottom lip. Lisa lets out a small yip of surprise when your bottom teeth catch at her flesh before clamping down on the silk. Your head reeled back and Lisa had no choice but to let her hand fall slack as her glove slid up the length of her deceptively long, lithe fingers. You let it drop to the floor without a second thought, threading your fingers with hers as she blinks back at you.

“Oh, how could I forget,” she hums, pressing the back of your hand against her mouth, “You’re just a dumb little puppy, who needs to be told exactly what to do, isn’t that right darling?”

You nod happily, your body aching to reach forward and touch all the parts of her you had been deprived of while the two of you worked.

“Sit, puppy,” Lisa instructed, tipping her chin towards the worn, lumpy couch that sat behind you.

The springs groaned beneath your weight as you plopped back, dust and stray feathers plumed around you. The cushions are well-worn, frayed around the edges, and lumpy from how many times they’ve been restuffed and fluffed up. Despite its age and the way it creaks when you move around too much, the couch was comfortable and your body began to melt into the cushions as Lisa watched you with hawkish eyes.

Curling her forefinger towards her, Lisa beckons you to angle your hips towards her. Hooking her hands behind your knees, Lisa helps you settle near the edge of the sofa. The bottom of your skirt bunches up beneath your bum and exposes your frilly panties. There’s a hot, sticky wet spot along the seam of your cunt, it soaks through the thin cotton, begging for Lisa’s attention.

“What’s this?” Lisa coos, her bottom lip catching between her teeth, “Someone’s needy, aren’t they?”

“Shut up!” You whine between gritted teeth, Lisa laughs at your petulant tone and it drives another moan up your throat.

Lisa’s thumb presses into your throbbing clit through the damp cloth and that seems to quiet your voice as your mouth falls open into a sharp gasp. She playfully teases you through your panties, languidly rubbing circles until your legs melt against the sofa. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth to stifle the whimper that has slithered up to the tip of your tongue. The firm pressure of her thumb against you is just enough to warm your body up and leave you wanting so much more from her, but Lisa liked it when you begged just a little bit too much. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, not yet.

A set of soft green eyes sear holes through you from between your thighs, “Does this feel good, puppy?” Lisa questions though she can tell from your pinched expression that you’d say no, “Does my puppy like when I touch them like this?”

You shake your head just to watch Lisa roll her eyes, a breathy moan passes through your lips before you suck in another deep breath and clamp your lips shut. You were in a library after all and Lisa was always reminding you to keep quiet.

“No?” She fakes a pout, her brows pushing together as she stops her ministrations, “Let’s see if I can change that then.”

There’s an audible squelching sound when Lisa begins to peel your underwear away from your drooling cunt, your slick desire soaking the supple skin of your inner thighs. Lisa’s pink tongue darts out to wet her lips, you wonder if they taste of cherry or vanilla. Soon, they’d taste of nothing but you.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Lisa hums, trailing one delicate finger along your hip, “Should I have a taste, puppy?”

You nod before your brain has a chance to verbalize a response, “Yes,” you pant, your hands reaching out to caress the top of her head, “Please Lisa, I’ve been waiting all day for you to touch me … and kiss me.”

“I’ve already done both of those things, darling.”

The devilish glint that simmers within the wells of Lisa’s eyes sends your mind into a tizzy.

“I know.”

“And, besides that's not what I asked you,” Lisa muses, “Be a good puppy and answer me, unless you prefer to sit like this and have a chat?”

Pushing away the urge to roll your eyes, you peer down at Lisa with a pout, “Please eat my pussy out,” you whimper as the soft pads of your fingers graze against her scalp.

A low sound of satisfaction rumbles from within Lisa’s chest, your response must have pleased her.

Her plump lips press against the swell of your pussy, a chaste and affectionate kiss placed upon your labia before she spreads your lips apart with two dainty fingers. The tip of her tongue is teased against your slit as if she were sampling a glass of wine before deciding if she wished to commit to it. Your head lolls back against the plush couch, sweat-dabbled tendrils of your hair stick against the length of your flushed neck. The air has grown thick and even hotter, Lisa always kept the windows closed to preserve the wispy, aged pages of parchment contained within the library at Jean’s alleged behest. It made your skin grow even warmer, the humidity making your clothing cling uncomfortably to your body. Your mind could not ruminate on your discomfort any further because Lisa seemed to have decided she was ready to feast.

Her tongue is pressed flat against your cunt, licking a clean line up from your weeping hole to your swollen clit. Your hips buckle beneath the weight of her hand as you squirm in her hold, “Right there,” you rasp, boorishly pushing her head deeper into your pussy, “Need you right there Lisa!”

The rumble of her laughter sends a jolt up the length of your spine, Lisa allows her lips to wrap around your clit for a moment as if to say “Here?”.

The weepy moan you let out makes you feel pathetic in the best possible way, “Yes,” you cry, angling your hips upwards so she can take you deeper into her mouth, “Please, baby!”

