— dare ?! @dare-writes - Tumblr Blog

He’s Just So Hot | Todd Stevens

Summary: You take up a KNA brother on his party invite just to get under Todd Steven’s skin, intending to continue your famous rivalry, and it’s no surprise to anybody when you end the night in his bed.

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! alcohol use, drug use, cig smoking (ew nasty) this is literally hate sex, hair pulling nothing thaaaat bad

A/N: yo i can’t lie this is probably the best thing ive written I LOVE ME SOME HATE SEX (tbh they don’t actually hate each other otherwise why would they be having sex but like…idc. they dislike each other but wanna fuck, what could be better than that?) also yes the college party has been recycled by me i know that i did it already but like ask me if i care :)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You spent the entire walk across campus complaining.

“I swear to God, if I have to look at Todd fucking Stevens for more than twenty minutes, I’m burning KNA to the ground,” you groaned, hugging your jacket tighter around yourself as the fall wind cut across the quad.

Beside you, Miles, a KNA brother, your sort-of friend and designated emotional support frat boy, snorted. “Violent start to the day. Love the energy.”

“I’m serious,” you said, pushing your hair back from your face. “Of all the people to get stuck with at that booth, it had to be him. Does the universe hate me? Is that what this is?”

Miles bumped your shoulder with his. “There are worse fates than standing next to Todd. He’s hot.”

You glared at him. “Your gay is showing you know. He’s a menace.”

“A hot menace,” Miles corrected, grinning.

“You’re gonna be bickering with the hot guy all morning. I truly do not understand the complaining.”

“He’s not hot.”

Miles shot you a look so unimpressed it was practically a slap. “Yeah, okay. And I’m not late to every chapter meeting.”

“He’s not,” you insisted, a little too quickly. “He’s…tall. And smug. His face looks like it’s always trying not to smirk. That’s not hot, that’s annoying.”

“Sure,” Miles said, drawing the word out like he was humouring a toddler. “That’s why you’re doing your eyeliner like you’re about to be photographed for Vogue at eight in the morning.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to shut up, but your phone screen caught your reflection as you checked the time. Your gaze lingered. Your lipstick was still perfect, mascara clean, hair mostly behaving.

You pretended you weren’t checking. Miles definitely noticed. You angled the phone to fix a stray strand, smoothing it behind your ear. Miles’ eyebrows climbed his forehead.

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “Not hot at all.”

“Fuck off,” you muttered, shoving your phone back into your pocket and giving him a shove with your shoulder. He laughed, stumbling a half step, but fell easily back into pace with you as Greek Row came into view.

The booth was already half set up by the time you arrived. Tables lined along the walkway, banners hanging off them for different Greek orgs and campus clubs. Your joint booth sat dead center, a mashup of your sorority’s pastel branding and KNA’s obnoxious navy and gold. There were donation jars, flyers, a sign-up sheet for some charity event the Greek council had cooked up to make themselves look less chaotic. KNA and your sorority had been “strongly encouraged” to co-host.

Translation: Todd and you had been forced into the same volunteer block.

You dropped your bag behind the table and grabbed the stack of flyers, scanning the setup. A few KNA boys were already there, leaning against the table and scrolling on their phones. They all lit up when they saw you.

“Hey!” Luke, one of the brothers, called. “Look who it is. Our favourite sorority girl!”

“You only say that because I bring you guys snacks,” you said, but you couldn’t help the little smile. You liked most of the frat, just not their president.

“Obviously,” Luke said. “We’re shallow like that.”

You moved around the table, adjusting the banner so it didn’t sag in the middle, straightening the donation jar. “Where’s your fearless leader? Did he forget how clocks work?”

Miles laughed. “He’s on his way. You know Todd, he shows up late, acts like he invented the event, and somehow everyone thanks him for it.”

“Disgusting,” you said flatly. “If a person could be an arch-nemesis, it would be him.”

“Yeah?” Luke leaned his elbows on the table. “What did he even do? I feel like I missed an origin story. One day you two were normal, and then suddenly there’s murder in the air every time you look at each other. Mikes?”

“Don’t ask me,” Miles said quickly. “I like my life.”

You ignored them, stacking the flyers in neat little piles. “He just exists,” you muttered. “That’s enough.”

“Mmhm,” Miles said under his breath.

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He raised both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

You were in the middle of repositioning the sign-up clipboard when a familiar drawl slid into the air behind you.

“Morning, gentlemen. Sunshine.”

Your shoulders tensed instinctively.

You turned and there he was: Todd Stephens, Kappa Nu Alpha president, campus legend, and personal source of rage. Baseball cap turned backward, KNA hoodie sleeves shoved up his forearms, lanyard with his ID hanging loose around his neck. His dark hair looked like he’d run his hands through it on his way over, and there was that damned easy grin curling his mouth, like life never really had the nerve to slap him.

“Nice of you to join us,” you said, straightening up. “Did you get lost? Need someone to show you how to tell time?”

His eyes flicked over you—head to toe, quick and sharp—and then back to your face, that grin sharpening into something more challenging.

“Relax, darlin’,” he drawled, the southern lilt coating the word in honey and gasoline at the same time. “It’s two minutes past. You miss me that bad?”

“In what world,” you shot back, “would I ever need more of you?”

“Careful.” Todd set his coffee cup down on the table between your flyers like he owned the space. “Say stuff like that, people might start thinkin’ you’re obsessed.”

Luke coughed to cover a laugh. Miles outright snorted.

You rolled your eyes. “Obsessed? Please. You’re just everywhere. Like a campus rash.”

“Hot rash,” Miles muttered.

You elbowed him. “You’re not helping.”

Todd leaned forward on his hands, close enough that you caught a hint of his cologne under the darker scent of coffee. “You keep talkin’ about me like that, sunshine, somebody’s gonna think you like me.”

“That would be a tragic misunderstanding,” you said sweetly. “Anyway, since you finally decided to grace us with your presence, you can actually do something. Take a stack and make yourself useful.”

“My pleasure.” He slid a stack of flyers toward himself, eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s see if we can’t get some people who actually wanna show up to this thing.”

“That implies you know how to talk to people without inflating your own ego,” you replied.

“Watch me.”

