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shuaflix · 11 hours ago

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the xu minghao dilemma

❝ i was having more fun talking about how objectively and subjectively good i look. ❞

PAIRING ▸ xu minghao x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, humor, suggestive, coffee shop au, college au, childhood friends to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slow burn, weed consumption, tooth-rotting fluff, lowkey jeongcheol and verkwan if you squint, everyone being whipped for minghao, a somewhat heated makeout scene, friend group antics as per usual, minghao being the living embodiment of a green flag, ft. yooyeon from triples

SUMMARY ▸ like most film students, you find yourself experiencing the worst creative block of your life when you're tasked to film a documentary for your final project. enter: your old childhood best friend turned stranger, xu minghao—an (incredibly handsome) ex-dancer and barista who just might be the spark of inspiration you need to make the best film of your academic career. on the flip side, minghao needs this film to win him the scholarship that lets him dance again. despite all, your circumstances don't stop your old, repressed feelings for minghao from resurfacing.

PLAYLIST ▸ insomnia by zerobaseone • kidult by seventeen • meme by &team • heart surf by kep1er • glue song by beabadoobee

WORD COUNT ▸ 20,606 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this is for user junyangis my favorite bot

“THE TIGER: ICONIC SYMBOL OF THE WILD, AND AN APEX PREDATOR THAT WE FEAR AND ADMIRE.”

You panned your camera to focus on Yoon Jeonghan, who was currently sifting through the mess of papers and notebooks across his desk. All of the drawers were turned out with their contents scattered across the carpet. His frantic search for his missing vape had been going on for the past twenty minutes, and you were certain this was his fifth time going through his belongings again.

Normal people, such as yourself, would’ve given up within the first five minutes, but your best friend’s resilience was admirable. His unwavering persistence was exactly the sort of character you wanted to showcase in your films. Without the context of the vape addiction, of course.

“And here,” you continued in the best David Attenborough impression you could conjure up, “we see a tiger in the wild.”

“Go to hell, dude,” Jeonghan snapped back. You squinted at him through your viewfinder to catch him carding a frustrated hand through his hair. “My Circadian rhythm needs flavored air to function.”

The tiny red light flickered once, then vanished as you stopped recording. “Try regular air. It’s good for you—and free.”

“Yeah? Then maybe this is my calling to get sober.”

(It was important to note that Jeonghan tended to say this very frequently.)

He finally rose from the corner of his dorm room where he had strewn the contents of his drawer all over the floor. Jeonghan crossed over to where you were sitting—on his bed, leaning against the wall with his Doraemon pillow—and plopped down beside you. His eyes, glazed-over and half-lidded, were fixed on the ceiling, as if he was going over each groove in the drywall.

For the past two hours, you had been agonizing over ideas for your documentary. Jeonghan was typically great when it came to bouncing ideas off each other, so you often pestered him until inspiration struck. Today didn’t seem like a particularly stimulating day for either of you, though. Your best friend paid attention for maybe half an hour, but even he started running out of ideas for potential documentary content.

“By the way,” he added, still stuck in a faraway trance, “do not use whatever you just recorded for your film project. I don’t consent to being exploited for views.”

It had been weeks since you came to terms with the fact that Jeonghan didn’t want to be the subject of your documentary. You had a semester to complete this project for your documentary class, and although you still had a decent amount of time left, you were starting to get worried because most of your classmates already started outlining their ideas. You hadn’t even found your main character yet.

There were quite a few reasons why you wouldn’t have chosen Jeonghan in the first place; it didn’t just chalk down to his disinterest in being filmed. You wanted to capture someone with a story—a progression or growth that tugged at the heartstrings of your audience—and using someone you weren’t already close with would help you film more objectively.

You raised a brow at your friend. “You? I was clearly filming a wild animal in its natural habitat.”

“Recording without two-party consent is tasteless,” he reminded. “And just for that, I’m not telling you the incredible, brilliant idea I just had.”

“You haven’t exactly shared that many incredible, brilliant ideas for me to feel disappointed about that.”

“No, trust me. It’s really good.” He used his elbows to prop himself up, shooting you a wide grin. His resolve to withhold his proposition crumbled within seconds of his excitement. “It’s the best idea I’ve had since that one time I stole Seungcheol’s towel and t-shirt while he was showering.”

You glanced at him through the corner of your eyes. “All you did was make him walk around shirtless.”

“Exactly.” Jeonghan returned your look with far more judgment than you had given him. “That was the best part.”

The memory was hard to forget. During your freshman year, you were living in the dorms where your RA was Choi Seungcheol. It was safe to say that a solid majority of the people on your floor had eyes for the dreamy Resident Advisor. Jeonghan only contributed to the noble cause of fan service by ensuring that Seungcheol would end up having to walk through the hallway with his glorious abs on display, his chiseled body beaded with water droplets.

“So what’s your idea? Ask Seungcheol if I can film a strip tease?”

“No, it’s—wait, that’s so good. If we can get that greenlit, you should totally—”

“Nope, definitely not doing that,” you interjected with a firm shake of your head. You were not going to present a half-naked Seungcheol as your final project. “Give me something more PG-13.”

“Boring, but fine.” After mocking a pout, Jeonghan’s lips immediately curled up in a smirk. “Xu Minghao.”

The very mention of his name made you straighten up. You hadn’t spoken to Minghao in years, and although your friends would tease you about being his childhood friend, you didn’t see your past with him as anything worth mentioning. After all, being close friends during middle school was nothing compared to the plethora of memories you made after the two of you grew distant.

“Huh?”

“Xu Minghao,” he repeated. “Streets are saying he’s quit dancing.”

You frowned. “Minghao quit dancing?”

That couldn’t be right. Minghao? The same Xu Minghao who snuck out of his house to practice for hours in dance studios? The same one who took eight trains, walked fifteen miles, and hitchhiked to get to dance camp on his own? The same one who shed tears when he won his first dance competition?

Dance was Minghao’s life; it came as naturally as breathing to him. You so clearly remembered his overwhelming passion that drove him to practice tirelessly for years. Just watching him move to the beat made you feel like he was born to express himself that way. You couldn’t imagine your childhood friend, who had been dancing his entire life, to just throw away all his hard work and talent on a whim.

“Streets also mentioned he hurt his foot real bad. Poor guy can’t compete at nationals anymore.”

“Streets?”

“I’m protecting anonymity, okay?” After you peered at him for a moment, Jeonghan caved under the pressure of your stare and added, “Fine. It was Seungkwan.”

You scoffed. All credibility of the rumor vanished like a wisp of smoke.

“Seungkwan also claimed Vernon needed to go to the emergency room when he got a paper cut,” you replied, unimpressed.

“No, I think it really is serious this time. You can check it out for yourself, if you want,” Jeonghan said. “He’s working at the café like, every day now.”

“His mom’s café?”

“Mmhm. He stopped for a while ‘cause of school, but he just picked up his shifts again.”

“And you think that’s what I should do for my documentary? Minghao quitting the one thing that could be worth filming?”

“I don’t think he actually wanted to quit,” Jeonghan said, looking down at his intertwined hands in his lap with a puzzled expression, as if the Xu Minghao Dilemma™ had been keeping him up at night. “I don’t know what it is. Seungkwan said he seemed kind of off when he was talking about it.”

You were quiet for a moment, and Jeonghan continued, “You also find it weird, don’t you? It doesn’t make sense that he’d just quit like that.”

“I mean, if something’s really going on with him, then I don’t think it’s right for me to ask if I can turn that into a documentary,” you said.

“I’m not saying that, but…” He trailed off before shrugging. “I just think it wouldn’t hurt to check in on him.”

You arched a brow at him. “Why don’t you check in on him? Aren’t you two friends?”

“We’re bros,” he corrected. Cue a dramatic groan from you, which was promptly ignored as Jeonghan elaborated, “our way of showing that we’re there for each other is by queueing up on League together or talking about the Roman Empire.”

“Jeonghan, you have never once mentioned the Roman Empire.”

“Jokes on you, I did a research project on it in middle school.” He shut his eyes to wave off the tangent he started going off on. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that you’re a girl—a woman. Women get to the point. They get things done.” He gave you a resolute nod, and you were starting to wonder if he was simply trying to use flattery against you. “Hence why I think you can figure out what’s going on with Minghao.”

You sighed. “But Minghao and I haven’t even spoken in so long. I don’t want to overstep.”

“Look, I’ve texted Hao—even met up with him in person—but the guy won’t budge. He just gives me that customer service smile of his and says he’s fine.”

“And what makes you think I’ll be able to do anything?”

“I’m not saying you will, but I think he’ll turn around when he realizes more people are concerned about him.”

On one hand, you didn’t exactly have any sort of relationship with Xu Minghao that gave you a reason to visit him. Did he even remember your name? You could only imagine the confusion drawing his brows together upon seeing you after years of silence. Or perhaps he wouldn’t care at all. The two of you could probably pass by each other as complete strangers, and he wouldn’t experience the same flicker of old memories that made your heart ache.

On the other hand, you truly were curious. And it wouldn’t hurt to visit the old café, either.

Plus, you would never admit it out loud, but part of you had been waiting for an excuse to talk to your old friend again.

You felt utterly stupid as you stood at the entrance of the café.

First, your heart was beating unbelievably fast for something that shouldn’t have been this difficult of a feat. It was a coffee shop, for crying out loud. All you had to do was walk inside and order something without making a fool out of yourself. Couldn’t be that hard, right?

Second, it was hard to pretend like you were only here for coffee when your only intention was to check up on Minghao. Now you were wondering if you should’ve texted him first, but that probably would’ve taken you a few days to work up the courage to send.

And the cherry on top of your miserable cake was that you didn’t even like coffee. Maybe you could get something to eat, but you weren’t big on pastries, either. You just had to force yourself to get whatever seemed the most appetizing and hope that Minghao took notice of you.

That was another thing; you didn’t even know what hours he worked. Your plan was to work in the corner of the café until you saw him coming in. Knowing your luck, he probably didn’t even have a shift scheduled for today. Still, you were determined to wait it out since you had come this far already.

With a shaky breath, you pushed open the door and were immediately greeted by a rush of warmth. You instinctively tugged your cardigan tighter around your frame as you scanned the space. It had been years since you stepped into the café, but everything was about the same; almost all the tables were occupied with teenagers or lone adults who came to get work done, the back wall had a space reserved for people to leave cute notes and drawings, and a familiar barista was eyeing you from the get-go.

There he was, watching you from the counter. Clusters of stars encased in two midnight pools.

Xu Minghao, who you skillfully managed to avoid interacting with for the past six years, was looking at you with the same familiarity that stirred in your chest.

Your first reaction was to flee, but you would’ve looked ridiculous running out of the shop, so you walked to the nearest empty table first. Did people look for tables before they even ordered? You were starting to forget how to normally function as you set your bag down on the smooth oak wood.

“Sample?” a gentle voice called from behind you as you were fumbling with getting your laptop out of your bag. You looked over your shoulder to see Minghao with a tray of bite-sized slices of cheesecake with toothpicks sticking out of the top. A warm smile graced his features, so dazzling to the point where it was blinding. “It’s one of our signature desserts here.”

“Oh,” was all you could say at first, disoriented as you picked up one of the cheesecake bites. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be at the front whenever you’re ready to order.”

He left before you could get another word out, and you shoved the cube of cheesecake in your mouth so that you didn’t look completely frozen (which you were). Minghao probably went around giving samples to every customer, but surely he recognized you, right? It wasn’t like the two of you were completely oblivious to each other’s existence. Minghao had to know you two had mutual friends from the Instagram stories and posts you were featured in.

Moreover, his leg seemed fine. Boo Seungkwan had once again proven to be an untrustworthy source.

You worked up the courage to walk to the register after going over the menu about twenty times, finally deciding on getting a mango fruit tea. As soon as you were in front of Minghao, though, your predetermined order disappeared from your head and the menu looked like a blur of words.

Your mind went completely blank.

“Uh…” You were floundering for something to say—anything. Coffee was the only drink coming to mind, but you weren’t sure the caffeine would be good for your nerves. “I'll have, uh…”

This was so stupid. You waited for minutes on end to decide on your order and ended up looking like a complete fool in front of Minghao.

“Would you like a recommendation?” he offered smoothly, as if this was a routine response for him. You wondered how many other customers lost their train of thought upon seeing his face.

“Yes, please.”

“I know it's chilly outside, but our fruit teas are pretty popular. And, if I remember correctly, you've always been a fan of mango,” he said. You swore he was trying to avert his gaze now, although he had been maintaining proper eye contact up until this moment. “Injeolmi toast is a favorite here, too. I know you like injeolmi, unless your tastes have changed…”

Wow. Maybe you were off the mark all along. Minghao clearly hadn't forgotten you; in fact, he remembered more of you than you could even recall yourself.

“Mango fruit tea—that’s right. That’s what I wanted to order.” You let out an awkward laugh, brushing your hair over your shoulder to distract yourself from how hot your chest felt. “Then I’ll order both. I’ve never had injeolmi toast, but I do still like injeolmi.”

His face broke into a bright smile—the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Oh, good. I was worried I didn't remember correctly,” he admitted sheepishly. After entering your order into the tablet, he turned the screen around for you to pay. You were so focused on tipping that Minghao startled you when he asked, “How’ve you been?”

When you looked up, his gaze was sincere. A torrent of warmth rushed through your body.

“Good. I mean—college, you know?” Everything you wanted to say sounded garbled in your head. You didn’t even know where to begin. “I barely have any free time these days outside of assignments and working on sets.”

“Oh, right. You’re in film, huh? How’s that been for you?”

“It’s been good so far. I’m actually getting ready to film a documentary right now.”

He looked up at you with wide eyes, gleaming with genuine interest. Since Minghao had been no more than a stranger to you these past several years, you hadn’t expected to see such sincerity in his enthusiasm.

Your heart must have skipped a beat or two.

“A documentary? About what?” But then his attention was lost, his eyes unfocusing to glance at the customer waiting impatiently behind you. You immediately felt guilty for taking up so much time, but then Minghao said, “I get off in an hour. Are you still gonna be around?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Great. Save a chair for me.” He flashed one of his shining, award-winning smiles again. “Your order will be out in a few minutes, Y/N.”

The injeolmi toast was cold.

It tasted good enough for you to not mind, but when you saw someone else carrying a tray of the steaming bread, you figured that Minghao simply forgot to heat yours up. You were disheartened that you were doomed to eat cold, chewy injeolmi, but the sweet and nutty flavor was so delectable that you ended up scarfing it down within minutes anyway. The café seemed rather busy around this time, so you didn’t put it past Minghao to rush your order.

The mango fruit tea was incredible, though. By far the best fruit tea you’ve had. It was compelling enough for you to download Yelp to leave a glowing five-star review.

When you opened Café du Soleil’s page, you noticed that your dear friend Seungkwan (credentials: Yelp Elite Squad) had already left a review mentioning the same drink.

★★★★★ Nov 7, 2024 Incredible customer service. I love Xu Minghao. The mango fruit tea changed my life for the better.

You left a review about the mango fruit tea and injeolmi toast (conveniently leaving out the fact that yours wasn’t warmed up). A much more comprehensive review than Seungkwan’s, you would say.

Your nerves were still buzzing from your conversation with Minghao. It had been years since you two had spoken to each other, and now you were waiting for him to get off his shift to catch up with you. If you maintained a friendship with him all these years, then maybe all of this would feel natural. Maybe this would’ve been your designated table to wait for Minghao after his shift, spending time with him after work and walking home together.

An hour passed by faster than you thought it would. The first ten minutes felt agonizing, watching the minutes tick by painfully slow, but once you were consumed in a discussion post for your Narrative Production class, Minghao was making his way over to you before you knew it.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, pulling out the chair across from you to sit down in. Your eyes followed the slice of cheesecake he brought over on a plate before he nodded toward the empty plate on your tray. “What’d you think of the toast?”

“Really good,” you gushed. You opted to leave out the part where your bread was cold. “I was almost about to go up to order again.”

“Ah, right.” He pushed the plate in your direction. “This is for you.”

“Oh,” you answered, startled. “How much was it? I can pay—”

“No, don’t worry. It’s on me,” Minghao cut in smoothly, signaling his objection with a wave of his hand. “I forgot to ask you if you liked the sample earlier, but I ended up bringing it over anyway.”

Just as you remembered, he was always thinking about others first. Minghao was so earnest in his words and actions that it was hard for you to grasp that he was real. Even in his adolescence, you remembered he had a different air of maturity from the other boys just because of how kind he was. You wanted to pick him apart and dissect his brain to figure out if he was just biologically wired to be perfect.

He was so different now—not completely different but just enough to set you on edge. Minghao had grown into his features so beautifully and still spoke in that calm and soft voice, but there was this newfound confidence he carried that seemed almost unshakeable.

With the way he was staring at you so intently, you felt pressured to give your opinion on the cheesecake right away. You forked a sliver of the cake into your mouth, hand hovering over your mouth as you chewed. Mostly because you were trying to swallow as fast as possible so that Minghao would stop being so laser-focused on you.

“It’s good,” you mused. “I should come by more often.”

He perked up at your words, and soon Minghao was enthusiastically asking you to give him a recap on everything that was going on in your life. You hardly knew where to begin—or, rather, where to pick up after the two of you stopped being close.

You told him about how your parents disapproved of your film major, how it took months of convincing and begging until they realized that you were serious about your passion for filmmaking. He listened intently as you talked about all the short films you made on your own to persuade your parents, and he even watched one of them on your phone, giving you nods of acknowledgement and an impressed hum.

The conversation bled into different aspects of your life, and Minghao was able to join in while you two talked about how you met your mutual friends. You explained how you met Jeonghan and Wonwoo at a party, somehow hitting it off so well that you two ended up hanging out the morning after. Minghao met Jeonghan when they were placed in the same orientation group, and you thought about how funny it was that the world was small enough for you two to have grown apart and still ended up with mutual friends.

It was getting dark outside by the time Minghao was giving you the rundown of how he met Seungkwan, detailing the encounter in a way that made Seungkwan seem a little insane. Apparently, Minghao had gotten Seungkwan’s number at a dance workshop and the younger boy spammed him with texts one night until Minghao agreed to hang out. Thankfully, Minghao found Seungkwan’s persistence to be charming. A stark contrast from how you went home early during your first time hanging out with Seungkwan because you were so overstimulated.

When Minghao started talking about going to a dance workshop with Jeonghan, you realized this was your opening.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, feigning a casual tone, “Jeonghan mentioned that you were quitting dance?”

A sad smile dawned on his face. “At least until I finish college. I just needed to take some time off to focus on school.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But weren’t you supposed to have a competition at the end of the year?”

“Nationals,” he clarified. “I’ve been pushing back my withdrawal, but I’m gonna have to do it soon.”

You noticed his gloomy expression, and it was making you remember Jeonghan’s words about how Minghao probably didn’t actually want to quit. If he really wanted to drop out of the competition, then you were certain the corners of his mouth wouldn’t be tugging down, nor would the light in his eyes dim.

The Minghao you once knew was honest about his feelings. He unapologetically wore his emotions on his sleeve, and he prepared himself for every possible outcome so that he could keep a strong front. You always admired how he was able to stay so calm and collected as the world weighed on his shoulders.

Now, the Minghao before you looked like a kettle sputtering water from its spout, a whistle away from overflowing completely.

It was a bold question for someone you weren’t close with anymore, but you asked, “You don’t want to withdraw, right?”

With his mouth set in a grim line, Minghao shook his head. “If it was up to me, I’d still be dancing.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“It’s just… complicated,” he said. “Our café’s been doing decently, but it’s not enough for it to stay up and running. We were barely keeping up with rent and now they’ve upped the prices, but…” He moved his leg from under the table so that it was stretched out to the side. “I tore my meniscus around four months ago. It’s a lot better now—still sore sometimes—but we had to pay for physical therapy on top of everything. I’ve had to pick up shifts here because we’re so understaffed now, so there isn’t really enough time for me to focus on dancing.”

“If we had enough money to cushion our rent for the next three months, I think this place would be saved,” he continued, “but if I’m gonna make that happen, I have to dedicate all my time here.”

Oh. You sent Boo Seungkwan a mental apology for ever doubting him about Minghao’s injury. Perhaps he wasn’t as unreliable of a source as you assumed he would be.

You knew that the situation must have been serious for him to quit dancing, but you didn’t expect the café to be at stake. Of course, you had zero knowledge on what it took to be a dancer at a national level, but you just couldn’t wrap your head around Minghao giving up this easily.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s my decision.”

You asked, “Are you okay with that, though? Not dancing?”

“It is what it is.” He shrugged. “Our studio’s tuition on top of competition fees, private lesson fees, and workshop fees… it’s just not feasible for me to be able to keep doing this right now. Of course I could just practice on my own in the studio, but we just don’t have enough people to cover every shift here.”

You nodded along. He really sounded as defeated as his explanation made you feel, and you realized you were going to have to recount this to Jeonghan to get him to give up. This situation was far too nuanced for either of you to push Minghao to keep dancing out of pure passion. Sometimes that just wasn’t enough.

Minghao eventually had to go to close up the shop, and you had to turn down his insistent offers to give you more food until he basically shoved a bunch of pastries into your arms before you left. As you walked back to your apartment, braving the icy bite of the wind, one thing was for certain: you were most definitely not making a documentary out of Xu Minghao’s tragic story.

“I’m running a survey,” you declared, “because this is a democracy and I value all of your opinions.”

You had called for an emergency meeting the day after you met up with Minghao. Your friends were all sitting haphazardly around your room; Seungkwan had his legs up against the wall and his body sprawled across your bed, Jeonghan was right next to Seungkwan, Junhui was sitting on top of your laundry basket despite being scolded about crushing it, Vernon was on top of your desk, and Wonwoo was the only one sensible enough to be sitting in a proper chair.

Jeonghan scoffed. “She just doesn’t want to do the Minghao documentary.”

“There is no Minghao documentary,” you said. “There was never a Minghao documentary.”

“There was”—Jeonghan paused for long enough for the rest of them to think he had finished talking—“to me.”

Junhui leaned forward, nearly toppling over the laundry basket. Vernon was able to hold it down with his foot in time, although Junhui hardly even noticed his friend’s silent efforts to save him.

“What’s the Minghao documentary?” he asked, his eyes bigger than ever. “Like, Xu Minghao?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan answered. “Wouldn't you watch a Xu Minghao documentary?”

“I’d pay to watch a Xu Minghao documentary,” Junhui said, reaching over to high-five Jeonghan, who was extremely pleased that someone else supported his cause. “What can I say? He's a beautiful man.”

“Okay, there is no Xu Minghao documentary,” you repeated. “It's more of a… Xu Minghao dilemma.”

“So you called us here because of Xu Minghao,” Vernon chimed in.

“No,” you replied pointedly, “I called you here because I really value your guys’ opinions and want to hear your suggestions about what I should include in my documentary.”

“Xu Minghao,” Jeonghan supplied.

“Except for Jeonghan. I don’t value his opinion.”

“I think someone should die,” said Junhui with bright, sparkling eyes. “Something super tragic.”

“Or we can all live,” Seungkwan said.

Vernon offered, “Or how about something more sentimental—”

“—where everyone dies,” finished Junhui.

“Okay, that wasn't what I was getting at,” Vernon said with mild concern crossing his features. “You scare me.”

Seungkwan, distressed at this point, spoke up louder to rehash, “Why don’t we all just live?”

You let out a resigned sigh. “Jun, let’s keep in mind that I’m filming a documentary for a college film class, not a Marvel movie.”

This was going nowhere. Clearly, you misjudged when you decided your friends were the people to go to for serious inquiries. At this point, you were considering following up on the email you sent to the local ice skating rink a month ago, outright begging them for the chance to film their team practicing. (Spoiler: They ghosted you.)

“How about the geology department?” Wonwoo suggested, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re researching crustal processes during the Hadean geological period right now. Exciting stuff.”

Because Jeon Wonwoo was an incredibly persuasive man (mostly because of his lethal attractiveness), you were immediately swayed by the idea. “Wait, that’s an incredible idea, Wonwoo.”

“That is the worst idea I’ve heard in my life,” Seungkwan blurted out. “If you make a documentary about the geology department, I will personally come to the screening of your film myself just to throw tomatoes at you.”

As much as you hated to admit it (or, rather, hated to admit it in the presence of Wonwoo), Seungkwan had a fair point. Presenting a documentary about crustal formations was probably categorized as a form of social suicide. You had no true interest in the topic to make it sound interesting, and the only selling point would be geology major Jeon Wonwoo and his face of the century. The lackluster content coupled with your indifference toward rocks was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make geology sound interesting. You entertained the idea for a few seconds before recollecting the time when Wonwoo got four shots deep and started rattling off about the demand for lithium in China. Your freshman year self was almost charmed before those beguiling minutes stretched into long, torturous hours of Wonwoo breaking down geopolitics until you blacked out.

No, you could not make geology sound interesting.

“Thank you for that visual, Seungkwan,” you said. “Now that I’ve returned to my senses, I’ll accept ideas that aren’t about Xu Minghao or rocks.”