She seems to oblige your needy disposition, lavishing you with her tongue and feather-light suckles until you writhed beneath her. Your thighs threatened to clamp around her head as they twitched. Pressing a finger against your hole, Lisa slowly begins to work your cunt open, curling it slightly upwards. Her name slides from your lips in a repeated melody, as if you were nothing but an entranced sailor and she was the siren whose spell you were bound to.

Lisa slides in another finger as a gasp pours out of you and for a second the wind is knocked out from within your lungs.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” she murmurs against you, worried eyes flitting upwards, “You need to take a breath.”

You feel a bit stupid as you greedily inhale as per her instruction, nearly making a show of how well you take to her instruction. Thank Barbatos, you think to yourself. It’s morose and for a moment you’re distracted by a flash of panic at the prospect of the Anemo Archon becoming privy to your sex life because you had been dumb enough to invite him with your thoughts.

“Eyes on me.”

Lisa looks peeved that you’ve allowed your mind to wander even for a moment and you mutter a small “I’m sorry,” between heavy, pleasured sighs. Keeping your eyes locked with hers, heat floods the apples of your cheeks. Her gaze is piercing and slightly predatory like she’d chew you up and spit you out once she was done with you. The whispers called her a maneater but as she ate you, you couldn’t help but relish in the irony.

“Sorry,” you pant, pathetically whining when Lisa pinches your thigh. Her nails are long, naturally and they’ll leave a mark on your skin because you’ve always been one to bruise easily, “You’re so good to me, I feel so… mm, good.”

She chuckles a bit, “Are you already this dumb for me?” Lisa questions, caressing the moon-shaped indents she’s left on your skin, “All you can say is ‘good’?”

Nodding your head, you press her head back towards your cunt, keening as she slips in another finger. You might have agreed with her but whatever you tried to say became swallowed up by a wanton moan. Your tongue felt too heavy to form any other words and any lingering thoughts on the semantics of the archons slipped away. All you could think of was how her hot, wet tongue swirled around your clit and the heavy little pants of breath she let out.

Your nails dig into the soft flesh of her scalp as you press her face impossibly closer. Lisa welcomes the weight of your calves on her shoulders, it allows her to keep your hips pinned down with ease as you squirm. The muscles in your abdomen tighten as a wave of pleasure rolls through you. Bliss is within fingers' length and you inch toward it at a mind-numbing pace. Lisa was too good, she knew your body too, and it made you resent how easily you fell apart at her hand. The fun would be over too soon but somewhere in the back of your head, you could hear her pretty voice telling you to let go and be good— to come for her and her alone.

Dropping your head into the worn cushions of the sofa, you whimper her name. Her long, lithe fingers have found that spot inside of you that turns you to putty as she rubs the pads of her fingers along it. Your orgasm rolls through you with ease and brings forth a fuzzy, heavy feeling to your head and your limbs as the tension in your body melts away. Your pussy squelches around Lisa’s hand as she finger fucks you through your high. She laps up your juices as your cunt gushes with such an eager vigour that your cheeks fill heat.

The wet pop that sounds as Lisa pulls away from your pussy is embarrassing but your whines are silenced as she plants a sloppy kiss on your still throbbing clit. Her face is flushed pink and her mouth is glossy. Lisa kisses you before you’re able to spend too long admiring her appearance. The taste of you lingers on her tongue and lips and you moan into her mouth as she lavishes you.

“Feel better?” She coos as she brushes her knuckles across your cheekbone.

You nod lazily a small, “Yes,” passing your lips as you hum.

With a quick peck to your cheek, Lisa rises to her feet. She wobbles for a moment as the blood rushes back to her legs and disappears into some far corner of the library within a blink of an eye. Though, she doesn’t leave you for too long, her smiling face emerging from around the corner just as you were about to call for her.

“Did you miss me, darling?” She asks with a giggle, her hands tucked behind her back, “Now, don’t lie to me because I can see it in your face!”

You stick your tongue out at her like a petulant child but still open your arms to beckon her into your embrace, “Come here, I wanna cuddle.”

“I would, but I have a surprise for you!”

Cocking your head to the side you peer up at Lisa with expectant eyes.

“You have to guess!” She exclaims, tucking herself between the arm of the sofa and your thigh, “Come on, you know you want to, sweetheart!”

Pressing your finger to your lip in faux contemplation you pretend to think long and hard, “A bottle of water?”

Lisa rolls her eyes in a playful manner, lightly smacking your thigh, “You’re supposed to try!” She whines, “You’re no fun, no it’s not a bottle of water!”

Producing her hand from behind her back with a flourish, Lisa presents some sort of sex toy.

“What is that?” You ask, furrowing your brows together.

“It’s the latest fun from Fontaine, “Lisa muses with a giggle, “Gods, they never fail to amaze and amuse me!”

“How does it work?”

A devilish smirk rises to her lips at your question. Wordlessly, she swats at your other thigh until you get her hint and rest your knee on the sofa. Lisa swipes her fingers along your still sensitive pussy to collect a bit of your slick to coat one end of the toy.

“Can I put this inside you?” She asks only moving once you’ve nodded your head in consent.