The morning settled into a pattern almost immediately: students drifting past on their way to class, Todd flipping his charm on like a light switch, you matching it with a polished, practiced smile. To the passing crowd, you were all friendliness and jokes and easy banter. Underneath, you and Todd were tearing each other apart.

“Sign up and you get free pizza at the event,” you said to a pair of girls walking by, handing them each a flyer. “Plus, you get to watch the KNA boys try to do community service. It’s adorable.”

One of them laughed, glancing past you at Todd. “Are you gonna be there?”

“Unfortunately,” you sighed under your breath.

“Absolutely,” Todd said at the same time, stepping closer. He rested his hand casually at the edge of the table, inches from yours. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The girls exchanged a look. There was that familiar flicker in their eyes you’d seen a hundred times—something like oh, they’re a thing. You and Todd said it in unison, without even looking at each other.

“We’re not together.”

The girls giggled, murmured something about “sure you’re not,” and walked away.

You turned on him. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” he asked, incredulous. “For standin’ here?”

“For existing within five feet of me, for watching the way you do,” you said.

Todd’s mouth tugged up at one corner, like he’s been caught. He did have a bit of a staring problem. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Miles, rearranging the donation jar, winced. “Can we please remember there are other people here?”

“Y’all act like we’re not used to it,” Luke muttered, exchanging a look with another brother. “I feel like I’m third-wheelin’ whenever they’re in the same zip code. For people that hate each other, they’re around each other far too much.”

“Fourth,” the other guy said.

Todd picked up another handful of flyers and moved a few steps down, intercepting a group of guys. “Hey, boys, you like not bein’ terrible people? Come sign up for a charity event.”

You scoffed. “Wow. Inspirational.”

“I’m a man of the people, sunshine,” he said. “Unlike some folks who think glaring counts as outreach.”

“You literally charged a freshman five bucks to help him find his classroom last week,” you said.

“He offered,” Todd replied smoothly. “It was a donation. To the ‘Keep Todd in Perfect Condition’ fund.”

“Tragic cause,” you said. “I hope it fails.”

The hours dragged and snapped all at once. The stream of students didn’t stop, and every time you and Todd weren’t talking to someone else, you were sniping at each other.

“Your handwriting is awful,” he said at one point, leaning over you and the sign-up sheet. “You tryin’ to make sure we can’t follow up with anybody?”

“At least I can spell ‘philanthropy,’” you replied. “How many tries did it take you for the banner?”

“My banner’s perfect,” he said, glancing at the KNA side. It was slightly crooked. You smiled. His jaw ticked. “You touch that?”

“Would I do that?” you asked innocently.

“So, Yes.” He said, confirming without hesitation.

When the foot traffic slowed around midday, boredom started creeping in. Todd, apparently unable to exist without turning something into a contest, leaned on the table and smirked at you. “All right,” he said. “New game.”

“No,” you said immediately.

“Whoever gets more people to put their number down in the next thirty minutes wins,” he went on, ignoring you. “Loser has to…hmm.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Wear the other person’s letters for a day.”

You stared at him, horrified. “I am not walking around campus in a KNA shirt.”

“Scared?” he asked, grin widening.

“You’re actually psychotic,” you said. “And no, I’m not scared. I just have dignity.”

“Hm.” He rocked back on his heels. “Sounds like fear.”

You grit your teeth. “Fine. You’re on.”

He straightened like he’d just been crowned king again. “Attagirl.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, but you grabbed a fresh stack of flyers and moved out from behind the table. You started with what you were good at: easy conversation, jokes, making people feel like they were in on something. You smiled, laughed, complimented a girl’s shoes, asked a guy about his major. A few scribbled their numbers; a few rolled their eyes and walked away. Pretty standard. Then you caught sight of Todd. He’d positioned himself right at the center of the walkway, hat pushed back just enough that his eyes were clear and bright. He was laughing with a group of girls, one of them already writing on the clipboard, another tucking her hair behind her ear as she looked up at him. His hand brushed one of their shoulders as he leaned in to say something, and she giggled like she’d just been personally blessed. Your jaw clenched. Of course he would be good at this. Of course. You stalked back to the table and dropped your dwindling stack of flyers next to Miles.

“How’s it going?” he asked, smirking.

“I hate him,” you said.

“You’ve said that like twelve times today,” Luke pointed out.

“Hasn’t stopped being true,” you shot back.

But your eyes were still on Todd, on the way he smiled down at the girl in front of him, on the way she tilted her head up at him like she’d just stepped into a movie. Your stomach did something you refused to name. You inhaled, slow and steady. Then you straightened, slid your fingers under the hem of your top, and tugged it down just enough to accentuate what God and a good push-up bra had given you. You shook your hair out a little, rolled your shoulders back, and pasted on your brightest smile.

When you stepped away from the table again, you knew exactly who your target audience was. Within ten minutes, you had a small cluster of easily-distracted college boys circling your end of the walkway. They were all smiles and eager nods, leaning in to talk to you as you explained the event, batting their stupid eyelashes.

“No, yeah, it’s really important,” you said, touching a guy’s forearm lightly as you handed him a pen. “We’re raising a lot. You’d be a huge help.” You widened your eyes up at him, blinking as innocently as possible. And this guy was eating it up.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” he said, eyes nowhere near your face. “Anything for charity.”

“Thank you,” you said, letting your fingers linger for half a second longer than necessary. You could practically feel Todd’s stare burning into the side of your face.

You glanced over at him and smiled sweetly.

His expression was thunderous. “How’s it going over there?” you called, projecting your voice just enough for the nearby students to hear.

He narrowed his eyes. “Just fine, darlin’.”

“You look mad,” you said. “Is it because I’m winning? Or because you just realized your charm has competition?”

“You think that’s charm?” he retorted. “All you’re doin’ is distractin’ dudes who’d sign up for anything if you smiled at ‘em.”

“Jealousy is so ugly on you,” you said lightly. “Almost as ugly as that hat.”

Luke made a strangled noise, like he was trying to laugh and swallow his tongue at the same time. One of the guys at your side—some sophomore you’d never met—glanced between you and Todd, eyebrows high.

“Are you guys like…together?” he asked.

You and Todd snapped your answers so fast they overlapped.

“No.”

“Never.”

The sophomore raised his hands. “Okay, damn. Just asking. The vibe is…intense.”