“What’s wrong with the geology department?” Wonwoo spoke up, his hand shooting up in the air to get the room’s attention.

Jeonghan snorted. “Dude, what’s she gonna film? Planet Earth?”

Wonwoo accepted his defeat wordlessly as his arm slowly retreated back to his side.

“Not that I don’t think you can come up with better ideas,” Vernon started carefully, “but why are you so against making a documentary about Minghao?”

“I’m not against it,” you clarified. “It’s simply out of the question. He doesn’t even have time to dance right now because of how busy he is with the café.”

“If that’s the issue, I can literally ask around to see who’s interested in working there,” Jeonghan said.

“Minghao’s going through a lot right now. I personally think it’s insensitive to push him to do something when he’s got so much on his plate.”

The men finally quieted down at your words, and you came to the realization that your girl friends would have probably been more useful for this sort of conversation. Maybe it was because the guys were all on good terms with Xu Minghao that they were pushing for you to ask him to work with you. It was the only conclusion you could come to with how insistent they were on you choosing Minghao.

Then, Jeonghan spoke up, “Didn’t you say you wanted to make an impact with your documentary? What if you could really help him out?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just think about it.”

Your forehead creased. He clearly did have something in mind and just wanted to complicate matters for you, but you held your tongue instead of pressing Jeonghan further.

Later that night, while you were laying in your bed with your laptop warm on your stomach, you could only think about Xu Minghao and his sad smile when he talked about quitting dance. He didn’t really want to quit, but there was just too much going on for him to juggle that along with the countless other balls being thrown at him.

But was it right for him to just quietly let go of his dream? A passion that he had chased his whole life?

If you were in his shoes and you had to give up your dream of film, you weren’t sure you could go down without a fight. Even when your parents were against film school, even when everyone around you questioned your abilities, you pushed yourself to take on every opportunity that came your way. Your situation had never been as dire as Minghao’s, but you could imagine how he must have felt for his dream to crumble in the palm of his hands. With the right amount of support, you believed he could mold that dream together again.

In the still hours of twilight, you opened up a Word document and started typing away like your life depended on it.

“You look like shit.” Kim Yooyeon’s eyes were wide when she watched you walk out of your room right when she was about to leave for her 8:00 a.m. lecture. She was in the middle of her bowl of cereal when you crossed her on your way to the couch. “Did you even sleep?”

Your hand flew up to gently prod at the tender skin under your eyes. “Do I really look that tired?”

You all but fell against the couch, sinking into the cushions like it was quicksand. Normally, you could pour yourself a cup of coffee and get through the day, but you had accumulated enough sleep debt over the past few weeks to reach your breaking point.

Your roommate snorted. “Remember when you stayed up for three days straight during finals week last year? You look exactly like how you did back then.”

Thanks to Jeonghan’s cryptic words, you ended up spending the entire night researching and planning ways for you to help Minghao—or, at least, what you thought would help Minghao. Your document spanned almost forty pages, and you weren’t even sure if you would be using any of it. Your intention was to share your proposals with Minghao in hopes that he would find at least one of them to possibly work out.

The problem was: you were seconds away from falling asleep on the spot and your eyes felt sore every time you blinked. There was no way you could make it to Minghao’s coffee shop and deliver your pitch in this state.

“I stayed up all night working on something for Minghao.”

Yooyeon’s spoon clattered against the bowl. “Xu Minghao?”

You gave her the same rundown you gave your friends yesterday—a much more vague one because you didn't want to get into the nitty gritty details of Minghao’s life, especially when Yooyeon probably didn’t even care. Plus, you were too tired to get into the specifics. By the time you were finishing up your story, your mouth was hardly moving in time with your brain and your eyelids were drooping. You weren't even sure if you were speaking coherent sentences.

Yooyeon had her bag slung over her shoulder and was asking you something. You couldn't quite tell what it was because you were hanging by a thread at that point, but you definitely heard Jeonghan’s name at some point—maybe. All you could muster was a noncommittal sound before you drifted into a slumber.

A flash of red behind your eyelids roused you from your dreamless sleep, but you didn’t have time to squint before the nuisance of a light source was instantly blocked. You opened your eyes to see Xu Minghao sitting by your feet, using his hand to block the ray of light that shone through the window and landed directly on your face.

Perhaps you overreacted, but you were sure anyone would scream at the sight.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Minghao stood up, alarmed.

Clearly.

You scrambled to sit up while he awkwardly shifted to the middle of your living room.

“No, Minghao, I was just warming up my vocal cords,” you deadpanned. “I don’t think it’s weird at all that you’re inside my apartment while I’m asleep.”

“Oh.” Minghao went still for a second. You watched the puzzled look on his face morph into one of dread once he seemed to understand how odd the situation looked. “Oh.”

After a few more moments of gawking at you, he started again, “This looks pretty bad.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“I swear it’s not as creepy as it looks. Jeonghan said you wanted to see me, and then your roommate let me in. She told me to just wake you up, but I felt bad after a while. That’s why I just let you sleep.”

That must have been what Yooyeon was asking you while you were half-conscious, and you probably stupidly agreed despite not catching anything she said. This wasn’t how you wanted to talk to him; you needed time to mentally prepare yourself to meet Minghao—preferably in an outdoor setting where you were appropriately dressed—but now he had caught you completely off-guard.

It looked like he had just gotten back from the gym with his flushed cheeks and the sleeveless top that showed off his toned arms. When he raised his arm, you could even catch a glimpse of the infinity tattoo inked across his shoulder blade.

“I can leave,” he suggested, unsure.

“No, stay,” you said. “It’s just that I was gonna go see you on my own. How long have you been waiting here for, anyway?”

“Maybe ten minutes? I tried calling your name, but you asked me to let you sleep a little longer.”

You flushed, mortified. On top of accidentally inviting Minghao over to wait for you to wake up, you were sleep-talking in front of him too? Any semblance of professionalism you had was crashing and burning before you.

“I think I was sleep-talking with my roommate, too. That’s probably why she thought I needed to see you now,” you explained with a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry about that.”

Minghao laughed and took a seat once he realized you weren’t going to shoo him out of the apartment anymore—or perhaps now he felt less guilty about showing up unexpectedly.

“So we’re even, right? Your stalking is forgiven,” you said, “but not forgotten.”

His eyes went wide with mock surprise, feigning a gasp. “Stalking? I could sue you for defamation of character.”

“Then sue me,” you challenged. “I have an outfit that I’ve been dying to wear in a courtroom.” Minghao raised his eyebrows with mild interest before you reached for your laptop on the coffee table. “Anyway, I wanted to show you something that could probably make you rethink that defamation lawsuit.”

You then turned to face him and clasped your hands together out of sheer desperation. “Please let me make you the star of my documentary.”

Minghao blinked at you for a few seconds before asking, “The documentary for your class? You want me in it?”

You nodded eagerly. “It’ll be all about you—your dancing, the café—everything that shows how hard you’ve worked for your dreams.”

“I don’t know, Y/N…” He looked slightly uneasy at the prospect. “I might not have the time for this. I already have shifts at the café every day.”

“I think I have a solution for that, too.”

“That’s great and all, but either way, I don’t even know how much longer we’re gonna be able to keep the café running.”

“But Minghao, listen, I have it all planned out.” You scooted closer until your knees were bumping against his, and you angled your laptop for him to see the screen. “There’s a scholarship offering twenty thousand dollars, and they’re asking for a video submission on what success means to you. It’s specifically for the arts—something you’re passionate about.”

“You mean…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the screen.

“I say we kill two birds with one stone; I film the documentary for my final project while you use it to win that cash prize.”

Minghao looked from you, to the screen, and to you again. There was a suspension of fear across his face that was coupled with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. It looked as if stardust had scattered across his irises and lit them up.

“Twenty thousand dollars,” he started before mouthing the words again in disbelief. “That kind of money could save the café.”

“And pay for nationals,” you added. “I stayed up all night planning this out. If you trust me, I think we can actually make this work.”

“You really think so? But do you really think people would be interested in watching something that’s just about my life?”

“No doubt about it. That face sells,” you deadpanned, which caused the tips of his ears to go an endearing shade of red. “I wouldn’t have done all this work if I didn’t think we could pull it off.”

“This is all assuming I even get selected.”

“I’ll make sure you do. It’ll be my best work yet.”

After Minghao spent a considerable amount of time scanning your document over and over again (you were pretty sure the words were probably burned into his brain by now), the corner of his mouth quirked into a mischievous smile. “So, how good are you?”

“Good at what?”

“Filmmaking. I’ve never seen your work.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “I’ll have you know that I’ve had plenty of experience. I’m just using you for my big break.” You didn’t realize you had stiffened up until you let your body relax. “Do you want to see something I’ve filmed?”

“Can I?”

“Of course. I can’t have you agree to something before you know the standard of quality you’re getting,” you said with a prideful puff of your chest that deflated too quickly when you realized that you would have to show Minghao something so vulnerable. Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal for him, but you shed your heart and soul into your craft; it was precious to you. You opened the video file and looked at him expectantly. “We don’t have to watch it.”

“No, I want to,” he said in a voice so earnest that you wanted to believe him. He focused on the file name at the top of the video player. “A Bite of Summer—what’s it about?”

“It’s pretty short. I’ll just play it for you.”

You hit play and moved the laptop onto Minghao’s lap instead, watching both the screen and his reaction to your videography. He was so zeroed in on the film that he hardly seemed to notice the way you kept glancing at him.

Summer was sweltering. Growing up, you always spent your summers surrounded by friends and family, whether it was going to the beach or going to the park. Living in the moment was simple back then; you weren’t confined to responsibilities and commitments that kept you from enjoying what life had to offer. In fact, some of your best summer memories were shared with Minghao. The two of you laughed without a care in the world as the warmth of the sun enveloped you.

Once you entered high school, however, summer felt so humid that it was suffocating. You were up to your neck in assignments, exam preparation, and part-time jobs. It became difficult to enjoy your youth when you had countless hours of work to do. Coincidentally, it was your first summer spent without Minghao; you weren’t sure if things would’ve been any different if you two were still friends back then, but maybe it would’ve simmered the ache in your chest.

Your short film, A Bite of Summer, was created amidst your summer blues. The film was about a girl named Rhea who meets her younger self at the beach she once used to frequent during the summer. It represented the relationship the older you had with your younger self; you were excited to grow and move forward as the seasons changed, but summer was always a bittersweet reminder that you had no time to grieve over your childhood. You didn't know what you lost until it was gone, but perhaps that made the memories even more precious.

You were still looking at Minghao, but you could hear your main character, Rhea, asking her younger self, “Are you ever scared of growing up?”

Minghao was watching intently, hanging onto every word. You weren’t sure why you felt so nervous about him watching. In your last year of middle school, you and Minghao began to have long conversations about how terrifying it was to grow up. He would open up about how much pressure he felt from balancing dancing and school, and you would tell him how you felt like you couldn’t breathe in the summer heat. Perhaps he had forgotten by now. Perhaps he wouldn’t connect your film back as being so personal to you.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his reaction during the scene where the younger Rhea reaches for the older Rhea’s hand, gripping tightly even as cold waves started to lap at their feet. Minghao watched quietly, dark eyebrows pulling together as he focused.

“I am,” the younger Rhea answered.

“You are?”

“It sounds exciting, but nothing scares me more.” You watched as Minghao’s lips parted, chestnut eyes glistening when she continued, “Maybe it doesn't feel that way because you don’t have to live through those hard times anymore, but I’m glad the good times stuck. That means this feeling will pass”—their hands dropped to their sides—“and yours will, too.”

And that was when a tear fell from Xu Minghao’s feathery lashes.

You’ve never witnessed anyone cry over the work you created. Sure, it tugged at your own heartstrings since it was so personal to you, but to watch someone else have such strong feelings over your film made tears well up in your eyes.

“Are… are you crying?” you stammered out, a tittering laugh following as Minghao used the pads of his thumbs to smear his tears off his cheeks. It was a pretty sight, like watching wet clay come undone before you.

“It was really good,” he mumbled, giving you the most adorable pout you had ever seen on an adult man before turning his head away to keep wiping at his tears. “I’m serious. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m just surprised. I’ve never seen someone react like that to my work.”

If you were just a little braver, you probably would’ve thanked him first before telling him that you were touched. You would’ve told him that no one had ever peeled back your layers without making it uncomfortable—sometimes even painful—but he handled you with so much delicacy. You would’ve told him that this film was about you, at your core, and perhaps he had already picked up on that, but you would’ve been brave enough to express yourself.

But you weren’t brave, so you just smiled at the lone tears that streaked Minghao’s face before he wiped them with his sleeve.

“Seriously, you’re incredible,” he said, still staring at the paused video on your laptop. The corner of his mouth lifted. “That was so short and it still made me cry.”

You couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across your face. “You’re actually crying.”

“Well, yeah. Are you having fun watching me suffer?”

Was it borderline psychopathic that you were smiling while Minghao cried? Probably. On the other hand, you were simply glad you didn’t burst into tears alongside him. You nearly felt like you could’ve with the way he got so emotional about your work.

“A little,” you admitted. Surprisingly, that got a smile out of him. “I’m just happy you like it.”

“I do,” he said. A pause, then, “Why’s it called ‘A Bite of Summer,’ by the way?”

You scoffed. Actually, you had your reasons, but no one had ever asked you about this film specifically.

“I hate summer, that’s why,” you told him. “I can’t stand the heat.”

“Really?” His brows lifted. “I think summer’s pretty overrated, too.”

You cracked a grin. “No, you don’t. It’s your favorite season.”

“Hey, I can still acknowledge my favorite season’s overrated.”

He grinned and held the palm of his hand out to you. You were confused before Minghao gently grabbed your wrist and put your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and giving you a firm shake. Your hands were too clammy to be gripping Minghao’s calloused palms, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Use me however you want, director,” he continued, and the sparkle in his eyes was something magnificent. “I’ll be your best star yet.”

“No lawsuit?” you asked.

Minghao laughed. “No lawsuit.”

You were sweating like you had just run a marathon. (You practically did; the distance from your apartment to Jeonghan’s location in the library was a mile and a half, and you were sprinting half the time.)

Since you needed some time to plan out your filming, you exchanged contact information with Minghao and told him that you would contact him when you were ready. Your nerves were buzzing with excitement now that you actually had a subject for your documentary. Conversations with your classmates would no longer make you feel like you were desperately hurrying to catch up with everybody else.

Your friends usually claimed the big table on the third floor. It was positioned at an optimal location next to the bathrooms and the elevator, so you were quite proud of your unassigned-assigned table. Junhui and Wonwoo were normally the ones who spent the most time in the library, whereas Seungkwan and Vernon usually only stopped by if they wanted to mess around.

“You bitch,” you spat, pointing an accusatory finger at Jeonghan, who was trying to frantically wave off clouds of smoke when he coughed in surprise. You collapsed into the chair next to him, catching your breath while Junhui and Wonwoo hardly batted an eye. “You should be prosecuted for vaping in the library, by the way.”

“I know, right?” Junhui frowned disapprovingly. “Take it outside, Jeonghan.”

“Addiction kills,” Wonwoo added, doleful.

“I was gonna ghost it!” Jeonghan cried in defense, lowering his voice toward the end once he realized they were, in fact, still inside the library. He turned back to face you. “Anyway, why am I a bitch again?”

“You invited Minghao into my apartment!”

“Okay, a lot of accusations here. What about a hi? A hello? A congrats-on-finding-your-vape-Jeonghan?”

You fixed him with a glare. “It’s one accusation that has already been confirmed, Jeonghan. Start talking.”

“Yooyeon told me that you needed to see Minghao. All I did was pass along the message,” he explained before a smirk grew on his face. “So what did you need to see him for?”

“Oh, right.” You cleared your throat. “I’ve decided on doing the Minghao documentary.”

Jeonghan’s lips parted in surprise, the corners of his lips twitching upward again. “Oh my god, you’re actually doing it! I mean, I had a feeling after Yooyeon called me, but…”

“Good choice,” Junhui said. “He’s an absurdly attractive man.”

“Phenomenal face for the cameras,” Wonwoo agreed, humming along.

“Okay, since when were you guys the Xu Minghao Fan Club?” You looked around the table and shook your head once you saw Junhui’s dreamy expression. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Point is, the Minghao documentary is in motion and I have a shit-ton to plan.” You turned to face Jeonghan. “You said you’d help out at the café, right? You’ll get paid, of course, but Minghao can’t keep taking shifts every day.”

“They’re still having money problems?” Jeonghan asked.

“Unfortunately, but he said that hiring part-timers is better for them financially.”

He hummed, nodding along to your words. “Well, I didn’t say I’d be helping at the café, but I’ll find you someone.”

“They’ll still have to be interviewed, of course. Oh, and they’ll have to be trained, and—”

“Don’t even worry,” Jeonghan assured. “I have the perfect person in mind. Actually, I think I can find you a few more, too.”

“I’m a little scared.”

“When have I ever let you down?” Before you could point out that there had actually been a few instances, Jeonghan seemed to realize the flaw in his question and added, “Rhetorical question. Anyway, just leave it to me.”

To an extent, you did trust him. Not only was Jeonghan involved in several clubs and organizations on campus, but he was also a freshman orientation leader for two years in a row. This was especially useful in the sense that he had connections to students you had never even seen in your life; when you used to have inquiries on subjects you wanted to film, you always asked Jeonghan for any references, and he almost always had a name in mind.

After a pause, your friend gave you a quizzical look. “Did you run all the way over here just to say that?”

“Uh…”

“You know you could’ve just texted me, right? Or called? Modern technology works wonders, Y/N.”

“Oh—right.”

Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so excited over something that you full-on sprinted to tell your friends. It begged the question of whether you would be this ecstatic if you weren’t filming a certain someone. The ice skating rink surely wouldn’t have gotten this reaction out of you.

You were fairly certain you knew the reason behind your lapse in judgement, and it was becoming clear that Xu Minghao was tangled right in the center of everything.

Filming started the following Monday.

You captured Minghao throughout his everyday life at first, which meant you had to follow him around all day to compile footage. Mentally, you weren’t very prepared for this. Following Minghao from campus, to the café, to his dance studio, and wherever else he decided to venture made you feel as if you were intruding. It was as if you were peaking into a world that you weren’t allowed into.

He wasn’t that great when it came to school as a kid, but now Minghao really tried to study hard, even if that meant dozing off in the middle of reading a page of his textbook. Just a few days ago, he invited you over for a movie, and you were really supposed to be editing your footage, but you caved within minutes of him asking. You remembered Minghao had always been a sucker for coming-of-age movies, but you were dumbfounded when he shed tears during Little Women. (What you wouldn’t dare tell him was how endearing you found him).

You toed the line as someone between a friend and a stranger; perhaps to Minghao you would be considered a friend, but you weren’t quite sure why you couldn’t see yourself fitting in that space again. Still, as you filmed him and shot his interviews, you were so intrigued by the new sides of him that kept coming up, as well as the parts you nearly forgot about. It felt strange to hear such sincere accounts of Minghao from the interviews with his instructors and peers, yet to be the one behind the camera that couldn’t hold onto him before.

Today, he was waiting for you at 11:30 a.m. sharp outside of the Arts building. It had been a little over a month since you and Minghao started working together, but you were more worried about the scholarship deadline than your own assignment’s deadline. Filming was going smoothly, but you still needed to get interviews from his friends and family. Editing the dance footage was going to take the entire night since you were in the studio for hours.

You were overwhelmed, to say the least.

Minghao was finished with classes for the day while you had an annoyingly long gap between your morning and evening classes. You were supposed to shoot some B-roll, but that completely slipped both of your minds as you were well into scarfing down the breakfast wraps you two had bought before sitting on a cold bench.

Dark, gray clouds moved like smoke across the sky. It was getting chillier, and you were suddenly reminded of when you’d wait for the school bus with Minghao in middle school. He was always carrying around hand warmers back then, offering you one without fail whenever you started to shiver. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder without thinking too deeply about how close you were. Now, with the awkward gap between you two, you wished you could go back to those simpler times.

Maybe you were already considered friends. Maybe you were overthinking all of this.

You rarely analyzed your other friendships this thoroughly.

You would rather shrivel up and die than admit that you missed being the closest to Minghao, but whenever he said something particularly sweet or gave you that gentle smile where his eyes crinkled at the corners, you felt your heart soar just a little higher. Maybe—just maybe—if he pressed enough, he would get it out of you.

“I told my mentor I’m gonna keep practicing for nationals,” he said once he was waiting for you to finish the last few bites of your wrap, “and I told my mom about the scholarship. It took some time trying to convince her that it could actually work.”

“She was against it?”

“At first, yeah. I mean, I don’t blame her. We’re doing this on the off-chance I get selected—nothing’s guaranteed.” He gave you a crooked smile. “But, at the end of the day, it could save our café, so she’s touched that you’re trying.”

You took the last bite of your wrap instead of replying. Of course Minghao meant well, but you couldn’t help but feel your stomach pitted with anxiousness at the mention of how everything was riding on this film. It made you feel even worse because Minghao had more to lose than you did. Nationals and an assignment grade; it was almost ridiculous how high-stakes his situation was compared to yours.

“Jeonghan actually managed to find part-timers for the café,” he continued. “They’re coming by in the afternoon.”

“That’s good news, right? You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised. We hardly get people who wanna work there.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s not as convenient as an on-campus job, so most people aren’t willing to walk that far for a part-time job when they can easily find something closer.”

You didn’t mind the commute yourself, but you only visited the café occasionally; it would’ve been a different story if you were heading to work there every single day. You hoped whoever Jeonghan found was actually committed to their job.

Then, Minghao asked, “What’re you gonna be filming today?”

“I was thinking we can get some footage of you training the newbies,” you said. “Speaking of, now that you have more employees, does this mean you won’t have to work at the café as much?”

He grinned brightly. “My shifts are cut down to three days a week now. I’ll have plenty of time to focus on dance. We have other employees to train the new guys, too, so it’s not all on me.” Minghao then leaned in a little closer (making you laser-focused on stepping on every crunchy leaf at your feet to ignore how your brain was spinning) to say, “Jeonghan thinks there'll be a lot more girls coming to the café.”

“Because of the new baristas?”

He shrugged. “They’re good-looking guys.”

You thought back to the demographic of cafégoers when you first visited Café du Soleil. The majority were, in fact, teenage girls. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you discovered that Minghao’s face was the selling point, but to have multiple men like him working there? Not only were you worried that the coffee shop would turn into the Ouran Host Club, but you simply couldn’t picture even more people of the same visual caliber as Xu Minghao.

Before you could reply, Minghao noted your pause and asked, “What’re you thinking about?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Curious about what?”

When you looked at him, his gaze frantically scattered about before he returned to looking down at his wadded-up wrapper. You wouldn’t have found it weird if you caught him looking at you, but the fact that he looked away so quickly made you feel conscious of how warm you were getting under your jacket.

“Just wondering if they’re really all that. I find it hard to believe that whoever Jeonghan called is gonna bring in more of a crowd than you already do.”

Minghao looked baffled before he chuckled. “I don’t bring in a crowd.”

“There were so many girls when I visited yesterday! Didn’t you notice them giggling after you left their table?”

“They were probably just giggling over whatever teenage girls giggle over.”

Minghao was oblivious by nature. He was also a man, therefore he was stupid.

Coupled together, it was a disastrous combination that resulted in wildly attractive Xu Minghao being utterly useless when it came to recognizing that he was blessed with a first-rate genetic sequence.

“Hao,” you started slowly, “teenage girls giggle over guys.”

“Oh.” He frowned, and you held yourself back from rolling your eyes as you witnessed him take actual offense to what was supposed to be a compliment. You figured he had deeply misunderstood what you were getting at.

“Cute guys,” you corrected.

“Oh.”

You straightened up and stared back at him, bewildered. “You don’t even know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Your—” Unable to articulate what you were trying to say (partly because it was far too embarrassing to outrightly call Minghao attractive), you made a dramatic gesture to refer to his face. “That!”

To your horror, he turned incredibly smug. “What, my face? What about it?”

“Uh…”

“Are you trying to say I look good, Y/N?”

This just in: Xu Minghao was a sick and twisted man.

In this very exact, very precise moment, you felt the most vulnerable you had ever been in front of the dancer, and he was using the very opportunity to humiliate you even further.

“I’m speaking objectively,” you said.

“You’re objectively saying I look good.”

“Yes.”

“What about subjectively?”

“Can we circle back to the café instead?” you offered, buffering as if you had to muster up the strength to push the words out through your teeth. “I’d much rather talk about the café.”

“Really? I was having more fun talking about how objectively and subjectively good I look.”

A groan fell from your lips. “You objectively and subjectively need to shut up.”

Minghao laughed at your reaction before standing up and reaching into his pockets. “C’mon, let’s get going before it gets late,” he said and pulled out a hand warmer from his coat, holding it out to you. “Here.”

You took it from him. “What’s this for?”

“You’ve been shivering this whole time.”