The shorter end of the toy slips into your still pulsing while with ease. The rest of the toy sits snugly against your clit and protrudes upwards. The shape of it is vaguely phallic and realization clicks into place, bringing a giggle to your lips.

“It’s a strapless strapon!” Lisa exclaims, running her fingers along the pale purple tip, “Figured we may as well read it out now that you’re nice and wet.”

“Are you?”

“Hm?” She hums.

“Are you wet?”

Lisa pouts a bit as she hikes up the bottom of her skirt, “You always get me so worked up, my love,” she reassures.

The dark plum of her panties sports an obvious wet spot that Lisa strokes absentmindedly. Hooking her fingers around the fabric, she pulls her underwear aside to reveal her pussy to you. Her bush glistened and dripped with her arousal. You bit your lip at the sight, your hands reaching out to urge Lisa toward you.

Hiking her thighs over yours, Lisa settles comfortably into your lap. Dipping her hand between her legs, Lisa rubs a slow circle against her clit. Loose brown ringlets spill over her shoulder as she rests her cheek upon it, she softly moans. Digging your nails into the fat of her hips, you suppress your own moan, eyes growing lidded as you watch Lisa touch herself.

“Open wide for my baby,” she instructs as she prods your bottom lip with her middle and ring finger, “Mhm, just like that.”

Your tongue swirls around her digits to chase the fleeting taste of salt and skin. Spit leaks out from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down your chin as you sloppily suck on her fingers. Lisa preens at the sight, drinking it up with greedy eyes.

“So messy,” she laughs, nuzzling her nose to your cheek, “But so good for me.”

Lisa coats the silicon cock with your spit but still makes a show of rubbing the head in between her soaking folds. The ridged edge that is pressed against your clit makes you shiver as Lisa experimentally fiddles with the toy.

“Oh? Does that feel good?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, your eyes flitting up to meet hers.

Lisa peers down at you with heavily lidded eyes. She grins much like a cat who caught the cream and she seems oh so pleased with herself for being curious enough to buy this toy. Her smug expression is quickly washed away when you reach between your bodies to grab the base of the toy and nudge the rounded head against her hole.

“Why don’t you relax, baby,” she huffs, her lips catching between her teeth as she slowly sinks down onto your strap, “Let me ride you.”

You’re all too ready to agree with a quiet and compliant, “Okay,” slipping through your teeth when Lisa slowly rocks her hips against yours.

Her breasts jiggle and nearly spill out from the low neckline of her dress giving you an eyeful of her milky skin. Pressing a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to her collar you bring your hand to rest against the small of her back and press her flush against you. Lisa hums in content, pushing her hair aside and bearing her neck to you. A low throaty moan melts past her lips as you begin to graze your teeth against her pulse point, nipping at the sensitive skin between pecks.

Lisa groans against the shell of her ear, her lips gently brushing against your ear lobe, “You feel so good inside of me, darling,” she rasps, “You wanna suck on my tits, hm?”

You look up at her with eyes blown wide with lust, your head bobbing up and down before she’s even finished speaking. You loved the days when Lisa chose not to wear a bra for many reasons, most of them having to do with how easily accessible she became to you and right now it took everything in you not to shower her with thanks as she tugged her dress down to expose her breasts. Dragging your teeth and tongue along the slope of her neck, you lavished her chest with little bites that left her skin blushed pink.

Lisa is a vision unlike any other and you feel immensely lucky to be the only one privy to such a sight. Her kiss-bitten bottom lip is pressed between her teeth to keep her moans hushed lest she get too loud like she was when the two of you were hidden behind the closed doors of your shared apartment. Sweat is dabbled along her pinched brow and a few silky strands of her hair sticks to her forehead. You’d never tired of watching her expression grow debauched and wanton before your very eyes.

Cupping the bottom of her breast, your tongue lolls out and dribbles a bit of spit onto her puffy and soft nipple before your lips wrap around the bud to suckle on it. Lisa’s hips stutter for a moment and she laughs to herself before picking up the pace. Your eyes roll back into your head as the toy begins to rub against your throbbing clit.

“So good,” Lisa moans, a quick curse flying past her lips when the strap angles just right inside of her, “You gonna make me cum, sweetheart?”

Dipping her hand beneath the fabric of her crumpled-up dress, the pads of Lisa’s fingers find her clit.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick I know you’re still sensitive.”

She throws her head back, trying her best not to jostle you around too much as she rides you. Pressing your free hand against her lower back, you help to steady Lisa, she must appreciate it because the lilt of her voice becomes affectionate as she sighs out your name with a gooey sort of expression settling onto her features.

Running your teeth along her sensitive, hardened nipple, your eyes flicker upward to watch as Lisa’s mouth falls open. Her orgasm slowly washes over her, forcing a shudder to wrack through her body. Slumping against your shoulder, Lisa sighs softly, her hand coming to caress your shoulder.

“How was that for putting you to work?”

“If this is how you treat all your maids, well then I’ll be sure to apply for the position,” you laugh, releasing her tit with a loud pop, “Though, I must say I much prefer being your lover.”

#genshin impact smut #lisa minci smut #lisa minci x reader #lisa x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #gi x reader #gi smut

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