“Yeah,” one of his friends added. “Like, ‘we definitely hate-fucked in a stairwell once’ intense.”

“We didn’t,” you said immediately.

“Wouldn’t pick a stairwell,” Todd said under his breath.

Your head snapped toward him. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing, sunshine,” he said, his gaze dropping for half a heartbeat before he dragged it back up. “Focus on your little numbers.”

By the time the organizing committee came by to relieve you, the sign-up sheets were covered in names and numbers and the donation jars were heavy with crumpled bills. Your feet ached, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and every muscle in your shoulders was tight from holding yourself back from strangling Todd with his own lanyard.

You were packing up the last of the flyers when Luke wandered over. Hugging you goodbye, he glanced between you and Todd with blatant amusement.

“Hey,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “We’re throwin’ a party tonight. Big one. You should come.”

You straightened, surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He grinned. “You kept us entertained all day, you earned an invite. Come de-stress. Keg’s already in the basement.”

Todd, who had been tossing the leftover flyers into a box, went still. “She doesn’t wanna come to our party,” he said, not looking at you. “She’d rather sit at home and write hate speeches about me or whatever it is she does to unwind.”

You folded your arms. “You do realize inviting people is the entire point of this booth, right?”

“So is not subjectin’ my house to you and Miles constant yapping’,” he shot back. “It’s a miracle the campus police haven’t given y’all a noise complaint just for bein’ in the same room.”

Luke looked between you, eyes sparkling. “I mean, if you don’t wanna come…”

“I’ll be there,” you said.

Todd finally looked up at you, eyes dark. “What?”

You shrugged, careful to keep your voice airy. “Wouldn’t miss the chance to watch you drink cheap beer and lose at beer pong.”

Luke whooped. “Hell yeah! This is gonna be good. Wear something fun. Something sexy.”

“Oh, she will,” Miles said under his breath.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but your face felt warm.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and stepped around the table, giving Todd one last bright, antagonistic smile. “Try not to trip over your ego before tonight, president.”

He scoffed. “Try not to break anything when you inevitably storm out, sunshine.”

You walked away down the path, feeling his gaze heavy between your shoulder blades. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was still watching. You could feel it, the way you could feel the sun on your skin.

Behind you, Luke’s voice floated over the crowd.

“Dude, as if you don’t wanna see her in a tiny dress.”

“Shut the hell up,” Todd muttered, elbowing him hard in the arm. “Y’all are delusional.”

But he didn’t stop looking until you turned the corner.

————

By the time you actually made it to the KNA house that night, the party was in full swing.

The bass thumped so hard you could feel it on the sidewalk. The front lawn was littered with bodies—people laughing, red cups in hand, leaning against the porch railing or perched on the steps. Lights spilled out from every window, warm and chaotic. You tugged your zip-up sweater a little tighter around yourself as you walked up the path, the cool night air prickling at your bare legs. The tight black dress underneath rode up just enough to be dangerous every time you took a bigger step. Glitter dusted your collarbones, your shoulders, the edge of your hairline, catching the light when you moved like you’d rolled in a galaxy before walking out the door.

Your stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the knowledge that Todd was inside somewhere. You stepped into the house, swallowing thick, warm air that tasted like beer and sweat and cheap cologne. People pressed in around you, laughing, shouting over the music. You wove through the crowd, the beat pounding under your feet, brushing past strangers and familiar faces.

And then, through the shifting bodies and flashing lights, you saw him. Todd stood on the other side of the living room near the makeshift bar, one hand braced on the counter, red cup dangling from the other. His hat was gone, hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it all night. He was laughing at something one of his brothers said, head tipped back slightly.

He looked up.

Your eyes met across the crowded room.

His grin froze, just for a second. His gaze did a slow, unmistakable sweep over you—leg, dress, the open line of your sweater, the glitter in your hair—before snapping back to your face. His jaw clenched. You lifted your hand and flipped him off. That broke the spell. He laughed, shook his head, downed the rest of whatever was in his cup in one go, and started toward you. You turned, determined not to look impressed as he closed the distance between you.

“Well, well,” he drawled when he reached you, the accent coming out thicker with the alcohol. “Look who actually showed up.”

“Shockingly,” you said, arching a brow. “I am a woman of my word.”

He let his gaze drag down you again, slower this time. “You’re late.”

You scoffed. “To your party?”

“House opens at nine,” he said. “You stroll in when you feel like it and expect the red carpet?”

You leaned in, lips tugging into a smirk. “You should be grateful. Attendance just improved significantly.”

He huffed out a laugh. “God, you’re insufferable.”

You spread your arms slightly, letting your sweater fall open enough that he had no choice but to notice the dress underneath. “And yet, here I am. Where’s my welcome drink, president?”

His eyes flicked again, electricity sparking in the air for one dizzy second before he tore them away. “You got two hands, don’t you? The fridge still works.”

“Oh, wow,” you said. “So hospitable.”

“You want somethin’ or you just here to complain?” he asked, fighting a smile.

“I want you to stop wasting my time and give me a drink,” you said. “Since you’re so obsessed with controlling everything in this house.”

He rolled his eyes but jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Come on, then. Try not to trip.”

You followed him through the kitchen doorway, ducking past a couple making out against the doorframe. The kitchen was marginally quieter, the music dulled by distance, but the counters were still littered with cups, open bags of chips, sticky puddles of spilled beer.

Todd opened the fridge and whistled low. “Well, shit.”

“What?” you asked, stepping closer.

He shifted to the side so you could see. The fridge was nearly empty. Two sad-looking hard seltzers sat on the bottom shelf, along with a solitary bottle of beer. “That’s it?” you asked. “This house has fifty dudes in it and you didn’t think to stock up?”

“We did,” he said. “You vultures drank it.”

He reached for the beer, fingers closing around the neck of the bottle.

“You can have one of the coolers,” he added. “Wouldn’t want you crashin’ my vibe any more than necessary.”

Before he could pull the bottle out, your hand shot forward. You snatched it from under his fingers, popped the cap off against the counter with a practiced twist, and lifted it to your lips.

His eyes narrowed. “You only did that because I wanted it.”

“There’s coolers right there for you, darlin’,” you said, mimicking his drawl as you tilted the bottle back.