While Minghao chatted your ear off on the way to Café du Soleil, all you could think about was how he surprisingly paid attention to the little details about you that most people would miss. You were formulating a rough theory in your head: Xu Minghao had to be some sort of otherworldly being because there was no other explanation for how perfect he was.

Yoon Jeonghan was going to the deepest circle of Hell.

As soon as you saw Choi Seungcheol in an apron, you knew your insufferable friend had an agenda of his own when he was scouting out potential baristas. To Jeonghan’s credit, the other two baristas he found seemed like they had been objectively scouted (no offense to Seungcheol, but you were 99% sure Jeonghan just wanted a chance to see the man as frequently as possible).

“That’s Chan.” Jeonghan jerked his chin in the direction of the younger guy who was fumbling with the cash register, and then you followed his gaze over to the barista who was fixing an acrylic pin of Elphaba from Wicked to his apron. “And that one’s Seokmin.”

Apparently, Jeonghan met Lee Seokmin through a hiking club. More specifically, Jeonghan met Seokmin at a hiking club party while they were trying to puke their guts out in the same bush.

Lee Chan, on the other hand, was a family friend’s son that Jeonghan adored. You recalled him bringing Chan to a college party once and never again; the high school senior was later given twenty bucks to keep his mouth shut about Jeonghan hitting his vape.

After his eyes lingered on his eye candy (read: Seungcheol) for a ridiculously long amount of time, Jeonghan finally noticed the reproachful look you were giving him. “What?”

“I know damn well you just wanted to get Seungcheol in an apron.”

“No,” Jeonghan sneered, as if he was disgusted by your accusation. “I was trying to see him with his sleeves rolled up. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever, dude. They both boil down to you being a whore.”

“Hey, I mention a hiring notice to the man I want,” Jeonghan started with an air of confidence, leaning back in his seat to take a sip of his latte, “and you turn yours into the star of your film. We’re basically birds of a feather here.”

You nearly choked over your own drink (the mango fruit tea—again), and you were suddenly grateful that Minghao was currently training the newbies behind the counter despite feeling jealous earlier about them getting most of his attention. It was a relief that you two were alone at a table and out of earshot. Jeonghan needed to stay far, far away from Minghao; he was clearly not to be trusted to run his mouth around the dancer.

You gave him an incredulous look, ignoring the burst of heat that exploded within your chest. “First of all, lower your voice before someone hears you and actually takes you seriously. Second of all, what?”

“What’s wrong with me wanting Seung—”

“I’m talking about the other part!”

“I said what I said—and if you think about it, you’re crazier than I am.”

“Excuse me?” Your whisper might as well have been a shout. You quieted down again before speaking, “I’m not crazy, and I don’t want Hao.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jeonghan replied, unconvinced, “So you’re telling me that you didn’t feel any sort of way after he gave you a piggyback ride home from the club last week?”

It would be impossible to forget, even if you were blasted out of your mind. After much persuasion from Seungkwan and Jeonghan, you were convinced to invite Minghao last-minute to your night out. You were already several drinks in when he finally showed up at the club, so your first instinct was to throw yourself into his arms. Not your finest moment. But he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer by the waist, so you couldn’t help but let yourself get carried away.

Several shots later, you found it impossible to walk with how your balance was completely off. Minghao, being the knight in shining armor he was, opted to carry you home on his back while holding onto your heels.

You settled for saying, “He was just being nice.”

“That wasn’t my question, and I don’t think he was just trying to be nice.”

“Is it so hard for you to believe that he’s just a genuinely good guy?”

“Well, he is, but it’s not like you guys just film your little documentary and move on with your lives after,” Jeonghan said. “He hangs out with you, texts you every day, finds literally any excuse to invite you over, and you guys even bought matching pajamas!”

“They were on sale!”

“Lots of things were on sale, Y/N; it was literally Black Friday.”

“It was Cyber Monday,” you corrected in a grumble.

“You specifically chose the pajamas to wear with him.”

“We’re friends,” you insisted, although it sounded like you were more so trying to convince yourself than Jeonghan. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel the undercurrent of your emotions tugging at your ankles, but that was not a revelation you were meant to have at Café du Soleil with Minghao in your vicinity. “We’re just doing what friends do.”

Jeonghan slurped his drink in a ridiculously loud manner. You shot him a disapproving look.

“You know what I think?”

You were certain that you didn’t want to hear what Jeonghan thought, but nevertheless, you entertained his attempts to provoke you. “What now?” you snapped.

“I think you’re still hurt by how you two drifted apart—you and Hao,” he said, “and you’re probably thinking it’s gonna happen again. That’s why you’re too scared to admit he’s being a little more than nice to you.”

Bullseye. Jeonghan had watertight intuition when it came to the people he was close with, and you were no exception. His words were so on the mark that you felt vulnerable and exposed, like your skin was suddenly clinging too tight around your bones.

The thing was, you still couldn’t exactly remember how you and Minghao grew distant. You recalled the throng of memories of when you two were friends, but everything leading up to your falling out was hazy. Could you even call it a falling-out if there weren’t necessarily any hard feelings? He certainly hadn’t done anything that made you want to block him out of your memory (it was Xu Minghao, for God’s sake), but you couldn’t imagine why you would be so hurt over growing apart from an old friend.

“You really chose the worst possible time and place for this conversation,” was all you could mutter in response.

“We have air conditioning and cheesecake. What could possibly be better than this?”

Whether Jeonghan was selective about what he chose to be perceptive about or simply didn’t understand the gravity of this situation, you couldn’t tell; you just gave him a dumbfounded stare. “Anywhere else! Anywhere else would’ve been better!”

“You’re so picky.”

“And you can’t read the room.”

“You know what I can read,” he started with a cheeky grin while his eyes focused on something—or someone—else behind you, “Xu Minghao’s name tag.”

“Oh, do you like it? I drew Seungkwan’s dog and Vernon’s cat next to my name,” came a breezy voice from behind you, making your heart plummet to your stomach.

How long had he even been standing there? You thought you could just ignore Minghao, but you found yourself turning around to see his two pets he doodled on his nametag. Unfortunately, they were cute, but you were still too mortified to give him a proper reaction.

“How—how long have you been there for?” you stammered. “Did you hear what we were talking about?”

Minghao raised a brow. “Not long. Why? Is it something I’m not supposed to hear?”

You balked before answering, “No,” but the inflection in your tone made you sound as if you were questioning yourself.

(Jeonghan made direct eye contact with you and mouthed the word pussy. You made a mental note to deal with him later in a potentially homicidal manner.)

“By the way, Jeonghan, the guys you brought in are doing great,” Minghao went on to praise. “I don’t think we even need to train them for that long. Seokmin’s a natural at this.”

Jeonghan let out a wistful sigh. “I knew I recognized his potential.”

“Didn’t you guys meet at a party? How’d he manage to show barista potential?” you asked.

“I was thirsty and he brought me water.”

Nice. That was one way to prove himself, you supposed.

Then, Minghao turned his attention to you. “Were you gonna get some more shots today? Chan says he won’t make a run for it if he sees the camera this time.”

Earlier, you were trying to film Minghao showing Chan the proper technique of steaming milk, which Chan hardly was able to pay attention to because he was too busy gawking at the camera. As soon as Minghao was done talking, the high schooler hurried into the break room.

“I think I got everything I needed,” you answered, tilting your head up to see him smiling fondly down at you. The look in his eyes made you feel like something syrupy was trickling down your throat, as if you were drowning in his endearment. “Why’d you call Jeonghan over here, anyway? He’s pissing me off.”

As expected, your words got a rise out of Jeonghan. “All I did was sit here!”

“And you opened your mouth. That’s basically a misdemeanor.”

“Jeonghan, quit bothering her,” Minghao scolded. (“What? What the hell? What did I do?” Jeonghan went on to complain. “This is going in my Yelp review, by the way—one star for betrayal and terrible customer service.”) He looked back at you with a softened gaze as Jeonghan’s maundering turned into background noise. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”

You were about to head out, but your legs suddenly didn’t feel like moving once Minghao looked at you with those warm eyes of his that made your insides feel like they had been doused in kerosene and lit aflame.

Jeonghan, who was hell-bent on his mission to push you and Minghao closer as much as you resisted, appeared to take your hesitation as an opportunity.

“We’re going back to my apartment to smoke,” your friend declared. Although that had never been the plan, you kept your mouth shut to see where Jeonghan was going with this. “You coming, Hao?”

Minghao snuck a glance at you. “Tonight? I don’t know. I might be free.”

“Holy shit,” Jeonghan gushed before Minghao’s words could even properly register in your ears, leaning over the table to put his hand on top of yours. “I should invite Soonyoung. Remember? The guy from our orientation group that you thought was cute?”

Of course you remembered Kwon Soonyoung. How could anyone forget a face like that? But you wanted to reach over the table and strangle Jeonghan for bringing him up in the worst possible context and potentially screwing up your non-existent love life for good. As you fought down your murderous tendencies and glanced nervously between the boys, however, you noticed a muscle in Minghao’s jaw twitch.

You started, “Soonyoung? I mean, sure, but—”

“Actually, I’ll be there,” Minghao cut in, his face void of emotion. “What time?”

Jeonghan simpered, quite pleased with himself. “Eight?”

“Sounds good.”

Without another word, the barista walked off, leaving you in stunned silence. Did you just witness Xu Minghao get jealous? There was no way for you to spin this as anything else; it was pure, unadulterated envy that bled out of him.

As your face grew increasingly hot, you spoke in a frantic, hushed voice, “He cut me off. He cut me off! Have you ever seen Hao that mad? I’ve never seen him that mad.”

But Jeonghan didn’t seem the least bit worried at all. In fact, he looked far too smug. “He’s really mad, isn’t he?”

“What’d you say all that for? I don’t think I can handle Hao and Soonyoung in the same room after this. I haven’t even brought up Soonyoung since last year, you douchebag!”

“Relax,” Jeonghan replied coolly. “I’m not inviting Soonyoung. I just said that to fuck with Hao.” A Cheshire-like grin spread across his face, and he pulled out his phone to start tapping away in front of you. “I’ve never seen him that jealous before. Maybe you should wear something nice and lace—”

“Shut up,” you interrupted with a scowl. “There were never any plans to begin with, were there?”

“Yes, there were—now,” he said, causing you to groan at the end. “I just told the group chat about it. You can thank me later.”

“I am not thanking you for the amount of torment you just put me through,” you said, hesitated, then stiffly added, “but thank you.”

“See? I’m always looking out for you.” He gave you a sincere look. “Now do me a solid and please get Seungcheol to show up.”

“I knew there was a catch.”

yoon jeonghan: smoke sesh at my place @ 9 yoon jeonghan: be there or our friendship’s over

boo seungkwan: i have no weed boo seungkwan: lost my vape too

you: real hustlers would never make excuses

wen junhui: she’s right

vernon chwe: i have your vape seungkwan

boo seungkwan: wtf give it back boo seungkwan: wait my vape with vernon’s saliva 🤤

vernon chwe questioned “wait my vape with vernon’s saliva 🤤”

you: alright chill

boo seungkwan: if i close my eyes i can almost taste him

vernon chwe: um. vernon chwe: i'd like to give it back because it’s yours but idk if i should anymore

jeon wonwoo: Why are we having a smoke sesh on a random ass day jeon wonwoo: I have a midterm tomorrow

boo seungkwan: leave tomorrow’s problems for a Tomorrow You

jeon wonwoo: True jeon wonwoo: Ok see u guys there

yoon jeonghan: i’ll provide the smoke sesh essentials

wen junhui: i have 11 edibles wen junhui: each person gets 1 and fight to the death over the rest

boo seungkwan: pog

you: thanks for that

jeon wonwoo: Amazing

vernon chwe: incredible

You were blasted out of your mind.

True to his word, Jeonghan didn’t invite Soonyoung to his gathering; and true to your word, you roped Minghao into bringing Seungcheol along.

You were initially worried that things would be awkward between you and Minghao, but he seemed to be in a significantly better mood by the time you got to talk to him. He didn’t even know that this whole night had been Jeonghan’s maniacal plot to set you guys up, so Minghao was completely oblivious when Seungkwan ushered him to sit next to you on the couch.

The night started off with Junhui passing out his edibles and auctioning off his last three to whoever did the best animal impression (one went to Minghao, one went to Jeonghan, and one went to Vernon). You were content with your one edible because you never had that strong of a weed tolerance, and halfway into watching Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle, you felt your eyes starting to grow heavy.

There were two types of people when high, though: one was you, who could probably be considered motionless and inanimate; and the other was someone like Seungkwan, whose not-so-wise ideas seemed to increase tenfold.

And, of course, since Harold and Kumar wanted to go to White Castle, Seungkwan and Vernon wanted to go on an adventure, too.

After much planning (which you weren’t part of because your body felt as if it was sinking into the couch cushions), your friends mobilized their efforts to come up with a scheme to bring back food from three different restaurants at once. They split themselves up into teams; Jeonghan and Seungcheol were going to Taco Bell, Seungkwan and Vernon were going to Panera Bread, and Junhui and Wonwoo were going to Chipotle.

If you were sober, you probably would have reminded them that UberEats still existed—or that they should probably look up the closing hours.

Naturally, you and Minghao were left in Jeonghan’s apartment. You didn’t mind because they promised to bring back food, but Jeonghan had definitely orchestrated getting you alone with Minghao. This meant you were probably expected to make a move or do whatever else was deemed entertaining in their eyes.

“Why didn't you go with them?” you asked Minghao. Everything seemed much more amusing to you all of a sudden, like the tuft of his hair that just wouldn't stay down.

“I’d rather stay here.” He shrugged and nudged your arm with his elbow. “Why? Do you want me to go?” he teased.

You reached over and patted down the strands of hair that kept sticking up. “No, stay. I need a witness if Jun’s edibles kill me.”

He laughed. “You’re not gonna die.”

“I am.” You placed a hand against your chest, right where your heartbeat thundered at lightning speed. “Please don’t be mad at me if I flatline.”

“No, you’re fine,” he said, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. His heartbeat was fast but probably not as fast as yours. “See? They’re the same.”

You thought Xu Minghao should’ve done the right thing for your heart and not look so devastatingly good all the time, but he always managed to catch you off-guard with that sickeningly sweet smile of his. He also should’ve been making an effort to not touch you so casually when your heart was already running at a million miles per hour. It wasn’t very fair that you were cursed to control your emotions every time you saw him from a decidedly good angle (which was almost every angle). You needed to bury whatever you were feeling before he entered a dangerous territory of your heart.

On second thought, you weren’t sure you could keep him out.

“No, they’re not,” you said. “I think it’s because of the weed and the fact that you’re very close.”

You swore you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips, but Minghao expertly concealed it by raising a brow at you instead. “Oh? You’re blaming it on me now?”

“Blame is a strong word.”

Even he couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin from appearing on his face as he leaned in closer. “Then why am I such a problem for your heart, Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “You just are.”

“Does it have anything to do with me being objectively good-looking?”

You groaned. “You won’t let that one go, will you?”

“Unfortunately for you, I think I like where this is going.”

Something very dangerous was brewing in your chest.

You weren't sure if it was the weed that was making you bolder, but the haze was surely letting down your inhibitions. Instead of feeling like you were sinking deeper into the couch, you felt like you were gravitating closer to Minghao.

“Will you ever give me an answer?” he asked, and your breath caught in your throat when he delicately held your chin with two fingers, turning your head to look at him.

“No, I don’t think so.”

He pouted, and then you mocked his pout in return.

And just when you thought he was done messing with you, Xu Minghao dipped his head to seal his lips over yours, kissing your pout away.

Alarmed, you pulled back immediately, your eyes wide and unblinking as you stared at him in shock. He didn’t seem all that fazed himself, but he pressed his lips together tightly and withdrew his hand slowly. It was a short-lived kiss, but you were so close to getting hooked and losing all semblance of self-control.

“Sorry,” he apologized quickly.

“W-why are you sorry?” you stuttered, pitchy.

“I should’ve asked first.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

You shook your head to clear the mess of tangled thoughts. This was the worst possible conversation to be having while you were both high out of your minds, but you were also feeling a lot more courageous now that you knew that Minghao actually wanted to kiss you.

You wanted to kiss him, too. Now that you had a taste, you couldn’t resist thinking about how his lips would feel against yours again, how he would touch you again with such tenderness.

“Sorry, I thought you were asking,” you said.

“Asking what?”

“To kiss me.”

“Oh.” Minghao went silent for an entire minute. (You counted the seconds.) You watched as he stared blankly into space before the weight of your words seemed to finally register. “Oh.”

Your face felt hot. “Don’t just oh me.”

Minghao chuckled in response. He shifted so that he was turned toward you, one of his hands finding purchase on the back of your neck and the other on your knee. You nearly forgot how to breathe as you were so focused on how his touch burned your skin.

“No, I was just thinking about how cute you are,” he clarified.

“Huh?” You were pretty sure your voice was an octave higher, judging by how Minghao now looked even more amused by you. “Cute?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” His hand started to inch up from your knee, torturously moving up and down. You swallowed thickly. “I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You choked out a laugh. “Are you kidding?”

“I’m dead serious,” he insisted, and you could tell he was by the way his eyes darkened and his hand slid higher up your thigh. “You know I’m not a liar, Y/N.”

When you didn’t respond, he lowered his voice and continued, “You know, a big part of dancing is about the finer details.” Minghao’s hand dragged across your skin so slowly that you couldn’t hold in your trembling breath full of want. “I always make sure to pay extra attention, so I think you can trust me when I tell you you’re pretty.”

For a moment, you were floundering for words. You were already feeling dizzy by his mere touch, and then he went on to say something that made you feel even more feverish. Xu Minghao truly was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Here,” he said, “let me just show you.”

He moved the hand on your thigh to grip your chin again, pressing a few tentative, experimental kisses to your lips before finally capturing them in a longer, desperate manner. Your heartbeat was hardly a rhythm anymore, just a steady line of white noise that rushed loudly in your ears. Kissing Minghao was addicting, and as you moved your arms to wrap around his neck, you found yourself losing the last shred of control that was keeping you from him.

By the time Minghao made the daring decision to slide his hand up your shirt, you two had been kissing each other senselessly. Your legs were haphazardly strewn across his lap while he bent you down to kiss you at a better angle.

Part of you was worried that this was moving too fast; the other half was begging you to speed up.

You couldn’t make sense of anything when his tongue slid against yours so languidly, sending delightful shivers up your spine. One of your hands moved up to entangle your fingers in his roots, tugging just enough to have him groaning into the kiss.

Just when you were certain things were going to escalate further—and god, did you want them to escalate—a loud knock at the door had you and Minghao pulling apart like two magnets with opposite poles.

“I don’t have a key!” Junhui’s muffled yell was heard through the door.

You and Minghao exchanged a look before he stood up to get the door. You ran a hand through your hair to look presentable again, even though your half-lidded eyes were a dead giveaway that you were floating elsewhere, high up in the clouds.

With his taste still on your lips, the tangle of an unspoken truth wound itself tighter around your throat.

You used The Kiss™ as an excuse for some space. The excuse you gave Minghao, however, was that you “needed a week for editing.”

This was a (white) lie for two reasons:

Minghao wasn't going to interfere with your editing process to the extent of needing to completely push him away.

You definitely did not need a full week for editing.

The cherry on top of your excellent decision-making was that it only took you a little over a day to start missing Minghao again.

The worst part of it all was that being the sweetest man to grace this planet, Minghao understood you right away and stopped texting you immediately. And, of course, you started to overthink his silence, as if you weren’t the one who needed time.

After you and Minghao had been rudely interrupted by Junhui and Wonwoo, the two of you carried on like nothing happened. Apparently, Jeonghan had been very strategic about where he made everyone go to pick up food: Chipotle was close by, and he claimed it was important that you and Minghao didn’t spend too much time alone in case things got awkward; and the other two were mostly for Jeonghan’s convenience (Panera Bread because he wanted a charged lemonade, and Taco Bell because it was the farthest away and gave him more time to be alone with Seungcheol). There were good intentions, yes, but you were bitter because the only part of Jeonghan’s plan that was supposed to benefit you was the part that ended up cockblocking you.

The guys made it impossible for you to get some alone time with Minghao for the rest of the night. You couldn’t even see him the next day because you ended up sleeping in so late that Minghao was gone by the time you woke up.

Going back to your apartment the next morning felt like The Walk of Shame.

Now, you were sprawled across the couch in your living room, laptop warm on your stomach as you sifted through your camera footage. Yooyeon was sitting on the carpet and doing her nails at the coffee table. Earlier in the morning, when you gave her the rundown of the events from last night, The Kiss™ had her jumping on the couch for so long that you ended up banishing her to the floor.

“After everything you just told me,” Yooyeon said, “I think you should just tell him how you feel. Don’t mince your balls. Just get right to the point.”

“Mince my balls? I don’t think that’s an expression.” You paused for what felt like forever until the appropriate idiom dawned on you. “It’s mince your words, dumbass, not mince your balls.”

“Mince your words, mince your balls—same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

“Okay, but you two have had this weird back-and-forth for, like, a month now,” she said. “It’s not like he’s gonna say no to a date.”

“But what if he does say no?”

Yooyeon rolled her eyes. “You guys literally kissed. Pretty sure that’s a free pass to ask him out.”

You thought back to Jeonghan’s words, how he suggested that you were still hurt by you and Minghao drifting apart in middle school and that you subconsciously thought it could happen again. It was uncharacteristic for you to hold a grudge this long, though, but you really couldn’t remember what was the turning point that made you feel like you had to walk on eggshells around him.

After putting your headphones over your ears, you clicked on the next video file to decide whether you were saving it for the film or not. The thumbnail that popped up was Minghao’s arm around your shoulders while you were trying to record the both of you sharing takoyaki outside. It was one of the videos that you took for fun in the middle of your shoot, but the sight made your heart flutter in your chest.

“I’ll feed you,” Minghao in the video said, a wide grin on his face as he stabbed a toothpick into a takoyaki ball and inched it closer to your lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Your face twisted as soon as the searing hot takoyaki hit your tongue. You remembered how you were about to drop your camera and spit the takoyaki out, but in order to not embarrass yourself in front of Minghao and everyone else around you, it was crucial that you kept your composure.

“I said it was hot!” Minghao exclaimed when you shot him an icy glare.

As you attempted to eat the takoyaki without burning your tongue, some of the batter dribbled down your chin. You let out a muffled yelp when it scalded your skin, pointing frantically at the mess you were making. It looked like your lips were trying to frame the word tissue, but you immediately covered your mouthful of takoyaki with your hand.

Minghao laughed at you, a dimple carving into the corner of his lip. “Stay still. Let me get it for you.”

The video cut right while Minghao was wiping your chin with a spare napkin. You remembered how gentle his hold was on your face, as if you were fine china. The fond smile fixed on his face wasn’t doing your heart any favors. You glanced over at Yooyeon to make sure she was too preoccupied with her nails to catch the growing smile that kept creeping onto your lips.

When you opened the next video file, the thumbnail wasn’t a frame you recognized. Minghao was in his dance studio, facing the camera at the full-length mirror to capture his entire body. You remembered the exact day he must have filmed this because he let you attempt to braid his hair on the bus ride home.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m recording this without your permission,” he started, a mischievous grin playing on his face. “Since you’re out getting snacks, I’ve decided to vlog the choreo I just came up with.”

This time, you realized too late that your face had broken into a smile so affectionate that Cupid may as well have sent an arrow right through your chest. You were seven minutes into watching Minghao trying to master his self-made choreography when it finally hit you that you had spent the entire month with Minghao—laughing, hanging out, watching movies, going on long drives, studying at his café, and getting to know him all over again. All of that was under the pretext of filming your documentary, but now that you were realizing there was no excuse for you to be around him anymore, a strange feeling of apprehension consumed you.

You could say that you and Minghao were friends now, but your life had become so intertwined with his that you weren’t sure how you would feel when things went back to normal.

Your attention snapped back to your laptop screen when Minghao stopped dancing to speak to the camera again.

“I know you’re probably procrastinating on editing this, so you owe me five dollars if you haven’t watched this by the 19th,” he said. You checked the clock to confirm that it was, indeed, past said date and well into the week after. Just as you were about to make a note to send Minghao the money, he lowered his voice and continued, “But, since you watched till the end, I’ll tell you a secret. You can’t tell anyone, though, especially not Jeonghan!”

You noticed his face was flushed a faint shade of pink when he confessed, “Now I’m only telling you this because it’s been bothering me for weeks. You never brought it up, but… I intentionally didn’t warm up your injeolmi toast that day because I wanted you to bring it back so that we could, um… talk, I guess. I still can’t believe you ate the whole thing without realizing.”

Your heart stuttered—tripped, fell over, got up again, repeated the process—and, oh, you were a discombobulated mess on the inside.

Minghao chuckled to himself and started going off on a tangent about the injeolmi toast, but you were unable to move on from what he had said. (“You know it’s supposed to be warmed up, right? I figured you just didn’t know because you’ve never had it… maybe I should’ve given you the wrong drink instead.”)