You chugged, the cold bitterness rushing down your throat, the faint fizz tickling your nose. The room blurred just a little at the edges as you swallowed, not stopping until the glass was empty. You slammed the bottle down on the counter, breathing a little harder, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. Todd stared at you, something like surprise and reluctant admiration flickering across his face.

“Well,” he said slowly. “Color me impressed.”

You shrugged, pretending your head wasn’t already buzzing. “I’m full of surprises.”

He leaned closer, looming without even trying. “You keep talkin’ like that, someone might think you’re tryin’ to impress me.”

“If I was trying to impress you,” you said, “I’d win something.”

As if on cue, someone shouted from the living room. “Yo! Todd! Get your ass over here, we need a ringer!”

Another voice followed. “Bring your mortal enemy, too!”

Todd snorted, glancing toward the doorway. “Beer pong. You game, sunshine? Or you scared I’m gonna clean the floor with you?”

“You’re drunk,” you said. “You’ll miss every cup.”

“That a no?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the door. “It’s a ‘I’m about to ruin your night’ actually.”

The dining room table had been commandeered as a beer pong arena, plastic cups arranged in bright red triangles at either end. A cluster of people crowded around, chanting, cheering, shouting rules that contradicted each other.

Luke waved as you and Todd approached. “There they are! Perfect. Todd, you’re with me. You—” he nodded at you “—are with Jamie. Loser has to do a shot of whatever’s in that sketchy jug.”

You eyed the unmarked container on the sideboard. “I’ll pass.”

“Coward,” Todd said.

“Shut up,” you replied, moving to your end of the table. Jamie, a girl from another sorority, handed you a ball.

“You any good?” she asked.

“Decent,” you said. “We’re gonna win.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jamie said, grinning.

On the other end, Todd rolled his shoulders like he was warming up for a championship game.

“That form is tragic,” you called, watching him line up his first shot. “Your elbow’s all over the place.”

“Don’t worry, sunshine,” he said. “I don’t miss.”

He missed. The ball bounced off the rim of the front cup and skittered onto the floor.

The room exploded with laughter. You clapped slowly. “Wow. Iconic performance. Truly presidential.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, but there was color in his cheeks.

You took your time with your shot, spinning the ball between your fingers, letting him watch you. You tracked the distance, the line, let the noise fade to a dull roar. Then you flicked your wrist and let it fly. The ball dropped cleanly into the middle cup. The room roared again, but this time for you.

Todd’s lips parted. He tipped his head forward once, almost like a nod. “Okay then.”

“You were saying?” you asked sweetly, as Todd pulled the cup and took the obligatory sip.

Todd’s next throw landed. So did yours. It only got worse from there—for him.

Every time you scored, you couldn’t help glancing up at him, heat and triumph curling in your chest. Every time, he was already looking at you.

“Gettin’ cocky,” he said after your third straight shot sank.

“Just accurate,” you replied. “Maybe you should take notes.”

“You talk a lot for someone who hasn’t seen me sober on this table,” he said.

“I haven’t seen you sober anywhere,” you shot back.

“Sounds like you’re watchin’ close,” he drawled.

Jamie elbowed you lightly. “He’s really pushing the ‘I want your attention’ agenda, huh?”

“Nope,” Todd and you both snapped, which only made everyone laugh harder.

Somewhere to your left, someone said loudly, “Oh my God, just fuck already and get it over with.”

You swore you felt the temperature in the room spike. You and Todd both jerked your heads toward the source of the comment, then snapped back to each other.

“That’s nasty,” you said.

“Not in this lifetime,” Todd said.

But his gaze dipped, for just a fraction of a second, to your mouth. You swallowed.

You made the final shot a little harder than you needed to, anger and adrenaline and something else burning in your veins. The ball arced high, seemed for a moment like it would overshoot, then dropped perfectly into the last solitary cup on Todd’s side.

The room went insane.

“Game!” Jamie yelled, throwing her hands up. She grabbed you in a sideways hug, sloshing beer onto your dress. “You crushed him!”

Todd stared at the empty spot on the table, expression blank for one, two beats.

Then he exhaled slowly and smiled.

“Guess you got me this time,” he said.

You basked in it for a second, letting victory warm you. Then you leaned over the table, meeting his eyes head-on.

“Try not to cry about it, president.”

“I’ll survive,” he replied. “You gonna hover and gloat or you actually got somewhere to be in my house?”

“You’re welcome for gracing your table,” you said, straightening up. “I’m taking a lap. Try not to lose anything else while I’m gone.”

You slipped away before he could answer, weaving through the crush of bodies. The house felt even hotter now—music pounding against your ribs, air thick with sweat, beer, and a sharp herbal note that made you pause. That familiar smell tugged you toward a side room just off the main hallway—a den that had been half-claimed by a cluster of students. The lights were dimmer here, a warm lamp in the corner and the flicker of colored LEDs along the ceiling. Someone had shoved the furniture into a loose circle: a sagging couch, a couple of mismatched armchairs, people sitting cross-legged on the floor, a haze of smoke hovering near the ceiling. You stepped in and the noise from the rest of the party dulled into a muffled thump behind you, like someone had closed a door even though the entryway was wide open.

“Hey!” a girl on the floor called, waving you over. “Join the communion.”

You laughed under your breath. “That’s a hell of a way to sell it.”

You dropped down onto the edge of the couch, tucking one leg under you, your dress sliding just enough that you tugged your sweater closer around you out of habit. The joint made its slow circuit around the circle, fingers and jokes passing with it.

When it reached you, the guy next to you held it out. “You look like you need this.”

“You have no idea,” you said, taking it from him.

The paper crackled softly when you brought the lighter up, putting fresh heat to the tip. You inhaled, lungs burning in that familiar way, the taste bitter and sharp and strangely comforting. The edges of the world softened almost immediately, the noise in your head dialling down from a scream to a loud hum. You’d just taken your second drag when the doorway filled with a very familiar shape.

“I should’ve known you’d track down the good stuff,” Todd drawled, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe.

You didn’t bother turning your head fully at first. “Relax. I didn’t touch your personal stash.”

He pushed off the frame and stepped into the room as if it already belonged to him—because, in a way, it did. People shifted to make space without even thinking about it. He moved around the side of the circle and dropped down next to you on the couch, close enough that your bare knee brushed his jeans.

“There you are,” he said, settling in like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Win one game and you vanish on me.”

“I didn’t vanish,” you said. “I upgraded.”

“From beer pong with me to…floor gremlins?” he asked, glancing around the circle.

“We’re couch goblins, actually,” someone corrected.

Todd chuckled. “My mistake.”

You carefully kept your eyes on the glowing cherry at the end of the joint. “You’re welcome to leave, you know. No one’s begging you to sit here.”

“Funny,” he said. “’Cause this seat was empty until I took it.”

You held the joint out without looking at him. “Are you just going to hog my oxygen or are you going to smoke?”

His fingers slid over yours as he took it—warm, rough, lingering half a second longer than necessary. Your pulse jumped annoyingly fast. He put it to his mouth and drew in slow. You tried not to watch the way his lips closed around the paper, the way his throat moved when he swallowed the smoke. He held it for a beat, then exhaled in a lazy stream, the cloud curling through the dim light.

“Not bad,” he said, handing it back to you. “Didn’t peg you for quality.”

“Obviously, you didn’t roll it,” you replied.

“That the bar?” he asked. “Anything better than my cookin’?”

“You don’t cook,” you said.

He smiled. “You don’t know that.”

“You tried to microwave eggs in the chapter kitchen,” you countered.

The girl across from you winced. “Oh my God, that was you? The smell lasted three days.”

“Y’all hold grudges like it’s a sport,” Todd muttered.

“That’s rich coming from you,” you said.

The joint kept moving around the circle, from hand to hand, mouth to mouth.

Conversations rose and fell—classes, gossip, someone’s disastrous situationship—but every line between you and Todd stayed taut, stretched tight across the small space between your bodies. At some point, your knees ended up fully pressed together. You weren’t sure when it happened. One second you were just sitting; the next, the solid warmth of his leg was aligned with yours, denim against your bare skin. Neither of you moved. It was his turn to watch as you took a long drag from the communal joint. He watched your chest as it rose and fall, the face you made as you held the smoke in your lungs, your lips wrapping tight around the joint as you inhaled. You looked quite beautiful, truly. But he would never admit that. You passed him the joint again. Your fingers brushed this time, slower, deliberate. He pretended not to notice. So did you.

“And here I was thinkin’ you weren’t a party girl,” he said eventually, voice low, like it was just for you. “Guess I don’t know everything about you, sunshine.”

“You know nothing about me,” you said, watching the smoke curl up toward the ceiling. “You just like to think you do.”

“I know you hate losin’,” he said. “I know you talk more trash than half my brothers. And I know you came to my house in that dress and then beat me in beer pong, so you’re either tryin’ to get my attention or you really enjoy torture.”

“Maybe both,” you muttered, then immediately wished you could snatch the words back out of the air. His eyes snapped to your face.

You cleared your throat, suddenly too warm. “You’re high. Don’t read into it.”

“‘Course,” he said slowly. “Wouldn’t dare, darlin’.”

Before you could think of something sharp to throw back, another body dropped into a gap in the circle on the other side of you—a tall guy you vaguely recognized from campus, with messy dark hair and a lazy smile. You smiled up at him, your attention quickly stolen. He was definitely a welcomed addition to the circle.

“Hey,” he said, glancing between you and the joint. “Space for one more?”

“It’s not assigned seating,” you said, shifting just enough to let him fit. Todd’s leg stayed exactly where it was, bracketed along yours.

The newcomer extended his hand. “I’m Austin.”

You gave him your name, and his smile widened. “Didn’t expect to see you at KNA tonight.”

“Peer pressure,” you said. “And poor decision making.”

“That’s basically their brand,” he replied, nodding toward Todd. Todd’s jaw flexed.

Austin’s attention slid back to you. “So what’s your major?”

You let yourself fall into the easy rhythm of that kind of conversation. You explained, joked about your workload, complained about a professor. Austin laughed at the right moments, asked follow-ups, leaned in a little closer each time he spoke. You could feel Todd’s focus narrowed on you like a laser, even when he pretended to be paying attention to the rest of the circle. When Austin’s shoulder brushed yours as he took his turn with the joint, you didn’t move away. You watched Todd’s mouth flatten into a harder line, watched his hand tighten lightly against his knee.

Austin nodded toward him casually. “You two here together?” You answered so fast your words collided with Todd’s.

“Absolutely not.”

“Hell no.”

Austin laughed. “All right, all right. My bad. Just…you’ve got a vibe.”

“It’s called mutual loathing,” you said.

“Sure,” he said easily. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The joint made another loop. You took one more slow drag, feeling the combination of weed and alcohol melting your edges. The room was warm, your skin warmer, the press of Todd’s leg against yours almost unbearably noticeable now.

You shifted forward on the couch. “I’m getting another drink. You want anything?” you asked Austin.

“Surprise me,” he said, grinning. “Dealer’s choice.”

“Bold,” you said, but you smiled anyway and pushed yourself to your feet.

The den seemed to exhale when you stood, the smoke swirling differently. The hallway outside felt immediately louder, music slamming back into you like a wave. You navigated your way to the kitchen, grabbed a cup, poured something vaguely drinkable into it, and stood there for a second, palms flat on the counter, letting your head catch up with your body. When you made your way back toward the den, cup in hand, the energy in the house felt…off. Not dramatically, just shifted. You reached the doorway and stopped. Austin wasn’t where you’d left him. In fact, he wasn’t in the room at all. Your gaze flicked past the den, down the hall toward the front of the house, just in time to see two KNA brothers guiding Austin toward the open front door—one on each side, hands firm on his arms. He wasn’t resisting, just arguing loudly.

“Dude, that’s insane,” he was saying. “I wasn’t doing anything. I was literally just talking to a girl!”

“Yeah, well, you’re done talking here,” one of the brothers said, pushing the door open wider.

Cold air from outside cut briefly through the humid heat of the hallway as they moved him out. The door closed, and the music swallowed the moment like nothing had happened. You turned slowly. Todd was leaning against the wall just outside the den, arms folded, expression frustratingly neutral. Your temper snapped back to full strength in an instant.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, storming up to him.

He blinked, feigning innocence badly. “What was what?”