The answer was jammed in your throat like a pill you couldn’t swallow: you liked Xu Minghao.

And, strangely enough, the feeling wasn’t unfamiliar.

You remembered exactly what it was like to long for the sun. You’d fallen in love with all of Minghao long before. A rush of repressed feelings from your middle school years bubbled to the surface, and perhaps they didn’t make any sense to you in the past, but it was all too clear now. What you felt for Minghao wasn’t anything new; your first love blossomed long ago, and you plucked out all the petals of your feelings before they could grow any further.

You just didn’t nip enough of them in the bud.

If you remembered correctly, you and Minghao started growing apart the day he got his first girlfriend. It wasn’t that you two had a proper argument or fell out, but you safeguarded yourself from the heartbreak by distancing yourself until you were out of each other’s lives. He must have been too caught up in his new relationship to realize it himself, but of course you couldn’t blame him when you were the one who pulled away first.

But things were different now. You were different now.

In the past, you made sure to swallow your feelings down, no matter how painful and thick they were lodged in your throat. Now, however, despite how hard you tried to suppress them, you felt as if you were glowing in the light of reciprocated love. It was maddening—agonizing even—but so wonderful.

“I think I like him, Yooyeon,” you blurted out, only looking in your roommate’s direction when you heard her knocking over her collection of press-on nails. The mess was hardly a concern to her right now, though. “Minghao, I mean.”

“Can I tell Jeonghan?”

You reached around your laptop to grab a throw pillow and whack her over the head with it. “I’m having the most insane revelation of my life and pouring my heart out to you here, and your first instinct is to tell Jeonghan?”

“Okay, damn, I’ll give it a few hours.” Yooyeon set her phone back down and turned around to face you again, her eyes lit up with excitement. “Now tell me everything. Like, everything. I need you to explain from start to finish.”

“That might take a while,” you warned.

She snorted and picked up her nail file. “I think I can make time in my very busy schedule.”

Your interrogation with Yooyeon didn’t take a few hours, as you expected it would; rather, your discussion cut into the late hours of the night, keeping you and your roommate up until dawn. Jeonghan joined over FaceTime at some point and screeched loud enough for you to worry about noise complaints (Wonwoo made a guest appearance, too), but you also learned that your friend group had seen this coming from the beginning. You weren’t sure how you felt being the only one out of the loop, but Jeonghan made sure to point out that you were just completely oblivious.

You didn’t exactly discuss your next steps, though. Yooyeon mentioned asking Minghao out on a date, but you weren’t sure how to do that without acknowledging The Kiss™ first. You had to bring it up somehow, but you kept putting it off to work on editing.

Thinking about Xu Minghao proved to be dangerous for your motivation. It had only been a week but you instinctively kept checking your phone to see if he texted you. (Spoiler: he didn’t.) It took all of your willpower, but you forced yourself to push him out of your head and focus on getting the documentary done.

Editing was torturous. You practically spent all day and night glued to your laptop, whether it was in the dining hall or in your bed. For something that was only supposed to be ten minutes long, there were hours of footage for you to get through, some of which ended up being unusable, much to your frustration.

Finally, though, after long days of tirelessly working, the finished project was in your hands.

Of course, Minghao was the very first person you told. You were so giddy that you called him immediately, your heart soaring when he picked up on the second ring. In under an hour, you found yourself running to Café du Soleil to show him the documentary.

Upon seeing Minghao’s bright face, before you could even get a hi out, he crushed you in his embrace. You breathed in the addicting scent of his cologne—gaiac wood and cedar. It was clear that neither of you wanted to pull away, but you took a step back first.

“Congratulations,” he praised, rubbing small circles on your upper arm with his thumb. “Do I get to watch it now?”

“If you have ten minutes to spare, we can watch it together,” you said, pulling out your laptop once you reached your usual table. “I wanted you to be the first person to see it.”

“I’m off my shift,” he replied, pulling up a chair right next to you, “so I’ve got time to kill.”

You handed him an AirPod to listen along with you. Sound was one of your favorite parts of creating a film—setting the atmosphere, building the tension, playing with senses and emotions—so you really wished you could give Minghao the full experience, but since you were in a public setting, this would have to do.

The documentary opened with Minghao at his dance studio, sweat glistening on his toned muscles as his body moved to the beat. The demanding choreography coupled with his exhaustion didn’t stop him from showcasing an almost flawless performance. There was a brief exchange with his mentor before the scene cut to an interview with Minghao explaining how his passion for dance started and how he had grown into competing in national-level tournaments.

You added a compilation of clips from Minghao’s previous performances, as well as accounts from his peers about how hardworking and motivated he was. His mentor gave a particularly heartwarming speech on how driven Minghao was as a dancer and how he put his all into everything he did. The part you were the proudest of had to be getting Jeonghan to give his two cents on being Minghao’s friend, and you were pleasantly surprised that he took it seriously and said something sweet.

“To me, success is about working hard despite my circumstances,” Minghao said. In his interview clip, he took on a more serious tone. “I don’t have to be the best dancer in the world as long as I’m doing what I’m passionate about. At some point, I think I lost myself for a while… but someone special pulled me out of that slump and pushed me to keep going. I can’t thank her enough, honestly.”

You knew it was coming because you put the clips together yourself, but your face still grew hot regardless. Minghao being right next to you wasn’t exactly helping your case or making you feel any less flustered. Perhaps most people watching your documentary wouldn’t realize who he was referring to, but you knew that he was talking about you.

The film then got into Minghao’s financial struggles with the café, showing segments of his mother talking about Café du Soleil and how much the place meant to her family. You then showed the new part-timers being trained (with extra screen time for Seungcheol, as per Jeonghan’s suggestion—or, well, persuasion), and Seokmin even gushed about how much he looked up to Minghao in his own interview.

The documentary ended with a few words from Minghao, switching back and forth between the dance studio and the café. The screen then faded to black with the bustling sounds of the café gradually fading out.

It was only when your screen was dark enough to see your reflection that you realized there were tears in both yours and Minghao’s eyes. You already watched it about five times yourself, but something was different about watching it alongside the person you worked with for over a month to bring your ideas to life.

And, apparently, you two weren’t the only ones tearing up.

Minghao flinched when he turned his head to see the part-timers sitting at the table behind them and peering at the laptop screen. “Fuck, you guys scared me.”

“Sorry,” Seokmin apologized, hastily wiping at a stray tear. “It was just so beautiful.”

Chan gave you a nod of approval. “The only thing it needed was more screen time from me.”

“You literally ran away every time you were on camera,” you said, swiveling around to look at the two baristas. “Were you two just sitting behind us this whole time?”

“Yes,” Seokmin confirmed. “We appreciated the subtitles.”

Truthfully, you were extremely satisfied with their reactions. Your short film, A Bite of Summer, bringing Minghao to tears was enough to rile you up for days, and now you had two other people who got emotional over a documentary you filmed and produced with your own two hands.

“You really outdid yourself,” Minghao murmured, and when you turned to him, he was looking at you as if no one else was in the café except you. He reached his hand out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

With a shy smile, you said, “It wouldn’t have come together without you.”

Through your periphery, you noticed Seokmin and Chan exchanging a look.

“Alright, they’re having a moment,” Seokmin announced, standing up and gesturing for Chan to follow him. “Let’s get back to work.”

Minghao, whose ears were a bright shade of red now, tried to awkwardly laugh off the embarrassment. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he looked back at you, and you burned up all over again once you remembered how his soft lips felt against yours. Unfortunately, one of the symptoms of having a crush on someone was that your mind often went blank and filled itself up with all things Xu Minghao instead, so you couldn’t exactly think straight right now.

“I’ve finished the application and essay for the scholarship,” he said, “so I guess all there’s left to do is submit.”

“I’m sure no one else had an incredibly talented film major directing and producing their video,” you joked.

“No, you’re right. If I don’t get the scholarship after this, I might take it personally.”

“Oh, please,” you muttered quietly, “you’re too nice.”

“I’m not that nice, Y/N.” To your surprise, Minghao’s eyes hardened. You had never seen such an expression on his face, and it made your stomach instantly sink to your feet, but he bounced right back to his cheery self soon after. “I’ll walk you home after we submit these?”

“Y-yeah.”

Minghao pulled his own laptop out of his bag while you copied the link to your video in Dropbox. You pasted the link into an email, but your finger hovered over the send button for far too long. Once it went through, you were officially done with this project; it no longer tied you to Minghao.

You sucked in a breath and sent him the link.

You could only stare at your Canvas submission page. The link to your documentary was already pasted in; all you had to do was hit submit, but you felt so anxious. Maybe you missed one of the guidelines, or maybe you needed to watch it again, but you knew deep down that you replayed it several times and it was as close to perfection as you wanted it to be.

“Hao, I’m scared. Let’s submit ours at the same time.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have anything to be scared of, but yeah, let’s do that.”

It took another thirty minutes for Minghao to prepare himself, though. He read over his application and essay again, handing it over to you afterward for a second look at it. When Seungcheol eventually entered the café for his shift, Minghao had him take a look at it, too.

Finally, you and Minghao were both ready with your submissions. You both had your cursors hovering over the submit button just before he slipped his free hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Ready?” he asked.

With the heat of a thousand suns burning your cheeks, you nodded eagerly.

You submitted your film.

It felt like a truckload of weight had been lifted off your shoulders, but the feeling of relief didn’t come without the slight unease. You looked over at Minghao, who had just submitted his and was being clapped on the back by Seungcheol, and you felt weird. You felt so incredibly proud of yourself, but another part of you couldn’t accept that it was over now.

“Hey,” Minghao said softly, grinning when your eyes met his. “We really did it.”

You sort of melted under his gaze, the corners of your mouth hitching up into a lovesick smile. “Yeah, we did.”

With that, his hand slipped out of yours to tell his mother about finishing the scholarship application, and you felt cold again.

Minghao offered to walk you home, but you could hardly hold a proper conversation with him; your head was a mess.

Maybe it was wrong for you to feel this way after your week of radio silence, but something about this felt so final. You were scared that once you reached your apartment, you would go back to the life you had before you reconnected with Minghao. As much as you told yourself that you were just overthinking, there was a nagging fear in the back of your head. Maybe it was from the high of submitting your project, but you felt a rush of adrenaline course through you.

You wanted to hold onto Minghao one more time and tell him how you felt.

It had been on your mind ever since you had your revelation yesterday, and sitting next to him in the café and pretending like you weren’t mad for him was nearly impossible. As you two trudged down the cobblestone street, your hands balled into the pockets of your coat, you realized that something along the lines of a confession was ready to burst through your lips. Minghao kept droning on about a holiday-exclusive drink that was coming to the café, but you couldn’t even listen to him properly without your brain screaming at you to tell him how you felt.

It was when he brought the conversation back to your documentary that you found the perfect opportunity to bring up the secret video he filmed.

“We must’ve filmed hours of content,” he was saying, throwing his head back and groaning at the mere thought. “I can’t believe you watched all of it—wait, did you watch all of it?”

“I did watch everything, Hao,” you said quietly.

“Hm? What was that?”

“I knew that the injeolmi toast was supposed to be heated up,” you blurted out. Minghao froze in his tracks and stared at you, wide-eyed, and normally this would’ve made you shy away immediately, but you wanted to be braver. You stopped walking too, and you raised your head to meet his eyes. “I thought you forgot to warm it up by accident, so I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

At your sudden admission, Minghao was speechless, even more so when you continued in a breathless ramble, “And I want you to know that the only reason I chose this subject for my documentary was because of you; and I missed you all of last week because all I could think about was how you kissed me; and I really fucking hate summer, Hao, but you made me fall in love with the sun.”

“And… and I like you,” you confessed. “I liked you back in middle school, and I like you again now.”

Minghao’s jaw went slack as he searched your eyes, as if looking for a lie in your words, as if he could hardly believe that what you were telling him was real.

“Are you serious?” he asked quietly, almost scared that you would say no. He walked closer to you. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Your courage threatened to falter, but you kept his gaze even as he reached out to hold your face with gentle hands. “I’ve never been this honest in my life.”

With a shuddering breath, he said, “You’re telling the truth.”

“Yeah, I—”

“Do you even know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?” Although Minghao spoke in a murmur, your words died on your tongue the moment he started talking, especially after his eyes dropped to your lips.

You could only blink back at him in stunned silence.

“You were my first love, too,” he confessed.

His words struck you right in your chest. The winter bite no longer chilled you to the bone; if anything, a wildfire was ripping through your body. For a split second, you wondered if you were actually on fire, so you remained perfectly, unmovingly still until you realized that Minghao was waiting for you to answer.

You swallowed hard. “I was? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I guess I was scared it would ruin our friendship… but I didn’t do a very good job of salvaging it, anyway.” You could see the regret painted on his face, but then he steeled his nerves. “I don’t care if I don’t win the scholarship, Y/N—I mean, I sort of care—but no matter what happens, I’m happy just being with you.”

Your heart beamed.

Even days ago, the mention of your past with Minghao would’ve been a sore spot for you. Now, however, you didn’t want it to keep weighing you down like an anchor buried deep within the sand. Maybe you were both just stupid kids who didn’t know what to do with their feelings.

But all of that hardly mattered now that your souls found each other again. You weren’t ever someone who was big on the idea of destiny, but if there were stars out there that predetermined fate, they must have been shining for you and Minghao.

This time, you initiated. It was almost effortless how your arms found themselves circling around Minghao’s neck, drawing him closer to you. His eyes looked as if they were still in a dream, but after a few seconds, his gentle hands found your waist.

“I’m happy as long as I’m with you, too,” you said, your voice only loud enough for him to hear.

Minghao let out a breathless sort of laugh, almost like he was still in disbelief, and you smiled before pressing your lips to his. Compared to your first kiss, which was charged with lust and intoxication, this one was so loving and calm that you lost yourself in him so easily. He smiled into the kiss, and you couldn’t help yourself either once you felt his lips curve up against yours.

His hand found your chin, pulling away for a brief moment to take a good look at you. Let the high of your reciprocated feelings sink in. Your eyes flitted from Minghao’s lips to his twinkling eyes, your heart doing a series of backflips and spins when you saw his lips curl into a smirk.

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice, “I think I can get used to this.”

And when his lips found yours again, you were sure your souls touched, too.

(“So, are you gonna tell me if I’m objectively good-looking now?”

“Let it go, Hao.”)

EPILOGUE

Vernon scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know if I was tripping out, but I swear they just had us watch Kim Mingyu doing tricks on a skateboard for ten minutes straight.”

“I think that was an actual film.” Seungcheol looked through the pamphlet of student films that were being screened and read, “Kim Mingyu Does a Kickflip—yeah, that’s the one.”

“Whose bright idea was it to make us take Jun’s edibles?” Jeonghan, who was fitted in a formal suit and tie, complained as he slouched deeper in his seat. His eyes were a few shades too close to red to pass as sober, but he was at least able to function on his own. “This shit has to be laced with something.”

“This is your fault, dude,” Seungkwan replied, exasperated. He didn’t seem as faded as Jeonghan was, but he looked more like he had just woken up. “You told us this would be more fun if we got high!”

“Okay, and who listened to me?” He sat up to catch Seungkwan, Vernon, and Wonwoo’s guilty heads hanging shamefully. “Exactly.”

Yooyeon shot you a withering look. “They're stressing me out.”

It was the night of your film’s showcase. After you passed the class with flying colors, your professor recommended your documentary be screened during the showcase for all the film majors in your year. It was an annual event, but only a certain number of films were selected from the students. In short, this was big for you. You invited your friends, of course, although you were starting to regret it now that you had to put Seungcheol and Junhui in charge of babysitting them.

“Jeonghan, you really didn’t have to dress up like that,” you said once you noticed the contrast between his formal attire and Seungkwan’s sweater and jeans ensemble. “This isn’t even a formal event.”

Jeonghan leaned over Seungcheol to tell you, “This is important to me, okay?”

“Aw, Jeong—”

“I have to be the hottest one here.”

Alright, then.

“Jeonghan, remember what we’re actually here for,” Junhui prompted, motioning to the front of the theater.

You put a hand over your chest, touched. “Jun, you’re too sweet, I—”

“To see Minghao’s gorgeous face on the big screen,” he finished.

You decided you were going to let them finish their sentences from now on.

Minghao, who was sitting next to you and gripping your hand, raised your hands to press a kiss to each one of your knuckles. He saved his public displays of affection for rare occasions, such as your grand showcase.

You two had been dating for the past five months at this point. It wasn’t much of a surprise to any of your friends, but what did change was that Minghao spent a lot more time with your friend group now. (Sometimes you worried if they liked him more than you, but you weren’t one to vie for attention.) It was also safe to say that you two weren’t exactly out of the honeymoon phase yet. Your heart still fluttered whenever he did anything particularly sweet, and Minghao still went bright red whenever you were feeling a little bolder.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice tickling your skin. “You said your professor recommended submitting it to a film festival, right?”

“Mhm.” You grinned and used the hand he wasn’t holding to pinch his cheek lightly. “Your face could be seen by thousands.”

He laughed. “It’s really all about you, not—” Minghao paused when his phone buzzed from inside his pocket. You two exchanged a nervous look before he fumbled to pull it out. “I think it’s them.”

A week ago, the announcement of the scholarship recipient was supposed to be sent out. However, there was a complication that led to them postponing the results until today. You and Minghao had been on edge all week, but having to think about the outcome on the same day as your film showcase was nerve-wracking.

“It is them.” Minghao bit his lip when he saw the sender in his notifications. He looked over at you and squeezed your hand tighter. “I’m gonna open it now.”

With suspended breath, you tried to gauge his reaction as he opened the email. (It wasn’t very hard to read Xu Minghao’s expression when he wore his heart on his sleeve.) He took so long that you thought he was reading over each word twice, but then you watched as his expression morphed into one of pure astonishment.

“What is it?” you asked. “What does it say?”

“I…” He swallowed thickly. “I got it.” He turned to you again, mouth twitching into a grin. “I actually got it!”

Your life had been going so smoothly recently that the scholarship results had been plaguing your thoughts for the past few weeks. You didn’t have to worry about your project anymore, so saving the café and getting Minghao his chance to compete had been weighing heavily on your mind.

Now, though, upon hearing those words and seeing his eyes light up, you felt like you were glowing yourself. They selected Minghao, and they watched your film. Your work was going to save his mom’s café. It was going to let him keep chasing his dreams.

You let out a yelp so loud that dozens of heads turned in your direction, but you didn’t mind any of them as soon as you reached over your armrest to tackle Minghao into a hug. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I knew they’d pick you,” you told him. “There’s no one else who deserves it more.”

“It’s seriously all because of you,” he said. When you pulled apart, Minghao looked absolutely winded from being so overjoyed. “I have to tell my mom as soon as we get home. She’s gonna be so happy that we get to keep the café running.”

Jeonghan, who was brazenly eavesdropping, patted Seungcheol firmly on the chest. “Hear that? You just got saved from unemployment.” He reached over Seungcheol (again) to dap up Minghao.

You felt someone tap your shoulder from behind, and you craned your neck around to see your professor gesturing for you to go up on stage. That was your cue to introduce your film, and you gulped down the bundle of nerves that rose up your throat.

Yooyeon squeezed your shoulder as you were getting up. Shakily, you straightened up, smiling weakly when your friends started cheering obnoxiously loud for you. Minghao caught your wrist before you walked to the front and gave you a reassuring squeeze that managed to calm your jittery hands.

You recognized a lot of your friends from your classes, so it wasn’t as scary as you thought it would be, but you were hopeful that the unfamiliar faces would be cheering for you by the time they saw your documentary.

“We know her!” Jeonghan and Seungkwan were screaming from the top, pointing you out to every stranger in their vicinity. “That’s our friend!”

At the right wing of the stage, you were handed a mic and instructed to walk out to the center. You had never been in front of a crowd this huge, but seeing your friends in the seats melted away whatever fears were holding you back.

“Thank you everyone for coming out today,” you spoke into the mic, smiling when it resounded throughout the grand auditorium. “My name’s Y/N, and I’m so excited to share my documentary: The Xu Minghao Dilemma.”

TAG LIST ▸ if you made it all the way here, thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed xu minghao's dilemma 💗 first and foremost, this was written for @junyangis so shoutout my film major inspo. i tried to emulate the film student experience to the best of my ability so i hope it delivers 🙏 also you might notice the banner has jeonghan as the writer which sort of sounds misleading but it's because he was the one orchestrating everything between mc and minghao, so i thought it was fitting :') first fic of 2025, yay!! i hope to share more of my works with you this year & sending my love to everyone reading this right now ♡ thank you to everyone who asked to be part of the tag list as well !! 🫂

TAG LIST ▸ @jenoentry @wonudazed @aaniag @ily-cuz-i @fancypeacepersona @tokitosun @jeonnyread @reiofsuns2001 @markleeloveletter @dawn-iscozy @fennecnco @kookiedesi @nijisanjigenshin @xylatox @cookiearmy @nightshadeblooming @sillyuin @outrologist @flowerrpwrr @melonacco @sknyuz @enhasrii @skzdesi

#svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #minghao fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen #seventeen x reader #xu minghao #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #minghao imagines #minghao scenarios #svt soft hours #seventeen soft hours

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queenofthequillandink · 3 days ago

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@liketolaugh-writes Tag, you're it.

Clark does the social math quickly and doesn't see how them staying will do anything but escalate the situation. It's not like he can't just listen in on the whole thing anyway and have them back here in seconds if they need to interfere.

"We'll be in the area for a few days," he says through a tight smile as he stands. "In case we have any more questions."

"Feel free to reach out if you have any thoughts to share," Lois adds, standing and leaning over to hand Danny a business card. She does not hand one to Maddie, and from the narrowed eyes, the woman notices. "Or if you need any other kind of advice."

"Yes, thank you," Maddie says frostily. "I'm sure we'll do just fine. Why don't I show you the door?" Clark slips Danny another business card when she turns, in case the woman confiscates Lois'.

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Fenton," Clark says, because Ma and Pa raised him right. "Danny, it was wonderful to meet you. Feel better."

"Yeah," the teen says, eyes darting side to side, presumably looking for a way to flee before having this conversation with his mother.

That's the last thing Clark sees before Maddie practically shoves them out the door and shuts it quickly behind them.

Clark makes for the car, ears already tuned on the house, but Lois darts around the corner instead, hauling on his arm. "I don't care how fast you can get back here, we are not leaving him alone with that woman," she hisses. "Do you think you know enough to guess which bedroom is his? There's nowhere to hide out here."

"I can give it a shot." Clark shoots up, hopefully faster than any nosy neighbors can track, eyeing the second floor windows. A large bedroom, clearly the parents' by the bed. A bathroom, a study, a wildly pink bedroom. He won't judge, but it doesn't seem Danny's style.

Then, jackpot, a room decked floor to ceiling in NASA merch and teen boy mess. He remembers the kid going on and on about meteor showers and an observatory field trip and how cool it is that the Justice League has a base in space. The room is even on the back half of the building, convenient for sneaking in and out as a teenage hero and a nosy reporter.

He's back at Lois' side in a flash. "Got it." He leads her to the window and boosts her up easily, so no one has the chance to see anything super-related as she jimmies the lock. They're through in under a minute, Lois already cracking the door open so she can hear as Clark tunes back into the specifics of the conversation.

"-just don't know why you didn't mention anything sooner, honey," comes Maddie's voice. It's even, but her heartbeat is elevated and he can detect the tension in her tone that normal ears can't.

"I did," Danny snaps in reply, sounding like he's finally reaching the end of his temper. "I told you the third time you shot me that I wanted the front door guns gone and you gave me an hour-long lecture on ghost safety. I told you when the system shot me the fifteenth time that I wanted it on an automatic timer so it'd always be off when I got home from school, at least. You told me holes in the defenses were unacceptable. I told you the twenty eighth, fifty seventh, a hundred and third, and after I lost count, that they hurt, that the burns made it hard to do my chores and to focus on homework, that I got an infection once from one of the wounds. That was the fifty seventh time, if you were curious."

"...the third time I shot you?"

Lois' nails bite into the doorframe. Danny just sounds exasperated. "All that and that's what you gleaned from it? Alright, fine. The third time the house shot me with weapons you and Dad designed, you and Dad programmed, you and Dad installed, and you and Dad armed without telling me."

"Young man, I do not appreciate your tone. We're just trying to protect you from those abominations. I have no idea why the systems always lock onto you, but we're doing our best to figure it out."

Danny laughs, the grating, sharp edge of it making Clark cringe. "You have no idea? Really? No possible idea at all why I could be so ecto contaminated that the weapons can lock onto me? Mom, you make me clean the lab at least once a week and you two never make sure I have proper safety equipment. You and Dad practically live in your HAZMAT suits. Mine hasn't fit since the beginning of freshman year, right before the portal started working. And I know Jazz put it on the list of things you needed to order, but it never did get here did it? And neither did the industrial filters for the HVAC or the extra fridge so you'd stop putting samples in the kitchen. Do you know how many times I've had to shoot my own dinner?"