“Don’t start,” you said, jabbing a finger toward the front of the house. “You just had your little minions throw Austin out. Damn it Todd! He was hot.” You stomped your foot in annoyance, which only made Todd laugh in response.

He pushed off the wall, straightening to his full height. “They’re not minions.”

“Fine. Henchmen,” you corrected. “Happy?”

“You givin’ me supervillain now?” he asked.

“If the evil lair fits,” you shot back. “Answer the question.”

He exhaled, annoyance flickering across his face. “I didn’t ‘have’ anyone do anything.”

“So they just randomly picked the one guy I was talking to and decided to escort him out into the night?” you asked, incredulous. “That’s some coincidence.”

“I don’t like him,” Todd said flatly.

“You don’t even know him,” you argued.

“I don’t like the way he was lookin’ at you,” he said, voice dropping.

You stared at him. “He didn’t even touch me.”

“Didn’t like the way he was thinkin’ about it either,” he muttered.

Your laugh came out sharper than you intended. “You hear yourself? You sound like a jealous boyfriend.”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he said instantly, but his words had a rough edge to them, stripped of their usual smoothness. His gaze dragged down you and back up before he seemed to realize it. “I just don’t like other people lookin’ at what’s mine.”

You froze. You could tell the moment Todd regretted what came out of his mouth, but there’s was no turning back now. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, the music too loud, your heartbeat too obvious.

“Yours?” you repeated, your voice low. “I don’t belong to you, Todd.”

“I know,” he said, softer now, but he didn’t look away. “I know that.”

“Clearly you don’t,” you snapped. “Because you just ran a guy out of your house for the crime of having a conversation with me. You don’t get a say in who I talk to.”

“I didn’t like him,” he repeated stubbornly.

“And?” you demanded. “Newsflash, president: nobody asked.”

He shifted, jaw ticking. “You’re really mad about this?”

“Yes, I’m really mad,” you said. “You don’t get to police my life because you’ve decided I’m some kind of territorial hobby.”

His mouth parted like he was going to argue, then closed again. The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed.

“I’m not—” He cut himself off, frustrated. “Forget it.”

“Gladly,” you said, even though the knot in your chest didn’t feel anything like forgetting. “I’m going to go find some actual company before you can kick them out too.”

You turned on your heel before he could answer, shoving past a couple making out in the hallway, through the kitchen, out the sliding glass door to the backyard. The cold hit you instantly, cutting through your glitter and bare legs and thin sweater. You welcomed it. It cleared your head in a way the stale heat inside couldn’t. The yard was relatively empty compared to the interior—just a few people on the grass, one guy singing badly near the fence, the muffled bass seeping through the walls.

Someone out on the patio was flicking a lighter. You stepped closer, and they offered you their pack without a word, eyes half-lidded with their own high. “You look like you need this,” they said lazily.

You huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh. “That obvious?”

“Kind of,” they admitted.

You plucked a cigarette from the pack, lifted it to your lips, and cupped your hands around the flame as you lit it. The first drag seared its way down your throat, harsh and grounding. Smoke coiled in front of you, disappearing into the cold night. The sliding door opened again behind you. You didn’t have to look.

“You here to drag me back in too?” you asked, eyes on the faint orange glow at the end of your cigarette.

The door shut with a soft thud. Todd’s footsteps crossed the boards until he was beside you, leaning on the railing, gaze on the dark yard. “Nah,” he said. “You’re the only thing keepin’ this place entertainin’ tonight. Be stupid to kick you out.”

“Don’t flatter me,” you muttered.

“Not flatterin’ you,” he said quietly. “Just tellin’ the truth.”

The music bled through the walls, dull and rhythmic. Out here, every little sound felt magnified—the scratch of your nail against the filter as you tapped ash off, the distant laughter from the front lawn, the wet sound of someone tripping in the grass and cursing. You held the cigarette between your fingers for a moment, then extended it toward him, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“Want some,” you asked, “or are you just here to brood?”

His fingers wrapped around yours as he took it. The contact was brief and warm and far too much for how small it was. He lifted it to his mouth, inhaled, and let the smoke drift out slowly, watching it disappear into the cold. “You really meant it, huh,” you said after a moment.

He glanced sideways. “What?”

“All that ‘mine’ bullshit,” you said. “Because if that was some macho drunk line, you picked the wrong audience.”

“I was drunk-ish before I said it,” he admitted. “And high after. Don’t think either of those changed what I meant.”

You scoffed, but it sounded more tired than you wanted. “You do not get to be jealous.”

“I know,” he said.

“You do not get to claim me,” you added.

He exhaled, smoke curling from his lips as he handed the cigarette back. “I know that too.”

“Doesn’t sound like you do,” you muttered. “You don’t own me, Todd.”

“I’m not tryin’ to own you,” he said, harshness slipping into the words. “I’m just—”

“Acting like you do,” you cut in. “That guy didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even get a phone number. You just saw him talk to me and your caveman brain short-circuited.”

“You callin’ me primitive now?” he asked.

“If the shoe fits,” you said.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, eyes fixed somewhere out over the yard. “He was lookin’ at you like you were somethin’ he could just pick up and take home without askin’. Like you were his dinner. I don’t like that.”

“And you’re different?” you challenged. “You don’t look at girls like that?”

His answer came low and immediate. “Not you.”

That tripped you up for a second.

You swallowed, lifting the cigarette again mostly for something to do with your hands.

“You treat me like a problem,” you saix, exhaling. “Something you have to win against. You think that’s better?”

“You are a problem,” he said, but there wasn’t any real bite in it. “You fight me on everythin’. Imagine if you were nice sometimes. Might get you farther.”

“You deserve it,” you said automatically.

“Maybe I do,” he admitted. “Doesn’t mean I can sit inside watchin’ you get cozy with some dude I’ve never seen before like it’s none of my business.”

“It isn’t your business,” you insisted. “That’s the point.”

He stared at you, frustration and something more dangerous tangling in his expression. “You act like I’m tryin’ to put a leash on you or somethin’. I’m not. I just—” He cut himself off again, dragging a hand through his hair.

You ground the cigarette out on the edge of the railing, pressing until the ember died. “You know what? I’m not doing this right now. I’m going to go inside, I’m going to find someone who doesn’t piss me off every time he opens his mouth, and I’m going to—”

You turned toward the door. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist.