Lois has one hand clapped over her mouth in horror. Clark slowly opens and closes his fists, wishing anything in the general vicinity was strong enough to take one of his punches without disintegrating. This house is such a nightmare, it's shocking that the other child who lives here hasn't died. Danny's been careful not to mention a sibling outright, but Clark's made an educated guess from some of the anecdotes he's shared. And the pink room clearly belongs to a fellow teen. Though, hell, for all Clark knows, they have died or gotten sufficiently contaminated to get ghost powers.

"Sweetie." Maddie sounds every inch the exasperated parent. Clark can just picture her pinching the bridge of her nose. "Your father and I have made sure you know the rules of the lab perfectly well. We thought you were old enough and responsible enough that you didn't have to be babysat." Forget super strength, Lois looks like she's about to punch something hard enough to atomize it.

"Did you not just hear me-" Danny cuts himself off, voice shutting down into something painfully toneless. "Yes, Mom."

"We'll order you a larger suit and I expect you to wear it while you're in the lab."

"Okay." Danny doesn't sound like he believes her. Clark wonders how many times she's made similar promises.

"For now, we'll have to get back to work on calibrating the defense system, at least once we're done finalizing the Ecto-Incinerator schematics. We'll get it right, sweetie. It might take a few more tries, but you won't have to deal with this forever. And then you won't have to do this dissociating thing any more. Alright?"

"Uh huh. Can I go do my homework now?"

"Of course. I'll be in the lab if you need me."

Her voice is already getting further, walking away, so she probably doesn't hear Danny mutter, "Right, the lab I don't have any safety gear for doing a project I'm going to have to go down there and literally drag you away from to get any attention. Great." He sighs heavily and Clark can hear him run a hand through his hair. "Right, might as well actually get some homework done while I can."

His footsteps hit the stairs as Lois eases the door closed and they both back away. There's no way to seem casual in the teenager's room they've broken into, but Clark sits at the desk to make his height less imposing and Lois chooses to lean nonchalantly by the window.

Danny freezes comically when he opens his door, eyes darting from one to the other. Clark's never felt less like laughing.

"You can leave the door open if it makes you feel better," Lois says softly. "Or tell us to get out and we will, but Danny, I think we need to have a talk."

"Do we?" Danny's hand tightens on the knob. Clark can hear the metal protest. "Because from what I see, you came in here, got my mom all riled up, and bailed."

"I didn't want her to be more defensive with strangers around, but I can understand why that was frustrating-" Clark starts.

Danny snorts and rolls his eyes. "I'm not having this conversation without backup."

Lois holds up her hands placatingly. "Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

Danny pulls out his phone, then pauses. "Am I telling them that it's a couple of out-of-town reporters or Superman and his... was the wife thing real?"

"It was. Lois Lane, star investigative journalist for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. He's Clark Kent, slightly less good investigative journalist for the same."

"Hey," says Clark mildly. He's not actually offended; he and Lois have been playfully duking for top spot for years now. Turning to Danny, he adds, "I assume these are people who know about your double life?"

"They've been there since the beginning. Accident and everything." Danny's eyes tighten at the corners. It's clearly not a pleasant memory, but most who got their powers by accident didn't have a kind experience.

"Then you might as well tell them. It will make things easier." Danny nods and starts typing.

"You said they were there for the 'accident,'" Lois pipes up. Danny's mouth flattens, but he nods. "Were they close enough that they might be in the contamination range prosecuted by this new law?"

Danny's fingers freeze and he slowly looks up. "Oh, you really don't know, do you?"

The tone sets every one of Clark's instincts on edge, reporter and hero both. He leans forward in his chair. "Know what?"

Hitting send and shoving his phone in his pocket, Danny shakes his head. "Nine percent isn't actually that much when you live in a town with as many fights as Amity Park. At least half the town has enough contamination to qualify. Most of the Casper High students for sure; my rogues like to pick fights while I'm at school."

Clark's jaw drops as he tries to unpack multiple parts of that at once. "I'm sorry, did you just say at least half the population can be detained under this law, most of the teenagers have repeatedly been exposed to a substance that the local experts wear constant HAZMAT suits to avoid touching, and most of your rogues know where you go to school?"

"Oh boy." Danny grins, showing off larger-than-normal canines and a sardonic type of humor that Clark's only seen from the most world-weary heroes. "Welcome to Amity Park. It's a nice place to live, at least if you're already dead."

Danny Fenton sends Superman a fan email in which he asks for advice. In it he says he is also a non-human hero (he is vague because being a ghost is illegal) Danny mentions that he is being raised by humans. His parents don't know about his activities or species and hate his kind.

Danny was mostly looking for advice on how to make people stop being scared of his non-human characteristics. But Clark really sees himself in this teenager's email. He knows he was lucky to get parents who loved him even as an alien, but he also recalls being young and scared that would change.

So they start regularly exchanging emails, and Superman becomes a kind of mentor even if Danny refuses to tell him anything about his identity.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #superman #clark kent #lois lane #dc comics #my writing #i'm having fun passing this back and forth :3 #sorry i added yet more characters into the mix lmao #also calling it right now (it may never come up) but wes weston has a huge celebrity worship thing going for lois #he thinks her investigative articles are so fucking cool #anyway i am a certified jack and maddie hater ✌️#if for no other reason than i find it fun to make them utter assholes #what can i say? i like whump

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acmeangel · 1 day ago

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♡ Levi being awkward about his feelings for you and not knowing how to act around you.

♡ SFW, pretty fluffy ♡ Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, soft Levi ♡ Word count: 2431 ♡ Summary: You work at the orphanage that Levi helped facilitate. You think he doesn't like you -- he definitely doesn't act like it. But it turns out, you couldn't be more wrong.

Levi tends to visit the orphanage now and then, when he can. He doesn't like to make a big show of it -- he just wants to check in on things, make sure everything is running smoothly and that the children are being properly cared for. After all, this is a project that he had helped bring to fruition.

He's pragmatic with his approach to his visits -- he wants to know updates, facts, and problems to which he can find solutions by leveraging his position as Captain. He doesn't interact much with the children, it's not exactly his strong suit. Still, he seems to linger longer than he needs to. He usually just leans against the fence along the perimeter of the grounds, taking in the idyllic scene of children, no longer lost and alone, playing in the field together.

There was no need for him to do this, but he did it anyway. And you had noticed.

But, you could never get a read on Levi, really. The two of you hardly interacted outside of meetings, during which, you'd often feel his eyes burning into you, narrowed and tense. While others in the meetings talked about numbers, resources, and operations, you typically told stories about the children -- their personalities, preferences, funny habits, concerns you had for each of their small, little hearts. It didn't help that you frequently bent the rules, too, finding them too constricting and unnecessary.

This often dragged the meetings out longer than necessary, and you could sense the annoyance emanating off of Levi. He wasn't fond of you and your sentimental musings -- this much you were sure of.

You missed today's meeting, somewhat purposefully, trying to avoid subjecting yourself to Levi's gaze and mutterings.

It's one of the first Spring days that feels truly in bloom, the sun kissing your skin, blossoms dotting the trees, the grass lush and vibrant. So, you sit out in the field and read a storybook to the children, who are either sitting at your feet or laying down, one of them tucked up into your lap.

Some of them had been falling behind in learning to read and write -- it wasn't their fault, and you wanted to help. You show all of them each of the words in the book and help them sound out the letters, guiding them through the story.

After the meeting inside draws to a close, Levi makes his way out into the field as he always does, expecting to see the children running around as they usually are. Instead, he sees you. His posture stiffens as he approaches you, his expression unreadable.

"That's not your job," he comments, a flat statement, as he leans against the fence. He looks down at you, his gaze scrutinizing. "They have teachers."

You tilt your head up to look at him, a soft smile on your face. "I know, but," you look at the children, "they don't mind that, do they?"

The children collectively shake their heads, tiny giggles rising from the group.

Tch. He's officially annoyed.

"Suppose it doesn't matter then, huh?" His voice drips with dry sarcasm. "Just do whatever you want."

The child who is curled into your lap gently tugs on your sleeve, lifting themselves up to whisper into your ear, not very discreetly, "Miss Y/N, why is Captain Levi always so grumpy?"

You catch Levi's frown, subtle as it may be, and the low rumble that comes from the back of his throat.

You laugh, an effortless, melodious sound, your lips curving into a wider smile that reveals your teeth. "I don't know," you whisper to the child with just as much indiscretion, "why don't you ask him?"

The child's face flushes bright pink, nuzzling their head into the fabric of your shirt, too sheepish to talk to Levi themselves. Your hand lifts up to stroke the child's hair.

For a moment so fleeting you can't be sure it actually happened at all, his eyes follow the tender, gentle motion of your fingers stroking the child's hair, before he looks away. Your gaze lingers on his profile, tracing the outline of it, the way his hair blows in the breeze, revealing a clearer look at his eyes than usual.

He shifts his weight as he stands there, just barely, a signal that he's waiting both for this scene to end, and to speak to you, likely about logistics. You get the hint.

"Alright, my sweethearts, why don't you all head inside?" You look at the group of children, nodding your head toward the large farmhouse. "Go on and get cleaned up for dinner, I'm expecting no dirty little hands at the table, hm?"

The children scramble to their feet and begin running off, giggling and mumbling to each other as they do. You rise up, closing the book and tucking it under your arm and brushing off the blades of grass that have stuck to your clothes.

"Come inside for some tea?" You ask, your eyes drifting back to Levi after you watch the children run off, the bubbly sounds of their laughter popping in the air.

He pauses for a beat. The faintest twitch of his lower lip. "Sure, 'ppreciate it."

You grin. "Okay, great." You begin walking. "You usually decline that offer."

You look at him from the corner of your eye. His movements as he walks are precise, economical, his eyes cemented forward.

"So?" The word is terse, even a tinge defensive. "Doesn't mean I hate tea."

You accept his answer; with him, you tend to take what you get. The rest of the walk is silent, apart from the gentle hum of springtime bursting to life around you.

Inside, the kitchen is washed in golden sunlight, specks of dust hovering in the air as if the moment is completely suspended in time. Without a word, Levi takes a seat at the small table by the window, his head turned to look outside as you set the kettle on the stove. You can't help but catch glances at the back of his head, the tilt of his shoulders.

You make two cups of black tea -- both with milk and a drop of honey. This is how everyone you know drinks it, and you can't imagine anyone would have a preference for it plain, bitter.

You settle into the chair next to his, and you hand him the teacup, which he takes from you by the top, your fingers briefly brushing against his in the exchange. His skin is dry, rough. He peers into the cup, his teeth grinding together imperceptibly as he notes the light, creamy color of the tea; he takes a sip and his eyelid flutters, faintly.

Normally, with anyone else, he'd have pushed the cup to the side, his mouth set in a curt line of disapproval at the unnecessary sweetness. But for some reason that he's not quite sure of, with you, he can't. He sips the tea anyway, forces himself to.

"One of the other workers ratted on you." He breaks the silence. He leans back in his chair, slinging one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. "Told me you let those brats sneak into the kitchen at night and take extra food."

"Oh," your teeth clench together, your nose scrunches, embarrassed to be caught. "Well, the thing with that- it's-"

"Why?" He cuts you off, a single word urging you to get to the point. God, you think, he must think I'm a complete idiot.

You inhale deeply. "I think they're just hungry, you know? Their meals aren't always that big, and they're still growing, so..."

"That's not what I'm asking," his gaze bores into yours with an intensity you're not sure he's completely aware of. "I'm asking why you let them do it."

"Oh," you sigh softly, your eyes tracing over the patterns in the wooden table, collecting your thoughts. "It wouldn't feel right to scold them, to dissuade them from wanting something as simple as food. They've never been allowed to want... anything before. I don't want them to feel like they're not supposed to want even the most basic things. I think it would make them feel like... like they don't deserve anything."

"You're not wrong about that." His voice is low, hardly above a whisper, and he turns his head to look out the window. "I'm not going to stop you from letting them do it. I just... wanted to know why."

You see the clouds swirling in his irises for a moment, his jawline tense with thought, with memory, with contemplation.

You look away, feeling as if you're intruding on something private just by looking at him. You lift your teacup and take a long sip, then set it back down.

At the sound of your cup fitting back into its saucer, he's brought back to reality. His gaze narrows, helplessly fixated on the rim of your teacup, on the faded pink lipstick stain you left on it, that somehow blends perfectly into the intricate floral pattern painted onto the cup. A short, barely perceptible puff of air escapes his nose.

He looks at you, again, his eyes catching the sunlight in a way that makes them look silver, but not icy or cold -- like delicate dew drops that form in the gray early morning mist after a rainy night. Rare, and oddly comforting.

He's too busy looking at you to notice you looking at him. His eyes trace over you, as if he's searching for something. Something that he's not sure if he wants to find, but has to -- in the way the light catches your hair and brings secret tones and shades out of it, the softness of your breathing, the lingering redness from the sun that glows on your cheeks, nose, and shoulders.

He doesn't understand it -- you -- how you've remained good, compassionate, free, warm, even hopeful, despite the cruelty and ugliness of the world you both live in. But he wants to understand it, just by looking at you.

"You look..." he begins, the words tumbling out of his mouth tightly, awkwardly, as if by accident.

Your eyes snap to his, widened slightly like an animal caught in the woods, and your hand flies up to your mouth. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Your fingers wipe across your lips preemptively, the apples of your cheeks and the bridge of your nose turn rosy. He watches this motion, and his brows press together, his jaw clamps down. You think he's become actually repelled by you.

"No. Shit. You look," his voice is flat, dry. His hand gestures vaguely, the movement stilted and rigid, as if he's trying to find the word he's looking for in the air, "nice. Now. In the sunlight." He grumbles the last part.

You couldn't help but smile. It was endearing in a way, seeing Levi, who is typically calm and collected, stumble his way through a simple sentence.

"Thank you, Levi." You mean it, genuinely.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. The grip of his fingers flex slightly, tightening their hold around the rim of his tea cup.

"I always thought I bothered you." Your head tilts to the side, your hair flowing with the movement. A glint of amusement, teasing shines in your eyes.

"You do bother me," he breathes out, firmly, his eyes darting to the side. "Just not in the way you think."

Oh.

"I see..." The words come out of your mouth in a single breath, your heart catching in your throat, preventing you from saying anything more.

He looks at you. The tension in his jaw releases, his lips relax, parting ever so slightly.

"Is that alri-"

"Yes." You cut him off before he can even finish the thought, before he can question this fragile moment and retreat back inside himself.

He nods, strands of his hair swaying in front of his eyes. Your hand, drawn to him by an invisible force, reaches up to his forehead. You hover, hesitantly, before pushing the hair away from his eyes, slowly, your touch feather-light.

Instantly, instinctively, he turns his head away, pulling away from your touch partially. His top lip tugs upward, a movement of subdued discomfort, uncertainty. Your hand slides down to his chin, gently coaxing him back toward you, and he allows it.

"Sorry." He mutters. "I don't..." The rest of the sentence evades him. But you know where it was going. He doesn't do this. He doesn't know how.

You nod, your expression melting into one of understanding. Your eyes glide around his face, your fingers returning to his hair, pushing away the curtain that his eyes often hide behind.

"What are you doing?" He's not defensive -- he's genuinely curious.

"I want to see your eyes better." You tilt your head as you look at him, your eyes meeting his, looking into them for what feels like the first time, with a clarity and honesty that feels palpable. He lets you.

Your lips curl up into a perfect curve, and his eyes shift down to them immediately. His expression doesn't waver, but his dilating pupils reveal his hand.

You begin to lean in, little by little, as if testing how far he'll let this go, what he truly wants. His eyes meet yours again with a softness, a vulnerable longing that grants you permission. Finally, you close the space between the two of you, your lips lightly brushing against his. You feel a small breath escape from his lips, melting against yours.

His head tilts and he leans in further, his lips molding against yours with a whispered intensity. A soft sound rises in the back of his throat, as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair. His tongue presses against your lips, realizing he's enjoying the taste of something sweet for the first time.

He tugs your hair, not forcefully, just enough to pull you back so he can look into your eyes; you can see the thoughts reeling through his head as his eyes shift between the two of yours.

"Y/N," his voice dips into a rare tenderness, "you bother me. A lot."

You're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think you even see the smallest upturn to his lips.

"Then I suppose I'll have to keep bothering you," you match his tone, your words wrapping around him with a warmth he's never felt before.

He makes a hm sound of approval. He nods. He smiles -- you're sure of it this time.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

#☆.levi.oneshot #☆.acmeangel.writes #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman one shot #levi one shot #levi fic #levi fanfic #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi fluff #levi ackerman fluff

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he3ts · 2 days ago

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JUST A GAME

squid game / masterlist

pairings: nam gyu x reader

warnings: sex, drugs, unprotected sex, sub nam gyu, manipulation, sex under the influence of drugs, alcohol, toxic relationship, toxic nam gyu. +18

Nam Gyu tossed and turned in bed a thousand times, with a thousand thoughts in his head, your image was the only thing he could see clearly that morning. You were wrapped in the blankets like a bundle, your hair spread on the pillow, and your hands in front of your face. You were finally at peace, looking happy only when you were sleeping peacefully. He breathed hard, turning toward your sleeping figure, grabbed your helpless hand only to join it with his own. How long would that game last? Out and stay. Out and stay. For a thousand times, a thousand encounters, yet to him you still remained an enigma.

You promised yourself that you would be good this time, that the distance from him would be manageable, but it was always like that, it happened a lot. You were always too stoned, drunk and needy to stop. Only in the end you had managed to feel far too much affection for him. He, on the other hand, sought you out only when it was most convenient for him. No one could hurt you more than him. No one could heal you, you said, but the love you felt for him was alive. It burned. And it hurt. All his broken promises just to have you one more night in his bed, what were you after all that time?

Friends? No, friends don't touch each other like that, don't confuse your thoughts, don't kiss until your breath is completely gone. You are not friends. But to him you are like nothing. One in billions. But he wanted you, no woman he saw at the Pentagon gave him the same effect. You were not friends. You were nothing. He was just very good at breaking promises, looking for you when he needed you, or when he promised you at night that he would come back to you, but he didn't come back at all.

He wanted you. But not the way you wanted him. You coveted him as a lover, he used you to vent when everything was too complicated to digest. That morning you looked radiant to him, he had never seen you so serene, in truth, a warm smile carved your cheeks into pretty dimples, your cheeks flushed and your hair messed up. You had not spoken; you had simply looked at him, shifting your eyes to your entwined hands. It all seemed so intimate, so simple, that you almost missed your pulse.

Waking up like that, every morning, was all you aspired to. His black eyes seemed to read your soul too easily, all your weaknesses, all your love you felt for him. He stroked your hair gently, moving an unruly lock away from your face. You remembered little of the other night, everything so blurry and unfocused, Nam Gyu's breath on your neck as you sat on his lap, his arm holding you tightly, possessively, as he made you feel his erection against your bottom in plain sight thanks to the short skirt.

Remember how he had grabbed you by the hips as he put a blue pill in his mouth, remember how he had kissed you by sliding it into your mouth, a hundred times with the kiss deepening and the pill melting under your tongues. He had touched you as always, but now there was the drug consuming you, your body split in half. You could remember nothing but his appearance shrouded in a cloud of smoke.

"I want you."

Then the emptiness. Just him, his room, his hair clinging to your neck and your skin burning. You were lying on the bed, as if paralyzed, as he crushed his head against the pillow rolling the joint. You were twisted in on yourself, his boxers on and his loose shirt traveling straight. He had run his tongue over the edge of the rod a couple of times, then passed it to you. His lips soft and plump. Irresistible. No matter how hard you tried, the feel of his lips on your neck was hard to erase.

You were both drugged, locked in those four walls, your eyes foggy from that joint you had just smoked.

"What's the matter, bunny, can't you do it?"

"Think for yourself," you had whispered before straddling him. Everything was wonderful. Too much so. You still had his cologne on you as you trembled with immense pleasure under him and felt a range of otherworldly sensations inside your body. He kept up the pace so that you came for the thousandth time that same evening. You trembled around him as you moaned into his mouth.

You were not lucid. But it happened a lot. He was so good at using you.

His brown eyes were exhausted, hiding a proud smile, as if he was happy to give himself to you. He didn't want to waste time. But he liked hurting you so much.

You had cried that night because of him.

"Oh, fuck," was your moan as your intimacies collided, and you continued to tighten around him. Aware of your closeness, of his excessive fatigue and your desire to have a little more fun. He had touched the end of your neck several times as you played with his hair and sniffed it like a drug addict. You had whispered his name against his ear, looking at him just below his long, thick lashes.

"You're driving me crazy, you fucking bunny," his voice grew lower and lower, but he didn't want to scare you. Your legs trembled so overwhelmingly that you leaned them against his hips to draw him more to your body. He had paused briefly, playing with the strands of your hair as if to soothe you.

You were so close. So close. It was heaven.

When the storm of your orgasm began to fade, only a gracious smile was born on your face. Finally he was there, again, to hurt you.

You used to remember. But you still remembered too little. For after this he had fallen onto your body and then rolled onto his side. He looked so beautiful when he was asleep, so at peace, you had barely sighed before resting your lips on his in his drowsiness.

"What are you doing?" he gasped into the gentle kiss you had granted him.

"I'm kissing you"

"Why do you persist in loving me?" maybe it was the pill, or maybe he really was the main problem. He turned his back to you too quickly, you were still shaken, your thighs shaking and the smile that had now faded from your face.

You don't want to remember. Now. Nam Gyu got out of bed without making a sound, leaving you there, wrapped in the sheets soaked in his scent, your skin still warm from the marks he had left on you. The mattress sagged slightly as he moved away, and for a moment you had felt the emptiness at your side, as if it had only been an illusion, a blurry dream amid alcohol, smoke, and stifled moans.

You reached out a hand into the darkness, seeking the warmth of his body. Finding only the cold of rumpled sheets. Your heart clenched in your chest. He had left you once again. And you, once again, had believed he could be different.

You had stood staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the burning inside you. Each time it was the same thing. He would take you, consume you, and then pull away, as if it had been just another meaningless night. But when he used you like that, he made you feel loved. Cursedly loved.

You had pulled yourself up with difficulty, your legs still soft, your head turning slightly. His shirt slid wide over your bare shoulders, the fabric impregnated with his scent. You ran a hand through your shaggy hair, trying to tidy your thoughts, but it was no use. The night blurred in your mind like a vortex of pleasure and regret.

You could hear him, he was in the kitchen, the sound of the gas on, the clink of a spoon against the cup. The scent of coffee wafted through the air, familiar and painful. You had dragged yourself out of the room, barefoot on the cold floor, then leaned against the doorframe.

He was there, his hair still tousled, his chest bare, his boxers pulled down slightly on his hips. He was pouring his coffee with his usual calmness, his shoulders tense, his gaze not even dignifying you with a glance. As if you had never existed. As if he had not spent the night inside you, whispering against your skin things that now seemed to have evaporated into the air.

You wet your dry lips before speaking.

"Are you leaving without saying anything?" Your voice was scratchy, hoarse, still marked by the night.

Nam Gyu had not looked up, bringing the cup to his lips, blowing softly. "What good would it do to say anything?"

Your stomach clenched. Always like this. Always fucking like this. You had moved closer, crossing your arms over your chest. "So what? Are you again the usual asshole who fucks and then pretends nothing happened?"

He finally looked at you. His eyes were cold, inscrutable. "I never promised you anything"

You knew. But hearing him say it like that still broke you.

"That's strange, because last night it seemed like you were doing something else entirely"

He laughed softly, bitterly. "Last night we were high. It's different"

You had paused, for your own sake, feeling your hands clench into fists along your sides. "No, it's not different, Nam Gyu. Not for me"

He stiffened, his fingers drumming against the cup. "Then whose fault is it?"

You were out of breath, for a second, no longer knowing how to breathe. "Mine?"

He shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. "You're still here, aren't you?"

That sentence had been the straw. You had reached out, grabbing his arm to force him to really look at you. "And why are you always looking for me? Why can't you let me go!"

The cup slammed against the piano with a dull sound. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, his hair messed up, "I don't want to let you go. But I don't want what you want either"

Your hands were shaking. "Then what the fuck do you want from me, Nam Gyu?"

Silence.

A heavy silence, laden with everything you never said.

Then he flinched, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He took a long drag, exhaled the smoke without looking at you.

"I don't know"

You felt you lacked air, your throat tightened in a vice. He was always like that. Always hovering between yes and no, between desire and rejection. You couldn't take it anymore. "You're a coward," you had breathed out, your voice trembling with anger and pain.

He laughed, a sound devoid of joy. "Maybe"

You had shifted out of the way, grabbing the still-warm cup and throwing it against the wall. The sound of shattering pottery filled the air. Nam Gyu did not move, did not even flinch.

"Tell me you don't want me anymore and I'll leave," you were challenging him, your eyes glazed over, your breath broken. He turned toward you, cigarette smoke enveloping his face, his gaze steady. "I can't"

You felt yourself breaking down.

It was a vicious cycle. An endless game.

You had dropped into the chair, your head in your hands. "Then you're an even worse bastard than I thought"

Nam Gyu put out his cigarette in the sink, then ran a hand through his hair. "I know, bunny"

You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the frustration that exploded in your chest like a hurricane. He was there, standing in front of you, with that air of someone who won't let anything get to him, someone who is in control of everything, even you. And that was driving you crazy.

"If you know that, why do you keep doing this to me?" your voice cracked, but you didn't want to cry. Not in front of him.

Nam Gyu huffed, ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and shook his head. "I'm not doing anything to you"

"You're not doing anything to me?!" you had exploded, and with you your anger, your hands moving instinctively against his bare chest, pushing him hard. "You want me. You seek me out. You destroy me. And then you pretend not to. If that's not doing something to me, then tell me what the fuck it is!"

He barely staggered, but did not move. He looked down at you, his lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes burning with emotions he did not want to admit.

"I can't give you what you want." Another stab. You felt yourself sinking.

"Then let me go," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "If you can't give me what I want, let me go"

Nam Gyu had remained silent, his breathing barely heavier. He wasn't going to do that. You knew. He never would.

You stared at him, anger mixing with the pain, the nights spent longing for him, the mornings like that when you were left with emptiness between the sheets and a broken heart. And he was still fucking there, without an answer, without an ounce of shame.

"Tell me you don't care about me. Look me in the eye and tell me"

He didn't. He never did.

On the contrary, he had taken a step toward you, his chest brushing against yours, his warmth enveloping you like a flame too close. "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice low, scratchy, charged with something he didn't want to say out loud.

You burst out laughing, a bitter, desperate laugh. "I don't understand?! I love you, Nam Gyu! l-"

Not let you finish.

His hands tightened around your face and his mouth crashed against yours violently. A brutal, hungry kiss, filled with anger and frustration. It was not sweet, it was not gentle. It was a confrontation, a desperate need.

You clung to his shoulders, nails sinking into warm skin as he pushed you back, not breaking the kiss, not giving you time to think. He grabbed you by the hips with the strength of someone who did not want to let you go, and you hated him for it. You hated the way his body stuck to yours, the way his tongue explored your mouth as if it were his own.

You crashed against the couch as he pushed himself down unceremoniously, pulling your body to sit astride him.

"Nam Gyu-" kiss, "Please." kiss.

"That's not enough, baby. Let me hear your voice," he lowered his lips to the level of your sensitive ear; he was a very good actor, becoming dominant just to manipulate you and get whatever he wanted. He had lightly bitten your ear after saying this, as you tried to hide your beautiful face even more, ending up in the crook of his neck.

"I need you," an almost inaudible whisper was heard in the room, muffled further by the proximity of your lips on his neck. He felt your panties getting wetter by the minute.

"Where?" He continued with that torture, he wanted to rip the words out of your mouth, he had no intention of stopping, common sense had overwhelmed reason. You had to talk, with him, express your desires.

"Inside me" you had put even more force on his grip, moving your face to look at his lips voraciously, but he had no intention of kissing you now. He wanted to do it gently, the one he so lacked. At his words one of your hands slid to his boxers.

Your bodies intertwined in the darkness of the room, skin against skin, heat against heat, with no more room for modesty or control. It was a perverse game, a visceral need that renewed itself every time your hands found each other, your lips colliding in kisses too greedy to be sweet.

Your clothes were already strewn on the floor, as forgotten as the promises you had never made to each other. His fingers traced paths over your skin, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you, as your breath broke against his neck. His muscles tensed under your hands, his chest rising and falling heavily as desire grew between you, insatiable, inevitable.

He held you against him, making you shudder as his throbbing member brushed against your opening, teasing you with slow, studied movements, as if he wanted to hear you beg. And you, damn it, were already there, ready to give in, ready to let him destroy you once more.

"May I?" you had asked, looking deeply into his eyes, a mixture similar to bitter coffee. You were looking for a signal from him. He felt his belly explode from the sensation, his head thrown back as you touched his light abs to his navel. He penetrated you very slowly, forced to suppress a moan, biting his lower lip fiercely. You both gasped as he entered you completely.

"Bunny" grabbed your hips, throwing your head between the pillows as you began to jump on his cock like a mad mare, your breasts in the wind and his footprints marking the flesh of your damn soft hips.

You had begun to move back and forth very slowly and quietly, not really picking up a rhythm.

Moving your hips, you had picked up a rhythm that was not too fast but sustained, making Nam Gyu moan even louder, "shhh" you had whispered in his ear, that hiss broken in turn by a few moans. You were no better off. Yours, at that point, sounded more like cries coming out of your mouth, moans combined with whimpers. The friction between your two bodies was driving him crazy; he was as if drugged by the sensation. You had rested your head against his chest, moaning pathetically, while your hips gave no hint of decay.

His words kept reaching you like a distant echo, "You are so good," he begged your voice in a way so deep that it only made him moan more, and for a moment he stopped breathing on his own, "You need to ride me more often"

In response you had breathed hard, wrapping your lips lower toward his Adam's apple. Your legs rubbed against his, making little jumps to increase your shared pleasure.

"You don't want to stop now, little girl, do you?" He had said hoarsely in your ear. His cock moved a little to the left, hitting a particular spot, a scream ripped your chest in two. "How beautiful you are," your forehead on his shoulder, he played with your breast, taking it with his large hand.

"Oh, fuck," you had screamed, digging your nails into his shoulders as you flexed on his body as if you were dying.

"What, you want me to stop?"

"Don't! Don't. Please. Don't ever stop," you had closed more against him, pinning your legs against his stomach.

Fuck.

You were almost at your limit. You had gasped as you felt his cock react inside you, as he took you by the hips so he could get out.

"Can you finish inside me?" you had gasped with a puppy face, grabbing his hands to move them from your hips and rest them on your breasts.

"Are you sure?" he had asked, but you had kissed him again, with overwhelming eagerness, grabbing his dark locks.

"Please, just this once"

"Just this once, bunny"

Your muscles stiffened and his cock twitched repeatedly, then a gentle kiss on your neck as he released himself completely inside you. He had taken your face only to kiss you one more time; you were shaken, confused. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Both of you were too tired to talk, but not tired enough not to feel the emptiness between you. Your bodies were still warm, but the contact no longer felt the same, as if everything that had brought you together had vanished along with the tension that had dissipated. Every breath seemed heavy.

He was not looking at you. He had moved slowly, as if the slightest movement was an unbearable effort, and had taken the cigarette from the pack on the table beside the bed. The smoke rose, dancing in the air like a fog that separated them, like a barrier between his world and yours. You watched him in silence as the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller, your thoughts more confused. The adrenaline you had been feeling was slowly fading, giving way to a feeling of emptiness. The feeling that had always haunted you.

All that passion, that irrepressible desire, in the end had never been anything but an illusion. Maybe that was what hurt you. The fact that, each time, you felt involved, overwhelmed, but always for a reason you could not understand. What about Nam Gyu? He was the same as always. Nothing more. Yet, each time, you thought he would be different. But it had never been.

He had said nothing as he watched you arrange your clothes. He merely looked at you, but not with the intensity of before. The one that made you feel like you were the most important thing, the most desired. Now there was only distance.

"Tell me this is the last time," you had said, your voice low, broken by a restlessness you could no longer hide.

"We can't stop," he had replied simply, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

You knew. Very well.

MASTERLIST.

#nam gyu x reader #nam gyu x you #nam gyu #player 124 #player 124 x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #smut #nam gyu smut #namgyu fanfic #squid game season 2 #roh jae won

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bettys-redwinesupernova · 2 days ago

Text

CRAZY

rafe cameron x fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict readers’ appearance !!)

SUMMARY: y/n knows exactly what makes rafe angry, and after a fight she uses it to her advantage.

based on this ask !! i hope it’s what you asked for anon, enjoy my lovely <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: lowkey a toxic relationship, cursing, rage has anger issues, reader is a teensy bit petty, angst but w/ a fluffy/soft ending though !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

THIRD PERSON +

The fight had been bad—bad enough that Y/N had stormed out of Rafe's truck, slamming the door behind her so hard the sound echoed through the empty parking lot.

Her chest heaved with frustration, fingers trembling as she dug into her bag for her phone. She needed space. She needed air. And, most of all, she needed to get away from Rafe before she said something she couldn't take back.

Their relationship had always been intense, an unrelenting push and pull that left them both breathless. Rafe loved hard, and he fought even harder, his jealousy and temper a storm she'd learned to navigate. Most of the time, she knew how to calm him down—knew exactly what to say to keep the fire from burning too hot. But tonight? Tonight, she didn't want to be the one to fix it.

Her finger hovered over the settings on her phone, her heart racing as she tapped the switch to turn off her location. She knew it would piss him off. That was exactly why she did it.

The messages started almost immediately.

Rafe🖤: Where the fuck are you?

Rafe🖤: Turn your location back on, Y/N.

Rafe🖤: Don't do this right now.

Y/N ignored them, walking the short distance to her house. She needed a night to herself, away from his sharp words and possessive hands. By the time she locked her front door behind her, her phone had blown up with missed calls, each one filling her with a strange mix of satisfaction and guilt.

She tossed it onto the couch and sighed, running a hand through her hair. She hated fighting with him. Hated the way it drained her, leaving her restless and exhausted all at once. But at the same time, she couldn't just keep letting him get away with his controlling tendencies.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. A night of self-care—it was exactly what she needed.

—

Rafe was losing his mind.

He was pacing his bedroom, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists. He'd called her a dozen times, sent twice as many texts, and nothing. The read receipts taunted him. She was ignoring him on purpose.

His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn't just anger. It was fear.

He knew Y/N, knew she was stubborn and fiery, but she wasn't reckless. She wouldn't just disappear—unless she wanted to prove a point.

"Fuck," he muttered, shoving his hands through his hair. He grabbed his keys off the nightstand and stalked out of his house. If she wasn't going to answer him, he'd go straight to where he thought she’d be.

—

Y/N had just finished painting her nails when the loud, insistent pounding on her front door made her jump.

She groaned, already knowing exactly who it was.

"Y/N. Open the goddamn door."

Rolling her eyes, she stayed where she was on the couch, letting him stew. She wasn't about to let him ruin her night of peace.

More knocking. Harder this time.

"Seriously?" she called out, still not moving. "Go home, Rafe."

"Not happening," he shot back, voice muffled but unmistakably pissed.

Y/N sighed, setting down her nail polish bottle with exaggerated patience. She padded to the door, taking her sweet time before unlocking it and swinging it open.

Rafe stood there, broad shoulders tense, blue eyes blazing with frustration. His chest was rising and falling with uneven breaths, like he'd been barely keeping himself together the whole drive over.

"You think this shit is funny?" he asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

She arched a brow. "What are you talking about?"

He scoffed, shutting the door behind him. "You turned your location off, ignored my calls—what the fuck was I supposed to think, huh?"

She crossed her arms, unbothered. "That I wanted space?"

Rafe clenched his jaw, running a hand down his face. He was furious, but more than that, he was relieved. Seeing her standing there in pajamas, a face mask on, her nails half-painted—she hadn't been out doing something reckless. She hadn't been with someone else. She was just... here. Safe.

That realisation made his anger simmer just enough to be replaced with something else.

His shoulders dropped, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "You could've at least told me you were home."

Y/N sighed, some of her stubbornness fading at the exhaustion in his voice. "I just... needed a break, Rafe. From the fighting, from the way you get when you're mad." She shook her head. "I didn't want to deal with it tonight."

His lips pressed into a tight line, and for a moment, she thought he'd argue. But then he surprised her by exhaling slowly and nodding. "I get it," he muttered.

She blinked, caught off guard by his sudden agreement. "You do?"

"I don't like it," he admitted, his voice lower now. "But yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, the anger fading as something heavier took its place. "I just—I fucking hate not knowing where you are. It drives me crazy."

Y/N sighed, her frustration waning. She knew Rafe wasn't like this for no reason. He loved her, even if he didn't always know how to show it in a healthy way.

She stepped closer, hesitantly reaching out to touch his arm. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just... needed time to breathe."

Rafe looked down at her, his blue eyes searching hers. After a beat, he nodded again. Then, without a word, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up in a tight embrace.

Y/N exhaled against his chest, feeling the tension between them ease just a little. He was still possessive, still overbearing, but he was trying. And for now, that was enough.

"Can I stay?" he mumbled into her hair.

She let out a soft chuckle. "You already let yourself in, so yeah."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his grip on her tightening. "I'll make it up to you."

Y/N pulled back slightly to look up at him. "Damn right you will."

He smirked, then pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. "C'mon. Let's go to bed."

An hour later, they were tangled up together in her bed, limbs intertwined beneath the covers. Rafe's arms were wrapped securely around her, like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.

Y/N felt herself start to drift off, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Despite everything—the fights, the chaos—she knew she wouldn't trade this for anything.

Because for all his flaws, Rafe Cameron loved her in a way that no one else ever could. And if he had his way—no one else ever would.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a short little one, but i’m trying to get through as many request before i go on holiday !! the ‘sports car’ drew starkey fic may be posted when i return as i’ll be taking a tumblr break for that week :)

still send in any requests, i’ll be working through my inbox until then !! some of these i’ve been writing for a couple weeks i’ve just had writers block lmao

#drew starkey #bettys asks !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#rafe cameron #outer banks #bettys work !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#fluff #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #angst #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe x reader

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myjklei · 3 days ago

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"You had a bad day, and your boyfriend did his best to cheer you up."

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Genre: Established relationship

Warnings: Cigarettes, she burns him with the cig once, vaginal fingering, hair pulling(m!receiving), nipple sucking(f!receiving), riding, choking and face slapping(m!receiving), unprotected sex but they are clean and in birth control!!! He cums inside her. Cuddlesss :(

Wordcount: 2,7k

a/n: That's one of my favorite lives of him, and he cheered me up that day when i was feeling terrible, so why not?

You close the door of your apartment, take off your shoes and coat and leave them lying around, then go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Your boyfriend is sitting on the sofa with his cell phone in his hand, following you with his eyes.

"Hey my love, you arrived late, I was already going to call you. How was your day?"

You sip your water and set the glass down on the counter, letting out a tired sigh. He turns off his cell phone, puts it on the coffee table, and then walks over to you.

"Want to talk about it?" he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Nothing much happened... just a couple of coworkers who made the atmosphere in the company bad and delayed everyone's work, that's why I arrived much later than normal, also I didn't wake up in the best of moods this morning."

He gives you a worried look, and you give him a small smile.

"I'm fine, my dear, really. I'm just really tired, and my whole body aches. But I'm going to take a long cold shower and come back to you brand new."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my love, I am"

"Then go take your bath, relax, I'll wait for you"

He's incredibly beautiful in your eyes right now. He's wearing a basic black shirt with sweatpants and wearing his prescription glasses, smelling like a freshly-taken bath. You gave him another smile and a kiss, then headed to the bathroom. You spend a significant amount of time in there, as you said you were going to take a long shower, you really needed it.

You do your skincare, put on a pair of boxer panties and a shirt, which happens to be Jungkook's, and when you get to the living room, you're confronted with a scene that warmed your heart. He turned off all the main lights, leaving only the lamp next to the sofa on, prepared some snacks and beer, and there's music playing on the TV. All this as a plan to take your mind off anything that wasn't him. And that worked perfectly.

"Oh hey darling, feeling better?" He looks at you opening a beer.

"Yes, thank you... what's all this?"

"You were tired, so I thought i could cheer you up. Here are the snacks you like, I've turned on the TV and... Is the lighting okay for you?" He stares at you in a child standing position, and you let out a hearty laugh.

"It's perfect, my love."

"Come over here," now sitting on the sofa, he taps the empty spot on the sofa next to him, "sit here with me."

You go over and pick up the other open beer on the coffee table and sit down next to him. "You didn't need to prepare all that stuff for me Ggukie"

"Of course I did, you've had a bad day, I can't stand seeing you like this. If I could I'd have all your bad days for you."

"You're so sweet"

He smiles and looks down, sniffing the mouth of the bottle. "Is the playlist good? Or do you want me to change it?"

The playlist that's playing on the TV was created by the two of you, with the name Nights together ♡ and it was made especially for moments like this, or for when the two of you couldn't sleep and ended up staying up all night chatting and making out until you got tired.

"No you don't have to, it's good"

"Hmmm... but what about your coworkers?"

"Oh, they're husband and wife, at least they used to be. The wife caught her husband with someone else, someone else who works with them, the other woman almost had her hair pulled out"

"A couple who work together in the same job? And the guy still does this, basically to his wife's face?"

You nod, taking a sip of your beer.

"The atmosphere there got awful, the wife started crying and everyone took her in, I just hid in my computer and carried on working, I am less late than the rest of the people, but still, I was supposed to finish everything today."

“You were smart” he puts his mouth on the bottle.

“I still came off as the heartless one, and I'm not even close to her, even I've been a cuckold and I didn't suffer like that” Jungkook laughs and holds back from spitting out the sip of beer he was about to swallow. “You can laugh. She was yelling... Why did he do that to me? I got him this job! How ungrateful!” You imitate the wife. “And everyone was smooching her, comforting her, I can't stand it. She treated him so badly every day, he couldn't do anything wrong and she'd yell at him, that he was worthless, that she didn't know what she was thinking when she married him.” You eat some of the snacks.

“Maybe that's why he cheated on her”

“That's what I thought, but as I said, I'm not close to her, he could be a scumbag at home.”

“I'd never cheat on you, you know?” You giggle shyly and look down at the bottle in your hand, ”I mean it.”

You look up again and find him staring at you with his eyes shining.

“I missed you today”

“Just today?”

“Every day” his smile appears.

“Do you want to watch a movie while we cuddle?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing”

“Do I choose or do you choose?”

And there you are, late at night, watching your second movie. You're lying on his bare chest, and he's stroking your hair, you're paying more attention to the sound of his heart beating than to the movie, which is pretty boring by the way, but you don't care as long as Jungkook is with you. The door to the balcony is half open, and the chill air from outside comes in softly and spreads through the room with the smoke coming from the ashtray on the coffee table. Jungkook takes the cigarette from his fingers to his mouth, and you look closely at his arm, the veins popping out, pale skin, waiting to be marked. He blows out the smoke.

“This movie is so predictable”

“Huh?”

“Everyone knows that when he walks in there the door will close behind him” he offers you the cigarette, and you accept it looking at the screen, ”I told you, they don't make good horror movies anymore, they're all copies of each other”

You blow the smoke out of your mouth and sniff it back in through your nose, looking at him while he still insists on watching the movie. His glasses disappeared along with his shirt when the first movie ended, his hair is slicked back, he's lightly biting the piercing in the corner of his mouth and you have a perfect view of his neck. You snap out of your trance when you feel the cigarette starting to burn your fingers, and you reach out to put it out in the ashtray, but now all you can think about is the hand he has placed on your waist to prevent you from falling off the sofa.

“The idiot still tries to talk to the entity. These characters are so easy to kill”

You kiss his sternum trying to get his attention, “what a bad movie, I don't think I know how to choose movies anymore”.

“You say it's bad, but you can't take your eyes off the screen”

He looks at you, “I'm sorry, baby, I wanted to see how far the bullshit would go”

“Why don't we do something more interesting?” he puts his arm behind his head, using it as a support to see you better.

“Something on your mind?”

You stretch again, but this time, to get a new cigarette straight from the box, you also pick up the heater and sit on the lap of the dark-haired man below you. You light the cigarette, take a drag, and blow it in his face, who closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, you turn the tip of the cigarette in his direction, and he gets the message, leaning on his arms to sit on the sofa and get face to face with you.

You put the cigarette in his mouth, and he puts his hands on your waist, helping you to get comfortable on his lap. He looks away as the smoke comes out of his mouth. The cigarette goes back in your mouth, and Jungkook is already looking at you with big eyes again.

“Blow in my face again... please”

You do what he asks, and you feel him shudder and squeeze your waist, “I don't even think about the movie anymore”.

A smirk comes over your face, and you run your hand through his hair, “You've been so nice today, organizing everything to spend time with me, helping me relax... I want to thank you for that”

He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin between your breasts.

“My bunny... I've been keeping an eye on you since I got home"

“You can take your frustration out on me whenever you want”

“Would you do that for me?”

“Anything for you”

“Even if it means I'm going to be mean?” You wrap your fingers in his hair and pull it back slowly.

“Yes... I can be your personal punching bag if you please”

“Are you sure?” You say as you stub out your cigarette on his arm, staring into his eyes.

“Yes I am” he keeps his gaze glued to yours, tightening his arms around you. You drop the cigarette on the floor and attack his mouth.

He moves his hands up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and he pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same action.

“Lean your back against the sofa, it'll be better” you stand up, leaving his lap missing you, and he does what you said, being able to get a better view of you taking off your panties.

“Close your mouth, or you'll drool,” you say, smiling and getting back on top of him, ”I'll leave the shirt for you since it's yours.”

He laughs, you raise your arms, and he removes his shirt from your body, which he does with pleasure, then kisses his way down your neck.

“I've wanted to do that for a while”

“Then why didn't you do it before? You preferred to waste your time with that awful movie”

“I'm sorry, punish me for that” he says into your ear

You laugh, “you naughty boy”

He brings one of his hands down to your pussy, and runs his middle and ring fingers over it, “you're so wet”

“I've been wet since you took your shirt off, like an hour ago”

“Can I put them in?”

“Have at it, before I do it myself”

He puts his fingers inside you, looking at you as you close your eyes and arch your back. “You're so beautiful” you squeeze his shoulders, leaving your fingernails almost bruising him.

“Curl them” you ignore his compliment and give the order, he moves his fingers with ease, offering his thumb on your clit as a treat.

He puts his mouth on one of your breasts and licks his way to the nipple without taking his eyes off you. You pull his hair and call his name as he sucks your nipple and curls his fingers again. His other hand is on your waist, squeezing lightly. “I can't take my eyes off you, my sweetheart"

You growl and throw your head back, not giving a damn about the pain you're causing him by scratching his back like a wild animal, because that's how he makes you feel and that's how he asked to be treated.

He licks you from your nipple to your neck and nibbles on your earlobe, causing you to shiver.

“Jungkook stop.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I just don't want to cum on your fingers, I want to cum on your cock” he sighs shakily, ”pull down your pants”

He lowers his sweatpants along with his underpants as much as this position allows him, and you put one of your hands on each of his shoulders, fitting your entrance to his tip.

You both moan in unison, feeling your bodies fit together perfectly, and you lower your hands from his shoulders to his chest. You move at a faster pace, and he grabs your ass, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. He lets out a whimper that was supposed to be your name.

“Look at me,” you order, squeezing his neck.

Your bouncing gets harder, his hands roam desperately over your body in a clumsy way, tears start to form in his eyes, and he coughs, obediently waiting for you to release his neck.

“Hit me”

“What?”

“Hit me, my love, please”

You stop pressing your hand to his neck without taking it away. He takes a deep breath, and you slam your hand on his cheek, marking your territory.

“You're so beautiful,” you slap him again. “I love you,” another slap. “My goddess,” and another slap. “I'd never cheat on you. You can treat me like shit every day, but I'll still love you and worship you, I'll do anything for you. You're my muse. I need you."

Your head is spinning, the cold wind coming from the balcony is chilling you, his mouth is seeking yours, and you connect them by wrapping your arms around his neck. You would be trapped for hours, days, even years in this moment, in what he, only he, causes you. In the way he, only he, loves you.

“Fuck, baby, I'm close”

“Let go, my love, I'll be here to hold you”

His words were like a trigger for your high to come. You scream his name and tremble around him. He kisses your neck in a sloppy way. Now he's moving his own waist, hunting his own orgasm.

“Baby, I'm sensitive, baby”

“I'm almost there, baby. Just hold on a little longer, please. I know I asked you to be mean, but don't do this to me.” You laugh and kiss him, moving your waist again.

He squeezes your waist and whines into your mouth.

“Love?” he breaks the kiss and looks deep into your eyes.

“It's okay, go on, I want you to,” you stroke the hair on the back of his neck.

And he allows himself to, sinking his head into the crook of your neck, hugging you as if someone wants to steal you away from him. The two of you hug in silence, and you can hear his breathing and his heart beating again, the TV already showing the typical Are you still watching? line.

He looks at you, with his hair messed up, his mouth red and wet from kissing, and droopy eyes.

"I love you so much. If you left me, it would break me, I don't know how I could live without you by my side. You're my life."

"I'll never leave you."

"I know, I know." You caress his face, and he closes his eyes, seeking your touch like a magnet. You lean his head against you and hug him like a child in need of comfort.

"I love you so much, my bunny"

"I love you... I love you..."

"Thank you."

He looks at you again, "Thank you for today. You were very sweet for doing all this"

"Baby, you deserve so much more than this. This was a little treat. You deserve the world, and I feel guilty for not being able to give it to you"

You kiss him passionately and lean your forehead against his, "You're already my world, my love." He smiles with his eyes closed, and your breaths synchronize.

"Baby, I love that we're cuddling like this, but I really need to get cleaned up"

"I know, me too, take a shower with me, and then we'll watch another movie, or play a game, before bed"

"I'd love to."