Everything in you went very, very still.

His grip was firm but not painful, fingers circling your wrist easily. Your pulse thudded against his skin like it was trying to get his attention.

“Let go,” you said quietly.

He didn’t.

“Come with me,” he said instead, voice rougher than before.

You glared at him. “I’m not one of your pledges. You don’t get to bark orders and expect me to fall in line.”

“I’m not orderin’ you,” he said. “I’m askin’ as me. Just…come with me.”

You wanted to tell him to go to hell. The words lined up on your tongue, ready.

They didn’t come out.

“Two minutes,” you said finally. “Then I’m leaving.”

He released your wrist slowly, like he didn’t trust you not to bolt, then turned and slid the door open again. You followed him back into the heat and noise, up the staircase just off the kitchen, away from the thudding bass and beer-stickied floors. The hallway upstairs was dim and quiet, lit by a couple of weak lamps and the spill from half-open bedroom doors. He led you down to the end and pushed open a door with his shoulder.

You stepped into his room.

It smelled like him—fresh laundry, a sharp thread of cologne, and a faint undercurrent of weed. The bed was unmade, sheets twisted; textbooks and notebooks were scattered on the desk beside a half-empty mug; KNA banners and photos papered the walls in a collage of his life. You had just enough time to register the chaos before the door clicked shut behind you. You started to turn, but he moved faster.

Your back met the wood with a soft thud, your shoulders pressed against it, his hands already planted at your waist—not rough, not shoving, just solid and unyielding, pinning you in place while leaving you more than enough room to tell him to stop.

His face hovered inches from yours. The echoes of the party downstairs were a distant rumble now, nothing compared to the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, smell beer and smoke and something undeniably Todd.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, but it came out quieter than you meant, the edges of your words frayed with nerves.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Apparently? Somethin’ really stupid.”

“Story of your life,” you managed.

He huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so strained. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Good,” you said automatically. “I hope it hurts.”

“It does,” he said simply.

His eyes searched your face like he was trying to memorize it—every line, every twitch, every breath. Underneath the frustration and the stubbornness, there was something rawer there. Something you weren’t used to seeing on him.

“You fight me on everythin’,” he said quietly. “You never listen. You make me look like an idiot in front of my own brothers. You come into my house lookin’ like that and beat me at my own game and then act surprised when I lose my mind a little over you.”

“You’re very dramatic for a frat boy,” you said, but your voice was shaking.

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, his forehead dipping a fraction closer to yours, “you bring it out of me.”

You could shove him back. There was enough give in his grip that you could slip out from between him and the door. You could walk downstairs, out the front, away from all of it. You didn’t move.

“Say it,” you said instead, your gaze locked on his. “Whatever you’re choking on. Finish the sentence, Todd.”

His fingers tightened on your waist, just enough to make you aware of every place you were touching. His chest brushed yours with each shallow breath. “I want you,” he said, the words dragged out of him like they cost something. “And I hate that I do. There. Happy now?”

Your breath caught.

“That’s your big confession?” you asked, but the sarcasm came out soft, your mouth suddenly dry. “Trap me in your room and tell me you want me like you’re mad about it?”

“The door’s right behind you,” he said, and you felt his grip loosen just enough to prove the point. “You wanna go, go. I’m not stoppin’ you.”

You didn’t reach for the handle. Instead, you lifted your chin that tiny, dangerous amount and closed the last inch between you, until your nose brushed his, until his breath hit your mouth and yours hit his.

“You think I’m yours,” you whispered. “Prove it.”

Something in him snapped—whatever fragile thing had been holding him back all night finally giving way. His hands flexed at your waist, drawing you tighter against him, the rest of the world dropping away like someone had flipped a switch. For a heartbeat, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, like he needed that split second to steady himself.

“Careful what you ask for, sunshine,” he murmured, his accent thicker, voice rougher. “You might not like what you get.”

Your pulse roared.

“Try me,” you breathed.

The last thing you saw before his mouth found yours was the crooked, infuriating, absolutely devastating half-smile that always meant he was about to cross a line he couldn’t uncross. His mouth crashes into yours—rough, teeth clashing, no gentleness in the hate-fueled kiss. You bite his lip hard enough to draw a hiss from him, and he retaliates by grinding his hips against yours, the hard length of his cock pressing through his jeans. Your hands fumble at his shirt, yanking it open, buttons scattering like accusations. He rips at the straps of your dress, exposing your shoulders, your bra, but when you grab the hem to pull it over your head, his hand clamps down on yours.

"Keep it on," he orders, voice gravelly, eyes raking over you like he's already won.

Confusion flickers, but the heat between your legs drowns it out. He drops to his knees in front of you, your back still pressed against the door, his hands quick as they slip off your shoes. You barely register the cool floor under your feet before he's hooking one of your legs over his broad shoulder, the dress hiking up your thighs. No warning, no teasing words—just his mouth diving in, hot and insistent over the thin black lace of your panties. A gasp rips from your throat as his tongue presses flat against the fabric, lapping at your folds through the barrier. The lace is so sheer it's torture, every flick and suck sending jolts straight to your core. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers twisting in the dark strands, pulling hard because you can't help it, because you want to hurt him even as he devours you.

"Fuck, Todd—" you moan, hips bucking involuntarily. He's relentless, nose nudging your clit while his tongue works the dampening lace, the friction building that coil in your belly tighter and tighter. You're so close, thighs trembling, waiting for him to pull the panties to the side, when he pulls back abruptly, lips glistening, a smirk curling as you whine in frustration.

"Aw, what's that? Cat got your tongue?" he taunts, standing up slow, towering over you again.

Your retort dies on your lips; he's got you now, the edging leaving you breathless, needy, words failing under the weight of it.

He grabs your hips, yanking the dress up until your ass is bare beneath, the fabric bunching at your waist. With a gentle tug, he pulls you toward the bed, the full-length mirror propped right in front mocking you both. You know exactly what it's for—voyeuristic bullshit, probably from one of his flings—but right now, with your pussy throbbing from his mouth, you don't give a damn.