"But if it's a movie, it has to be a good one," you smile.

"Then you choose this time."

He'll always make you happy, you don't need anything else, he'll always be your dopamine.

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #sub jungkook #bts smut #bts oneshot

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00valentina-writes00 · 2 days ago

Text

✞⛧ The Unlikely Marriage ✞⛧

Warnings: forced marriage, political manipulation, emotional turmoil, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, mature content (around the end), intimacy exploration, vulnerability, some fluffy moments

Word count: 19k

(I’m still in Hiatus but I really wanted to post what I’ve been working on for the past few days! I had this idea started about a week ago but actually sat down and finished it)

The air in the grand hall feels heavy, thick with the weight of your decision. Your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest, and the only thing you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears. The scent of roses from the wedding arrangements blends with the acrid bite of your own rising anxiety, suffocating you. Every part of your body seems to hum with tension, but you are helpless in your own skin. The political climate surrounding Arrilks has become a death sentence, and there's no way out. Noxian forces are coming, and your only chance at survival lies in the hands of Ambessa Medarda.

The whispers about her, those vicious, unrelenting rumors that circle like vultures, have haunted you for years. Ambessa—the Iron Lioness. The ruthless General of Noxus. You've heard the stories, seen the chilling accounts of her brutality, her cold calculations, her unshakable will. They speak of a woman who strikes fear into the hearts of men, a ruler whose ambition knows no bounds. You've been told that, to her, people are mere pieces on a chessboard—useful tools, dispensable when no longer needed.

And now you are a pawn.

Your fingers tremble as you touch the edge of the delicate lace on your wedding gown. The material feels foreign against your skin, an uncomfortable reminder that everything about this moment is a lie. There is no romance in this marriage, no love to hold onto, no future to look forward to. The wedding is nothing more than a political alliance—a transaction to ensure your country's survival under the protection of Noxus.

Arrilks—your home, your people—will remain safe, but at the cost of your freedom. The cost of your autonomy. The cost of your heart.

You've spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, the weight of the inevitable crushing you further with each passing hour. The offer of peace from Ambessa comes with a price too steep to ignore. She is no fool; she knows the value of your marriage. And you are nothing more than a tool to her—another pawn she must move into place in the intricate web of power that surrounds her.

There's no way to back out now.

The thought makes your stomach churn. You've already signed the papers, already sealed your fate with the ink of necessity. But that doesn't mean you have to accept it with grace. No, you can feel the simmering resentment building up in your chest, the sharp sting of injustice digging into your soul. You hate it. You hate the fact that you are being forced into this. You hate the fact that your life, your future, has been dictated by the whims of an empire and the cold ambition of a woman you've never even met.

The door creaks open, and your heart leaps in your chest. You don't have to turn to know who stands in the doorway. Her presence fills the room, a force that presses down on your shoulders like the weight of an entire army. The silence between you is heavy, thick with the unspoken understanding of what this marriage means.

Ambessa Medarda. She stands tall, her silhouette imposing and unforgiving in the doorway. At what you presume is 6'5", she towers over you—her commanding presence impossible to ignore. Her muscular frame, toned and defined from years of battle, is encased in a tailored black suit adorned with gold and silver accents. She wears the weight of her power like a second skin, and it is impossible to miss the way the room shifts when she enters. Every movement of hers is deliberate, precise. A woman used to being in control, to making the rules.

Her dark eyes lock onto you with a calculating intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel her gaze like a physical thing, sharp and assessing, though she says nothing. The air between you feels charged with an energy you can't escape, and you wonder how much of her coldness is real, how much of it is a mask. You wonder how much of her is left behind that mask.

But you are too bitter, too filled with your own resentment to think of such things now.

"Are you ready?" she asks, her voice a low, almost melodic rumble. It carries the weight of authority, but it is not unkind. It's a question, simple and direct. But it feels like an order.

Your throat tightens at the sound of her voice, at the way it demands your attention without even trying. You nod stiffly, your body stiffening in response to her commanding presence.

Ambessa's eyes flicker with something unreadable as she takes a step into the room. You can hear the soft scrape of leather against the floor as she moves closer, the scent of her cologne—a mixture of musk and something faintly metallic—washing over you. She stands before you now, towering over you with the quiet force of a storm that you know is always ready to break.

Her gaze drifts over you, taking in the details of your wedding gown, the way it clings to your body, the delicate lace at the hem. Her expression remains unchanged, though there's something unreadable in the depths of her eyes, a flicker of something too fleeting to grasp. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in thought.

"You look... poised," she says, her lips curving into something that could almost be a smile, though it never reaches her eyes. It is a compliment, but it feels more like a calculated observation.

You feel a mix of anger and disbelief churn in your gut. Poised? You feel anything but poised. You feel trapped. But you bite your tongue, knowing that anger will get you nowhere here. Instead, you force a tight smile that doesn't reach your eyes either.

"Thank you, General Medarda," you say, the words leaving your mouth like acid.

Her smile falters, just slightly, before she straightens. "You don't have to thank me for anything," she says. Her voice is firm, unapologetic. There's no warmth in it—only the cold, harsh truth of the situation. She speaks as if this marriage is already sealed in both of your minds, as if nothing more need be said.

Your stomach twists with resentment at her coldness. It's as if she sees you as a tool to be used and nothing more.

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of everything that is left unsaid. You want to scream. You want to rail against this fate that has been thrust upon you, to throw your hands up and refuse to go through with this. But you know it's pointless. The Noxian forces are on their way, and your country needs protection. There's no way to stop this, no way to change your fate. You are a piece in a much larger game—one you don't have the power to control.

Finally, Ambessa steps forward, breaking the silence between you. Her movements are fluid, controlled. She reaches out and gently lifts your chin, her fingers calloused yet surprisingly gentle against your skin. You tense at her touch, but she doesn't pull back. Her grip is firm, unwavering, and you know she could crush you if she wanted to.

Her gaze holds yours, unblinking, calculating. You wonder if she can see the fire burning in your chest, the resentment, the anger, the fear. But then she speaks, her voice softer than before, though still heavy with purpose.

"Don't worry," she says. "This won't be as difficult as you think. In time, you'll understand why this is necessary."

You stare at her, uncertain of how to respond, your pulse pounding in your ears. For a moment, you wonder if there's more to her than the woman who has been painted in the whispers of others. But before you can think further, she steps away, her fingers leaving your chin.

The moment passes, but the tension in the air doesn't.

Ambessa's eyes linger on you one last time before she turns to leave.

"We'll have time to discuss our future later," she says, her voice cold and final. "For now, we have a wedding to attend to."

And with that, she exits the room, leaving you standing there, feeling more alone than you ever have before.

As you turn to follow her, you know that the future holds nothing but uncertainty. Nothing but duty. Nothing but the cold, distant obligation of a union born from necessity.

The grand hall feels suffocating as you step out of the room, the weight of the ceremony looming over you. You can feel the cool air brush against your skin, but it offers little relief from the heat of your anxiety. The sounds of the guests filter through the door behind you—laughter, murmurs, the soft rustle of silk and velvet—but it all feels distant, as if you're walking through a dream you can't wake from.

Ambessa's presence is a steadying force at your back, yet it feels like a cage. You don't want to be here. You don't want this. You don't want to stand before an altar, your future sealed by a contract, your country's survival bought with your freedom. The grand hall stretches before you, an unfeeling monument to the price you've had to pay for protection.

You try to focus, try to remind yourself why you're doing this. Arrilks needs peace. You need peace. But every breath you take feels like an echo of betrayal—betrayal of yourself, of everything you believed in. This marriage, this union with Ambessa, is a mockery of what you once dreamed of.

You step forward, your legs feeling heavy, your heart heavier. Ambessa's footsteps echo behind you, her presence as inescapable as the cold, hard truth that settles in your chest. She moves with quiet precision, never faltering, never questioning. It's as if she owns the very air around her, and you—well, you're just along for the ride.

The guests begin to quiet as you approach the altar, their gazes too sharp, too piercing, and you feel naked beneath them. You glance over your shoulder at Ambessa, her eyes dark and unreadable, though her presence still exudes that same overwhelming power.

"Are you ready?" she asks again, her voice low, measured. It's not a question. It's an instruction.

You don't answer right away, not sure what words could possibly convey the storm inside you. There is no readiness in you—there's only the sense of inevitability. The moment feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, but you can't back out now. Not without risking everything you've worked for. Not with the Noxian forces on the horizon.

A cold shiver runs down your spine, but you nod, the motion more out of duty than conviction. It's the only thing left to do.

Ambessa doesn't smile, doesn't offer any kind of reassurance. She simply turns toward the altar, her commanding presence filling the room once again, leaving no room for anything other than what is about to happen.

You move to stand beside her, your heart thundering in your chest, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you wish for anything but this. Anything but the coldness, the political games, the loss of everything that once meant something to you. But you know it's pointless to resist. There is no escaping the game.

Ambessa stands tall beside you, her stature a reminder of all you are about to lose. You keep your gaze straight ahead, not daring to look at her. Your chest tightens as the vows are exchanged, words that feel like chains wrapping around your heart. Each syllable feels like a further surrender of what little freedom you have left.

And when the ceremony ends, when the contract is sealed with a kiss that carries no warmth, no affection, you are left standing beside a woman who, despite her power, feels like a stranger. This marriage will bind you to her—physically, politically, emotionally. A union that was never meant to be anything more than survival.

As the guests begin to applaud, you catch a glimpse of Ambessa, her expression still unreadable, her gaze lingering on you just long enough to make your heart race. She's unreadable, cold, and calculating, but there's something else in the depths of her eyes—something almost imperceptible that you can't quite place.

—-

The door closes softly behind you, the heavy creak of its wooden frame sounding more like the closing of a coffin than the beginning of a new chapter. Your breath catches in your throat as you stand at the threshold of your shared chamber, pulse quickening in anticipation of what's to come. The air is thick with unspoken tension, and for a moment, you simply stand there—unsure, unnerved, unwilling to take the first step.

Ambessa stands by the large window, her back turned to you. The moonlight that filters through the thick curtains casts a silvery sheen over her commanding figure. She exudes power and control, her broad shoulders stiff with authority. The air around her feels charged, like she's always on the brink of battle, and you can't help but feel the weight of her presence press on you.

You take a tentative step forward, unsure of how to break the silence. "Ambessa," you say, your voice slightly wavering despite your efforts to remain composed.

She doesn't turn around. The silence stretches, but then, after a beat, she speaks—her voice low and controlled, a force unto itself. "Come, sit."

You hesitate, uncertainty lacing your movements. But you can't stay standing. The tension in the room demands you take a seat. Slowly, you move toward the massive bed at the center of the room. It feels too big for just the two of you. The emptiness of the space, despite the lavish surroundings, tightens the knot in your chest. It's hard to breathe in here, with the weight of everything that's unspoken hanging between you.

You sit at the edge, your hands trembling in your lap. Ambessa remains at the window, eyes distant, searching the night sky. You wonder if she's really here, in this room with you, or if she's lost in her thoughts, locked away behind walls that seem almost impossible to scale.

Minutes stretch into a suffocating silence. Her presence is overwhelming, filling every corner of the room with something you can't quite name. It's like she's made of stone—unyielding, unwavering. And yet, you sense something else in the air. A shift, an unseen crack in the fortress she's built around herself. You don't know if it's real, or just wishful thinking.

Finally, Ambessa speaks again, her voice softer, quieter than before. "I didn't want this," she says, surprising you more than you can admit. "Not like this."

You turn toward her, the words ringing in your ears. There's a vulnerability there—a crack in her armor, however small it may be. Her hands are clasped behind her back, her stance still proud and rigid, but there's something different in her tone now. It's a rare glimpse, one that makes your heart ache in ways you don't understand.

You search her expression for any sign that she's lying, but there's none. "What do you mean?" you ask, leaning forward slightly. You have to know, despite the uncertainty still crawling up your spine.

Ambessa doesn't meet your gaze. She just stares out the window, her voice distant. "I didn't want to marry you. But I needed to secure this alliance—this unity. Our people are at war, and I had no choice but to do what was necessary."

You stare at her back, the words sinking in. The shock is immediate. She didn't want this either? The woman who had seemed so cold, so calculated, had been forced into this just as much as you had. You swallow hard, but there's no easy way to process that truth. The weight of it makes your chest ache, and you feel an odd connection to her in that moment.

"You think you're the only one who has made sacrifices?" she mutters, but it's loud enough for you to hear, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Your heart races at her words, your own pulse quickening. There's a rawness in her tone now, one that you hadn't expected. She's not as invincible as she seemed.

You sit in stunned silence for a moment, absorbing the realization. You want to say something, but the words seem to get caught in your throat. How do you even respond to that? You didn't expect to find this... softness behind the walls she'd so carefully erected.

"I didn't expect this from you," you say quietly, unable to hide the confusion that's been eating at you. "I thought you'd see me as nothing more than a tool in your game."

Ambessa turns her gaze toward you then, her dark eyes locking with yours, intense and searching. "I see you for what you are," she replies, her voice steady, though there's still a trace of something softer beneath it. "I will never pretend this union is anything other than what it is. But don't mistake that for a lack of respect."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with truth. You nod slowly, processing the weight of it all. Respect. It's not love, but it's something. Something more than you thought.

You shift uncomfortably on the bed, unsure of what comes next. "But is this all we are, then? Just pawns in some political game?"

She doesn't answer immediately. For a long moment, the space between you both seems impossible to bridge. But then, she moves toward the bed, her steps purposeful, her presence undeniable. When she sits down beside you, her body cool and solid next to yours, the space between you feels both too large and too small at the same time.

Ambessa doesn't reach for you, doesn't speak, just settles beside you, her back to you in that deliberate gesture of separation. The tension in the air is thick, but somehow, it feels different now. It's not just suffocating. It's complicated..

You shift uncomfortably on the bed, your hands gripping the edge of the sheets. It's hard to breathe in the heavy silence that has fallen between you. You know that nothing has changed—this is still a political alliance, still a marriage of convenience. But something shifts in the air between you two, a subtle change that makes the space feel less suffocating. Maybe it's the brief glimpse of Ambessa's vulnerability, the rare crack in her hardened exterior, that makes you wonder if this union is doomed from the start—or if, in time, it could evolve into something more.

But that question remains unanswered as she moves toward the bed, her steps measured and sure, the weight of her presence undeniable. She doesn't speak as she climbs into the bed beside you, her body a cool, solid presence that fills the space between you. You are acutely aware of the distance that still separates you, both physically and emotionally.

Ambessa does not reach for you, does not offer comfort. She simply settles in beside you, her back turned toward you in a deliberate gesture of separation.

The bed feels vast, empty, and yet somehow too small for the tension that has built between you both.

You lie in the dark, your thoughts swirling in a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. The silence stretches on, thick with unspoken words, and the realization sinks in that this marriage will not be what you thought it would be. It will not be filled with love or passion, nor will it be easy. This is a union of necessity, one that will demand more from you than you've ever been prepared for.

And as you lie there, the weight of the night pressing down on you, you wonder just how far Ambessa's walls go. You wonder what lies beneath the cold exterior, what secret pain she carries with her. But for now, all you have is silence—the kind that rings loudest in the dark.

The night drags on, a slow, torturous procession of minutes that stretch into hours. And yet, despite the suffocating tension, you sense something in the air—a quiet, fragile crack in Ambessa's mask, a small, fragile opening where something deeper, more human, might still lie beneath.

But for now, the walls remain high.

—-

The streets of Noxus are alive with the energy of a city built on power and war. Massive stone structures rise like monuments to dominance, the air thick with the scent of iron and sweat. The people—soldiers, merchants, citizens—walk with purpose, their eyes locked forward, their posture straight as if the weight of their city rests on their shoulders. They know no other way of life. Everything in this city screams strength, authority, and conquest.

And here you stand, in the heart of it all, your body wrapped in the same elaborate garb meant to signal power, control, unity. A gown of deep crimson, embroidered with gold threads, drapes over your frame like a weight you can hardly bear. You feel its tightness in every step, the cold metal clasp at your neck threatening to suffocate you. You are presented before the people of Noxus, an alliance forged between their formidable empire and your homeland.

Beside you, Ambessa is a force. Her presence is undeniable, her posture straight and poised, the unyielding queen of her domain. The sharp angles of her face, the high collar of her own ceremonial attire, and the commanding way she moves—everything about her says that she belongs here, in this space of power. She doesn't flinch as the eyes of the Noxian nobility and citizens scrutinize her every move. She's made for this, forged in battle and hardened by years of commanding her people. Her strength, her resolve, her complete mastery of the world around her—it all comes through in a single glance. The very picture of Noxian authority.

But you? You can't hold it together.

Every step feels like it's a betrayal of everything you've ever known. The weight of the city presses down on you. The expectations—the ever-watchful eyes, the whispers at the edges of your vision—are like a thousand blades, aimed at your back. You don't belong here. Not like Ambessa. Not like this. You stand, your hands rigid by your sides, the smile you force onto your face as thin as a razor's edge.

You know that if you falter, if you let your guard down for even a moment, the game will be lost. This marriage, this alliance, is the only thing standing between your people and destruction. You don't have the luxury of being yourself, of showing weakness, of questioning the reality you've been thrust into.

But still, it gnaws at you. The anger, the confusion, the sense of utter wrongness. You try to stand tall, to match Ambessa's stature, but it's like pretending to be something you're not. You're forced to hide behind the mask of a proud wife, a willing partner to a woman who, until the night before, seemed as distant as the stars.

Ambessa's vulnerability, the small crack she'd shown—you can't afford to let it mean anything. You can't let it soften you, not here. Not in front of all these people. The tension between the two of you may have shifted last night, but today, you must return to the roles you've been given.

The crowd erupts in applause, loud and harsh, as you and Ambessa stand at the center of the grand hall. You hold your breath, forcing the smile to stay. They are watching you both, waiting for a sign of unity, of power. The strength of Noxus and the unity of this new empire. But the only thing you feel is a bitter emptiness gnawing at your stomach.

As the applause begins to die down, you feel Ambessa's gaze on you, sharp, expectant. You can feel her tension, too—she's locked in the same dance, the same game. She expects you to match her, to show nothing less than absolute control. Her eyes flicker to you for the slightest moment before she turns to address the crowd.

You watch as she speaks with the authority of a queen, her voice carrying through the chamber with practiced ease. She weaves words about power, strength, and unity. You know the speech. You know it's rehearsed. But as she speaks, you can't help but feel like a puppet with invisible strings pulling you along. She is convincing, commanding. But you? You stand there, forced to play your part, to nod at the right moments, to smile when expected.

The weight of it presses on you, and for a brief moment, everything feels too heavy. You can't do it. You can't stand there and pretend everything is fine when it's all wrong. Not when your heart is screaming for something more—something real. You want to scream, to tear down this façade, to make them understand that you are not part of this. That you never wanted any of this.

But you keep it inside. You swallow the words. You force the smile. You make yourself invisible beside Ambessa, as if you belong here, in this gilded cage. The night feels endless, the faces of the Noxian elite blurring together in your peripheral vision, their hollow smiles and nods offering nothing but reminders of the cage you've found yourself in.

When the event finally ends, and you and Ambessa return to the Medarda estate, the silence in the carriage is suffocating. It's not comfortable anymore, not after the mask you've been forced to wear. The air between you both feels thick and tense, heavier than it's ever been. You don't know how to face her, not after everything. You try to breathe, try to hold it together. But as the door to the estate closes behind you, the dam breaks.

Ambessa moves toward the common area with her usual grace, but you can't stay silent. Not anymore. You've had enough.

"How dare you?" you burst out, the words finally spilling from your mouth like a tidal wave. "How dare you expect me to act like everything's fine? Like I'm happy about this—about us?"

Ambessa stops in her tracks, her posture stiffening. The unyielding control she's always carried with her cracks just for a moment, and you can see it—the tiniest flicker of something vulnerable in her eyes. But she doesn't respond. She stands there, waiting for you to continue.

"Do you think I wanted this?" you scream, your voice shaking with the force of your anger. "Do you think I wanted to be married to you? To be forced into this alliance? My people are at war, and this is what I have to do—this is what we both have to do! But that doesn't mean I have to like it!"

You take a step forward, your hands shaking at your sides. Your chest is tight with frustration, with the realization that you've never felt more trapped in your life.

"Don't expect me to wear that smile anymore, Ambessa. Don't expect me to pretend that I'm content with this life we've been forced into." Your voice cracks with emotion, but you can't hold it in anymore. "You might be able to play the part, but I can't. I'm not you."

Ambessa doesn't speak immediately, her eyes dark and unreadable. For a long moment, you think she's going to say something cutting, something designed to shut you down, but she doesn't. She stands there, listening.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she steps forward. She doesn't yell back. She doesn't raise her voice. Instead, she speaks softly, her tone steady. "I understand," she says quietly, her voice carrying more weight than a thousand shouted words. "I understand what you're feeling. I do."

You blink at her, confused. "Then why—?"

“Because I'm in the same position, remember?," she says, cutting you off. "This marriage wasn't my choice either. But we both have our roles to play. We both have our duties."

She takes a deep breath, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that you can't ignore. "I'm not asking you to be happy about it," she continues, her voice unwavering. "I'm not asking you to pretend. But this is what we both have to do, for the sake of both our clans."

The silence stretches between you both, heavy and thick. You want to argue, to scream that it's not fair—that you shouldn't have to do this—but a part of you understands. You don't want to. You don't like it. But there is no other choice.

"I can't promise that it will be easy," she adds, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "But I can promise you this: we will get through this."

You stand there, the weight of her words settling on your shoulders. The anger doesn't go away—it can't. But there is something in her words, something in the way she says them, that tells you she understands. For the first time, you feel like she's not just the cold, distant figure you've always seen. Maybe, just maybe, she's in this with you.

"Let's go," she says, her voice soft but firm. "We both have our duties."

You nod, the fight draining out of you. For now, there's nothing more to say.

——

The weeks that follow the wedding blur into a series of dull, expected events. Formalities are upheld, small courtesies exchanged, but each interaction feels like a ritual, a performance with no real stakes. Every moment with Ambessa feels like you're still standing on the outside of her world—an outsider in a fortress of walls she's carefully constructed around herself.

Despite the opulence of your surroundings and the constant display of wealth and power, there's an unspoken, suffocating silence that lingers between you. You've seen her up close now—seen the way she commands a room with nothing but the weight of her presence, felt the intensity of her gaze that cuts through the air like a sharpened blade. She's a woman of incredible control, always poised, always composed. Her power is tangible, so thick you can almost feel it in the air, yet she wears it effortlessly, a second skin.

You've been in her presence for weeks now, and still, nothing has changed. She's still distant, still unreachable in the way she presents herself to the world. That one time view of her cracked amour feeling like sand between your finger. Ambessa does not need affection. She does not seek reassurance. You are a wife in name only, and for now, you are content to play the role.

But even as you stand at the periphery, you begin to notice the subtle shifts, the way she regards you just slightly differently. It starts small—an added glance, a gesture of acknowledgment during meetings, when her sharp gaze lingers a moment longer than it has in the past. Her approach to you changes when she begins to involve you more in the affairs of Arrilks and noxus, the province that has become a pawn in your political marriage.

You assist her with decision-making, handling smaller matters she doesn't have the time or energy for. At first, she watches you carefully, as if testing your capability, but it doesn't take long before she begins to trust you with more—too much, perhaps. There's a moment, one sharp, fleeting second, when you realize that she's no longer just tolerating your presence. She's starting to rely on you.

It's in the way she speaks to you during meetings, no longer issuing orders but instead asking your opinion. It's in the shift of her posture when you step closer to offer advice or contribute an idea. She listens, a rare thing for someone as self-assured and authoritative as Ambessa, and you begin to understand that this woman—this powerful, indomitable leader—is not impervious to the weight of her responsibilities. She may not show it often, but she carries the burden of leadership with a quiet, constant pressure.

Her strength, you begin to realize, is not just a weapon—it's a shield, a necessity that has become as much a part of her as her breath. Ambessa is not untouchable. She is a survivor. The empire she's built—the empire you now find yourself wrapped up in—is not as stable as it appears from the outside. There are cracks, fractures beneath the surface, and you begin to glimpse them in the fleeting moments she allows herself to be more than just the Iron Lioness.

The first time she opens up to you, it's not a grand speech or an admission of weakness, but a small, almost inconsequential moment. You're standing in her private study, the two of you pouring over diplomatic reports when she pauses, her gaze distant as she sifts through the papers in front of her. The silence between you stretches, and then, almost without warning, she speaks.

"The empire is fragile," she says quietly, her voice laced with something you hadn't expected—an almost imperceptible strain. "I've built it through blood, through sacrifice... but sometimes I wonder if it's enough."

Her words hang in the air, and you find yourself caught off guard. You've always known that Ambessa was a leader forged in the fires of war, someone who has seen the worst the world has to offer. But hearing her speak of the fragility of her position—of the empire she's so carefully constructed—shakes something inside you. It's a vulnerability you hadn't seen for weeks.