He pushes you forward, bending you over the edge of the mattress, your palms hitting the sheets as your ass lifts high, exposed and vulnerable. The cool air hits your skin, panties clinging damply. He moves all your hair off to the right side, kissing the back of your shoulder softly.

"Matching set, huh?" he says, voice dripping condescension as his fingers trace the lace edging your cheeks. "Dressed up all pretty under that dress, just begging for someone to notice. Were you hoping i’d notice?”

You twist your head, glaring over your shoulder. "Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to fuck me?" You couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. Especially directed at Todd fucking Steven’s.

He chuckles, dark and triumphant, pushing you forward just enough to arch your back even deeper. His belt unbuckles with a metallic clink that echoes in the room, pants dropping to his ankles in a rustle. You hear him fist himself—thick, heavy—before he finally shoves your panties aside, the lace scraping roughly. Then he's there, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance, and with one brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you to the hilt. A sharp cry tears from your lips, the stretch burning sweet and sudden, his size filling you so completely it borders on pain.

“Oh god—fuck!"

He instantly stills and leans forward, checking to make sure you’re ok. You nod quickly, urging him to keep going. He smirks and mimics your whine in that mocking falsetto, hips snapping once, deep. "Oh fuck huh? You can’t take all that, sunshine?”

Leaning over you, his chest presses to your back, one hand fisting your hair and yanking your head up. Your eyes lock on the mirror—your flushed face, dress hiked obscenely, his jeans pooled at his feet as he looms behind you, cock disappearing into you.

"You're going to watch in that mirror while I fuck you, okay?" he demands, breath hot on your neck, pulling harder until you're forced to meet your own gaze, wide and hazy.

You nod, biting your lip, the submission stinging even as it amps the heat. You’ll regret this later—letting him order you around like this—but right now, with him splitting you open, it feels too damn good to fight. He starts moving then, pulling out slow before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that has the bed creaking under you. You're loud—moans spilling out unchecked, echoing off the walls—and he eats it up, grinning feral in the reflection.

"That's it, scream for me. Let the whole party hear how much you need me. Bet they've all wondered why you're always riding my ass—now they know."

Your fingers claw the sheets, knuckles white, body jolting with every thrust. The weed and alcohol blur the edges, turning everything into a drunken haze of sensation, but the hate lingers sharp underneath, fueling the fire. You've both thought about this nonstop—stolen glances turning into fevered fantasies of pinning the other down, of finally shutting up that smug mouth with your body. What it'd feel like when he first pushed inside, thick and unyielding, claiming what you've denied wanting.

"God, you're so fucking tight," he groans, pace unrelenting, hips snapping forward with wet slaps. "Knew you'd feel like this—gripping me like you hate to love it. Look at you, taking it so well. Pretty nice when you aren’t running your mouth.”

His words twist the knife, praising and degrading in the same breath, and you watch it all in the mirror—your tits bouncing under the bunched dress, his abs flexing as he drives deeper. He's staring too, eyes glued to your ass cheeks rippling against his pelvis, his cock slick and shining as it slides in and out, the lace panties crooked and soaked. The sight makes him moan low, guttural, vibrating through you.

"Fuck, your ass looks incredible like this—bouncing on my dick, dress all bunched up around your hips. Better than I pictured every goddamn night. Didn't think you'd squeeze me this good, though. Shit, you're ruining me."

He leans forward more, one hand digging into your hip to hold you steady, the other sliding up your spine to grab your hair again, arching you just right. The angle shifts, his cock hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you cry out louder, the sound raw and broken.

"Tell me," he pants, thrusting harder, voice edged with that condescending tease. "Tell me exactly how you imagined this. How you'd picture me fucking you senseless—begging, needy for it.”

You whimper, the words tumbling out in the haze, hating how honest it feels. "I—I thought it'd be me on top," you gasp, voice hitching with each pound. "Riding you until you broke, making you beg for mercy while I used your cock. Thought I'd hate how good you felt, but fuck you anyway, over and over, until we both admitted nothing."

He laughs breathlessly, the sound turning into a groan as he slams deeper. "That's my girl—twisted fantasies just like mine. But look at you now, bent over and taking it. This is how it should always be. Keep watching, yeah? See how you're dripping for me? You look so beautiful.”

You're nodding frantically, eyes locked on the mirror, the visual pushing you closer—your face contorted in reluctant ecstasy, his smug grin as he watches you unravel. He doesn't let up, rhythm brutal, dirty talk pouring out like venom-laced honey. "So fucking perfect when you're like this—moaning my name, ass jiggling just right. Knew you'd be a mess for me. Cum on this cock, show me how bad you've wanted it."

The praise hits like a slap, condescending edge making your walls clench harder around him. He feels it, groans louder, his own control fraying. "Yeah, just like that— so good at listening.”

It builds too fast, the tension snapping as your orgasm crashes over you, a wail ripping from your throat that surely carries downstairs. Your pussy pulses around him, milking his cock, and he doesn't stop—thrusting through it, drawing out every shudder until you're trembling, oversensitive and spent.

"Fuck—yes," he grits out, pulling your hair tighter, hips stuttering. With a final, deep shove, he comes hard, hot spurts flooding you as he buries his face in the back of your shoulder, moaning your defeat into your skin.

He stays like that a beat, both of you panting, the mirror reflecting the wreckage—sweat-slicked, clothes askew. He pulls himself out of you slowly, and laughs to himself as you flop over, still panting. you watch as he reaches into his drawers and pulls out a t-shirt and boxers for you to wear. As you change into his clothes, Todd holds a bottle of water out for you. You take it and drink from it slowly, wondering at what point he’ll open his mouth and kick you to the curb. Instead he doesn’t, turning any lights in the room off and crawling into bed. You start to gather your clothes, looking for wherever your phone was tossed and heading towards the door before he stops you.

“Where you going?” You turn to see Todd cozied up in bed, the blanket flipped open, a clear invitation for you. You stare at it for a moment, unsure of what to do next. He flops into bed with a sigh. “We can still hate each other tomorrow, but i’m not letting you leave after all that.”

You try to cover the smile that creeps onto your face as you crawl into bed next to him. His arm drapes over you, warm and heavy, tugging you into him. “Whatever, weirdo. Didn’t peg you for a cuddler.”

He huffs into his pillow. “Shut the hell up and go to sleep.”

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

— dare ?!