For the second time since your marriage began, you see her not as a warlord or a matriarch but as a woman—one who is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"I can't afford to let it break," she continues, her voice growing more resolute as she looks at you, her sharp, calculating eyes locked onto yours. "I have too much at stake. Too much to lose."

You feel the weight of her words, the underlying fear that lingers beneath her steely exterior. There's no room for failure in her world. The stakes are too high, the price of defeat too great. And yet, she stands unyielding, determined.

"You don't need to carry this alone," you offer, your voice sounding foreign in the silence of the room. It's a statement, a truth you believe, but it's also a subtle offer—a promise you weren't sure you were ready to make.

For a moment, Ambessa's gaze softens—just a fraction. It's gone before you can fully grasp it, replaced by the cold, calculating look she's so adept at wearing, but for that brief second, you know you've reached her. She may not show it, but you've seen the weight of the world in her eyes. You've touched on something deeper than the political games you both play.

She turns back to the papers, her posture stiff and formal once more, but you notice the way her hand lingers over a particular document—how she fidgets with it before placing it aside. A small gesture, a subtle sign of the exhaustion that rests beneath her fierce exterior.

As the days progress, you find yourself drawn deeper into the complexities of Ambessa's world. The more you work with her, the more you come to admire the woman behind the leader—the way she handles everything with the precision of a master tactician. It's not just about politics; it's about survival. It's about the constant, grinding effort to maintain control in a world that is always shifting, always threatening to collapse beneath her feet.

And yet, despite her fierce determination, you begin to notice more cracks in the foundation. You start to see that, as much as Ambessa demands strength from others, she demands it from herself most of all. She has no room for weakness, no time to indulge in the things that others take for granted—like rest, like comfort, like care.

In the quiet moments, when the work slows and the two of you are left alone, you sense the toll it takes on her. The subtle tension in her shoulders. The way she sometimes rubs at her temples, her eyes closing as though the weight of her thoughts has become too much to bear. You catch glimpses of the exhaustion that gnaws at her, the quiet moments when her mask slips, and the sheer burden of leadership becomes too much for her to hide.

It's in these moments, when the room falls silent and the two of you sit side by side, working in tandem, that you begin to understand the truth. Ambessa is not unshakable. She is not invincible. She is a woman who has fought for everything she has, who has sacrificed countless pieces of herself to maintain her power. She is a leader who has built an empire on the strength of her will, but that strength comes at a cost.

You find yourself watching her more closely now, not just as a political spouse but as someone who, despite the distance between you, you are beginning to depend on. There's an unspoken understanding between you now—a mutual respect, a shared burden.

Ambessa's trust in you grows, bit by bit. She gives you more responsibility, more influence in the decisions that shape Arrilks and noxus’s future. The more you work alongside her, the more you see the fragility of the empire she has built, the more you understand the delicate balance she maintains. You realize that this partnership—this union of necessity—is not so simple after all. There's something more here, something deeper than either of you anticipated.

But there is a part of you that fights against it, that resists the growing sense of dependency you feel. It's not love yet, not by any means. But it's something new—something undeniable. A connection forged in the fires of power and politics, built on respect and shared burdens. And though you may not admit it aloud, the bond between you is beginning to grow stronger, shifting into something neither of you can control.

In the end, Ambessa remains a force to be reckoned with—a woman who knows no weakness, who will not bend, who will not break. But you also begin to see the cracks in her armor, the quiet moments when she allows herself to be something more than the Iron Lioness. And in those moments, you realize that this marriage, this partnership, may be more than just a political arrangement. It may, in time, become something far more complex—and far more real.

——

The fire crackled softly in the hearth as you sat in the corner of the room, nursing a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. It was late—too late for either of you to be awake—but sleep rarely came easy in Noxus. Not with the heavy weight of your situation pressing on your chest, not with the constant reminder that this wasn’t your home.

Ambessa sat at the table across from you, reviewing a pile of maps and documents. She hadn’t spoken much since returning from her meeting with her advisors, her focus seemingly glued to the parchment in front of her. That suited you just fine. Her silence gave you room to breathe, to think, to reflect.

And yet, something about the quiet tonight felt different. Not oppressive, exactly, but not peaceful either. The firelight cast flickering shadows across the walls, and the faint hum of the city outside reminded you how far you were from the rolling green hills and soft winds of your homeland.

“You’re staring.”

Her voice broke through your thoughts, startling you. Ambessa didn’t look up from her work, but her tone carried its usual edge—sharp, calculated, always aware.

You blinked, setting your cup down with a soft clink. “I wasn’t staring,” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Ambessa finally glanced up, one brow arched. “Is that so?”

There was something about her gaze that made you feel small, like she could see right through you. It was infuriating, really, how she could disarm you with nothing more than a look. But tonight, you were too tired to deflect. Too tired to pretend you weren’t aching for something familiar.

“I was thinking about home,” you admitted quietly, leaning back in your chair. “About Arrilks.”

At the mention of your homeland, Ambessa set her quill down and leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. “Go on,” she said, her tone neutral.

You hesitated, unsure why you had even brought it up. But the words were already tumbling out of you before you could stop them.

“It’s so different from here,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “The air… it’s cleaner, lighter. The sky stretches on forever, and the fields—” You paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips as the memory filled your mind. “The fields bloom with wildflowers every spring. It’s like the whole world is painted in color.”

Ambessa listened, her dark eyes fixed on you. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer any snide remarks or cutting observations. She just… listened.

“And the people,” you continued, your chest tightening as you thought of the faces you’d left behind. “They’re not like Noxians. They’re kinder, gentler. They look out for each other, not because they have to, but because they want to. It’s… it’s home.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you looked away, embarrassed by the sudden surge of emotion. You hadn’t meant to get so personal. Sharing this part of yourself with Ambessa felt like laying a fragile piece of your soul bare, and you weren’t sure how she would respond.

For a long moment, she said nothing. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncertain.

“I’ve heard of Arrilks, never been in person though” she said, her voice low and measured. “A place of beauty, they say. Peaceful. Idyllic.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “It is. Or it was. Before the war.”

Ambessa’s gaze softened, just barely. It wasn’t pity—she would never offer that—but there was something in her expression that felt almost… understanding.

“Do you miss it?” she asked, her tone quieter than usual.

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Every day. But missing it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring it back.”

Ambessa leaned forward then, her elbows resting on the table as she studied you. “And yet, you speak of it with such reverence. Such love.”

“It’s all I have left of it,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “The memories. If I don’t hold onto them, who will?”

The room fell silent again, the fire crackling softly in the background. You risked a glance at Ambessa and were startled to find her watching you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“I don’t know what it’s like,” she admitted, her voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “To have a place like that. A home worth missing.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, unsure what else to say.

Ambessa shook her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t be. It’s the way of things. Some are born to build homes. Others are born to conquer them.”

The words stung, but there was no malice in her tone. Just honesty.

You looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time in awhile, you saw something beyond the fearsome general and calculating politician. You saw a woman who had been shaped by war and duty, just as you had. A woman who, perhaps, understood the weight of loss more than she let on.

“Arrilks is still standing,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because of this alliance. Because of us. That has to count for something.”

Ambessa’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she nodded, a solemn expression crossing her face. “It does.”

For the first time since your arrival in Noxus, you felt a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t hope, exactly, but it was close. A fragile understanding, a bridge between two people who had once been nothing more than adversaries.

The fire burned low as the night stretched on, and though neither of you spoke again, the silence that settled between you felt different this time. Not empty, but full. Full of everything you hadn’t said, and everything you had.

—-

The flickering candlelight casts long shadows across the ornate walls of the study, dancing as if to the rhythm of a quiet storm that has yet to pass. The night is unusually still, the city sprawling below like a canvas of gleaming stone and iron. The usual hum of the noxus is muted in the distance, replaced by the crisp, sharp silence that fills the room you now stand in. It's this silence that draws you in, pulling you toward Ambessa, who stands at the grand window, her figure a silhouette against the twilight sky. The weight of her responsibilities, of the empire she's built and the fragile balance she treads, is almost palpable in the air between you.

You had expected this, after the heated argument in the council chamber. The sharp words, the heated tension, the relentless need for control—all of it had erupted like a thunderclap, and now, you find her here, stillness settling over her like a thick fog. She is alone, her posture unusually hunched, her broad shoulders burdened by something deeper than the ongoing political struggles. Something more personal, perhaps. And though she has yet to acknowledge your presence, you can see the weariness in her movements, in the way she stares out over the city with an intensity that has nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with something much more private.

For a moment, you stand in the doorway, contemplating whether to intrude upon her solitude. You know Ambessa well enough to understand that she does not welcome comfort, nor does she seek empathy. She does not need it. She is a woman who has learned to stand alone, to face the world with an unflinching gaze and the might of a general who has known the cost of leadership.

But as you watch her, the stiff set of her back, the slight slump of her shoulders that betray the unspoken weight she carries, a sudden impulse rises within you. Without thinking, you step forward, crossing the distance between you in quiet strides. Reaching her side, you hesitate for only a moment before your hand moves to her arm, a light, hesitant touch. It's a simple gesture, one that feels like a delicate offering, as if trying to bridge the chasm that has always kept the two of you separate. You push down your resentments towards the situation the both of you found yourself in, playing the role of her wife- not as a political gain, but as a source of comfort.

To your surprise, she does not flinch, nor does she pull away. Her body remains still, the only movement coming from the soft inhale she takes as if bracing herself for something. The tension in her frame is still there, but the sharp edges of her demeanor seem to soften. She allows the silence to stretch between you both, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

For several moments, neither of you speaks, the weight of the evening's events pressing down upon the both of you. But then, as if unable to bear the silence any longer, Ambessa finally turns her head, her dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that, for once, feels more weary than calculating. She holds your gaze for a beat too long, as if weighing your sincerity, before her lips part, the words coming out in a low, almost defeated murmur.

"You think it's easy, don't you?" she says, her voice rough, laden with the exhaustion that has become so much a part of her. "To carry this, to wear the armor every day. To be the leader they expect me to be."

Her words cut through the air with a rawness that takes you off guard. Ambessa is not a woman given to admitting weakness, let alone vulnerability. Yet she was doing it once again. She has always been the one who stands tall, who commands respect with nothing more than the power of her presence. To hear her speak like this—so uncharacteristically open—makes your chest tighten, a sudden surge of empathy washing over you. You shake your head gently.

"I didn't ask for this," she continues, her voice growing quieter now, almost as if she's speaking more to herself than to you. "My father... he raised me to rule, to be strong. He had no time for softness, for weakness. And I..." She pauses, her jaw tightening as she looks away from you, eyes scanning the city below. "I had to be ruthless. It was the only way to survive. The only way to make sure I wouldn't be crushed beneath the weight of expectations."

You stand there, listening to her words, the gravity of her past sinking in. Ambessa's life has never been one of privilege or ease. She has not been born to the luxury of being seen as anything but a force of nature. Her upbringing, her father's harsh demands, have shaped her into the woman she is today—the Iron Lioness of Noxus. It's not just power she exudes, it's survival, born from the ruthless lessons she learned early in life.

And yet, as she stands here now, in front of you, a woman who has always prided herself on control, there's a crack in her armor. It's not much—just a tiny fissure—but it's enough to let you see the depth of the loneliness that has quietly defined her existence. The pain she's buried beneath layers of strategy, ambition, and cold pragmatism.

"Do you think I wanted this life?" she asks, her gaze returning to you with an intensity that could burn if it weren't so filled with something softer. "Do you think I wanted to build this empire only to watch it crumble? To live with the constant fear that one wrong decision could bring it all down?"

There's a tremor in her voice now, one that she quickly suppresses, but it's there. A crack in her unshakable exterior, and you feel something stir within you—sympathy, understanding, a deep, unsettling ache for the woman who has spent her entire life fighting for power, for control, only to find herself burdened by it.

Ambessa turns fully to face you now, her eyes searching yours, as though trying to gauge if you understand, if you can truly see her for who she is beneath the layers of command and strength. For the third time, you see that she is not the indomitable warlord she presents herself as, but a woman who has spent a lifetime trying to balance the weight of her legacy with the pain of her solitude.

"Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "If I've done enough to secure the Medarda name, or if I've just... destroyed everything that mattered."

The confession hangs in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and it shakes you more than you care to admit. You can see the internal struggle etched across her face—the conflict between the woman who wants to protect her family and the woman who has sacrificed so much to ensure their power. There is no simple answer for her, no easy way out.

You find yourself stepping closer, instinctively reaching out to her once more, this time with a greater sense of understanding. The touch you offer this time is not tentative, but a quiet reassurance, the kind that you've never thought to offer her before. Ambessa may not crave affection, but there's something in the way she lets you get close, in the way she doesn't pull away, that speaks volumes.

"You've done more than enough," you say, your voice steady and calm, despite the emotions swirling within you. "You've fought for everything you have. And maybe... maybe that's enough. Maybe it's more than enough."

Her gaze softens more, just barely, and for a moment, the fierceness in her eyes fades into something quieter, something more human. It's a vulnerability she has not shown to many, and certainly not to you other than rare occasions—yet here it is, raw and exposed. Ambessa Medarda, the woman who has ruled with strength and authority, now standing before you in her most honest form.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for the things I've done," she says quietly, her voice laced with regret. "But maybe, in time, I can learn to accept them."

You don't answer at first, unsure of how to offer comfort to a woman like her. But you know one thing for certain—this moment, this shared silence between you both, is a turning point. You've seen a side of Ambessa that no one else has, and it changes the way you view her. She is not just the iron-willed general, the calculating tactician. She is a woman, scarred and burdened by her choices, but still standing—still fighting.

And in this silence, you find yourself drawn closer to her, not as a political partner, but as someone who understands the weight of her struggle. The ice between you begins to thaw, and in its place, something new begins to take root. It's not love—not yet, not fully—but it's something undeniably real. Something that connects you, however tenuously, to the woman standing before you.

Ambessa, the Iron Lioness, may never show weakness in the way others do. But in this moment, you understand that her strength lies not in her ability to remain unshaken, but in her willingness to let someone see her vulnerability—even just for a fleeting moment.

—-

The moonlight filters through the thick curtains of your room, casting a soft glow on the walls, but it does little to calm the restless thoughts that churn in your mind. You lie there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The stillness of the night is almost suffocating, and the weight of your own emotions presses down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. It's as if the world outside has faded into a distant murmur, leaving only the turmoil inside you.

Everything has changed. Or at least, it feels that way. The marriage you entered into—once a cold, calculated arrangement—has shifted beneath your feet. You didn't expect to find yourself here, caught in the subtle pull of something deeper than politics, deeper than necessity. And yet, here you are, tangled in a web of emotions that you didn't anticipate. Ambessa's presence in your life has evolved from one of mutual respect and obligation into something more complicated, something you're not sure how to name.

You sigh quietly, turning onto your side, your thoughts a maze of confusion and…strangely longing. The woman you married, the indomitable force that led Noxus with such strength, has revealed parts of herself to you that you never imagined. There's more to her than the iron-willed general and the calculating warlord. In the quiet moments, when the weight of her responsibilities isn't so overwhelming, you've caught glimpses of something softer. Something more fragile. And it's those moments that have begun to tether you to her, pulling you closer with a force you can't escape.

The door to the room creaks open, and you stiffen, your heart suddenly racing. The soft sound of footsteps follows, each one deliberate but muffled by the carpet. You don't need to look to know who it is. The air shifts in a way that only Ambessa can make it. Even in her weariness, there's a palpable strength in the way she moves—every step measured, every breath controlled. She's still the embodiment of power, but tonight, there's a quietness to her, an unspoken weight that hangs in the air.

Her figure appears at the edge of the bed, her face tired but softer than usual. There's no sharpness in her gaze, no command in the way she holds herself. Ambessa looks... human. The usual walls she builds around herself, the ones that keep others at arm's length, seem to have faded into the background. The exhaustion you see so often is visible in the curve of her shoulders and the slight droop of her chin, as if the day's battles—both on the battlefield and in the council chambers—have taken more from her than she's willing to admit.

"You still awake?" Her voice is quieter than usual, softer, as though she's uncertain whether she's intruding on your peace.

You turn your head to face her, offering a slight nod Her eyes search yours, as if seeking confirmation that she hasn't disturbed something sacred, something private. She hesitates for a moment, then moves toward the bed, her steps slow and deliberate. Without a word, she sits down beside you, the mattress shifting under her weight. Her presence is immediately overwhelming, even in this quieter state. It's like the room can't contain her—the strength and power that she exudes, even in her most subdued moments.

Ambessa doesn't sit at the far edge of the bed, as she might have in the past. No, she sits close, just a few inches away, her presence almost tangible. Her gaze is fixed forward, her hands resting on her lap, but there's a tension in her posture, a subtle stiffness that betrays the vulnerability she tries so hard to keep hidden, but for some reason let you see. And You can see it now, the weariness she's been carrying all day, it makes something stir inside you—a deep, instinctive desire to ease her burdens, to offer her some form of comfort.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you is thick, heavy with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, Ambessa reaches out. Her hand moves toward you, and for a brief moment, you wonder if she's about to pull back, if this is just a fleeting gesture, a moment of weakness that she'll regret. But she doesn't pull back. Her fingers brush lightly against your face, moving a strand of hair that has fallen out of place behind your ear. It's a small gesture, simple, almost tender. But the way her fingers linger against your skin—the warmth of her touch, the way it feels as if she's memorizing the shape of your face—sends a shiver down your spine.

You don't move, don't speak. The silence feels like a delicate thread, fragile but strong, weaving between you both. Ambessa doesn't say anything, and you don't expect her to. Words, for once, seem unnecessary. Her touch, so rare, speaks volumes. It's the kind of touch that transcends the cold walls of formality, a touch that bridges the distance between you.

She doesn't pull her hand away immediately. Instead, her fingers stay there for a moment longer, as if giving you a chance to process the weight of the gesture. The air feels charged now, heavy with the unspoken understanding that something is shifting between you both. What it is, exactly, neither of you can define, but it's there. In the way she sits beside you, in the way her hand hovers near yours, in the way her eyes are softer, less guarded.

When she finally withdraws her hand, there's an almost imperceptible sigh that escapes her lips, a sound that carries with it the weight of everything she's been holding in. It's the kind of exhale that tells you more than any words ever could—that, for just a moment, she has let go of the iron-clad control she's built her life around once again. And, in that silence, you realize that this moment, this fleeting tenderness, has made something between you feel more real than anything that's come before.

Ambessa doesn't lie down, doesn't shift away from you, but she stays close. The distance between you is barely noticeable now, and you're both aware of it—aware of how something has changed, how the boundaries between political partners, between two people who were once nothing more than allies, have blurred. The room feels warmer now, less like a place of duty and more like a place where something personal is happening.

You both sit there for what feels like an eternity, the quiet of the night wrapping around you. Ambessa's presence is still as strong as ever, but it no longer feels oppressive. She's not demanding anything of you. She's not expecting anything from you. For once, she's just here, as you are—two people, connected in a way that neither of you understands, but neither of you is willing to let go of.

Eventually, your eyes begin to flutter, the weight of the night finally taking its toll. But before you drift off to sleep, you feel the barest pressure of Ambessa's hand near yours, close enough that you could reach for it, could grasp it if you chose. But you don't. Not yet. Instead, you simply let it linger, the quiet promise of something unspoken hanging in the air.

You fall asleep with the soft hum of her presence beside you, the gentle warmth of her hand a reminder that this—whatever this is—has only just begun. And for the first time in a long while, you feel as if you are not alone. Not in this bed. Not in this life. Not in this strange, complicated journey you're both on.

In the silence of the night, you both remain close, but neither of you reaches for the other just yet. It's enough to be here, together, with the understanding that something is shifting between you, something deeper than either of you is ready to define.

—-

The air in the council chambers is thick with tension, suffocating in its heaviness. The arguments swirl around you, sharp and bitter, as the Noxian ambassadors lay out their demands. The sound of their voices reverberates off the cold stone walls, each one carrying an underlying threat. You've heard it all before—the political maneuvering, the veiled insults, the promises that are nothing more than traps. But today, it feels different. The stakes are higher than ever, and you can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on your shoulders. The eyes of the room are on you and Ambessa, waiting for a response, for a solution.

You glance at her, taking in the sharp lines of her profile as she listens intently to the ambassadors. Her umber skin glows under the flickering torchlight, her posture unyielding, a wall of strength that everyone in the room respects—and fears. Her dark eyes are focused, calculating, every word the ambassadors speak being weighed carefully. But beneath that sharp, unflinching gaze, you see something else today. Something you have noticed before, something you're only just beginning to understand.

There is a quiet vulnerability in her, one that only you seem to recognize. The faint furrow of her brow, the tightening of her jaw—these are signs that she is not unaffected, that the weight of the decisions she has to make is bearing down on her more than she lets on. But she hides it well, too well, for anyone to see except you. Her exterior remains intact, a polished mask of authority and control, but you can feel the strain, the pressure of her role as a leader, and it makes something stir in your chest. She is strong, but she is human too.

As the meeting drags on, your mind starts to wander. It's hard to focus on the specifics of the discussion when the pull of the woman sitting beside you is so strong. You've come to know her better over these last months—seen the strength she exudes, yes, but also the quiet moments of exhaustion, the subtle signs of doubt, the moments when she allows herself to be vulnerable. And in those moments, something shifts between you once again. You're no longer just no longer just two people playing a role in a larger game. You've become something else—something you can't quite name still, but something that feels undeniable.

You're interrupted by the sharp voice of the lead ambassador, pulling your attention back to the present. Ambessa straightens, her shoulders squared, her jaw set in a way that signals the end of the conversation. The meeting is over, the ambassadors leaving with their threats still hanging in the air, though you both know they will return. You can feel the tension, the pressure building in the space between you and Ambessa. But as the last of them files out, something happens. Another change.

Ambessa turns to you, her expression unreadable for a moment. Her dark eyes meet yours, and for the briefest of seconds, there's a flicker of something in her gaze. Something soft, something real. It catches you off guard as it always does, and before you can fully process it, she reaches for your hand.

Her fingers close around yours with a firmness that surprises you. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing. It's just a simple, direct touch, but in that moment, it means more than anything she could say. The gesture is subtle, but it's everything. It's trust. It's a recognition of your partnership, your bond, that goes beyond the politics of this union. It's the kind of trust that doesn't come easily, the kind that's forged through shared struggles, through long nights of planning and working side by side.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you is thick with meaning. Ambessa doesn't look away, her grip on your hand steady and sure. There's no mask now, no carefully constructed persona. It's just her, the woman who has carried the weight of an empire on her shoulders, the woman who has built something out of nothing, showing you a vulnerability that she doesn't show to anyone else. And you, the one she's chosen to trust, holds her hand in return.

You want to say something, to acknowledge the weight of the moment, but the words don't come. What can you say? What can you do to honor this silent exchange? Instead, you just squeeze her hand, a small but significant gesture of your own, and her lips curl into the faintest of smiles. It's a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's there—a small crack in the armor she's so carefully constructed around herself.

The days that follow are filled with more meetings, more challenges, more moments where you and Ambessa have to rely on each other to navigate the delicate balance of power in both your clans. The trust that was forged growing deeper with each passing day. You find yourself leaning on her more, seeking her counsel, her guidance, and in turn, she begins to rely on you in ways that go beyond the political. It's an another subtle shift, but it's there. The walls that once separated you both—those walls built out of duty and distance—begin to collapse under the weight of shared struggles and quiet moments of intimacy.

There are times when you catch Ambessa in moments of quiet reflection, her sharp gaze softened as she stares out over the city, lost in thought. You've seen her in the heat of battle, commanding armies with the same cool efficiency that she uses in the council chambers. But in these quieter moments, when the weight of her responsibilities is too much to bear, she lets her guard down—just a little. And it's in those moments that you get to see her for who she truly is, not just the ruler, not just the warrior, but the woman who carries the weight of an empire on her shoulders, who has sacrificed so much to protect the legacy of her people.

And you, too, begin to let your guard down. You begin to trust her in ways you never thought possible. She's not just your partner in this union anymore; she's your ally, your confidante. There's a mutual understanding between you both that didn't exist before—a quiet recognition of the bond that's forming, a bond that's no longer just political, but deeply personal.

The day had been long—endless, even—but as the evening settled in, a quiet peace began to take over. The sounds of the city were distant now, muffled by the thick stone walls of the Medarda estate, leaving you in the comforting silence of the kitchen. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables echoed softly in the air as your knife sliced through them, the crisp sound a grounding reminder that for once, the world outside felt far away.

Ambessa stood beside you, her figure commanding even in the casual setting of your kitchen. She wasn't in her usual attire of armor or military garb but instead wore a simple, well-worn shirt and sweatpants. The comfortable, homey clothing contrasted sharply with her usual regality, but it only seemed to emphasize the ease between the two of you now. There were no power struggles here, no games to play—just two people, side by side, sharing a simple moment.

The sizzle of the pot on the stove filled the air as she stirred with careful precision, her concentration evident in the way she moved. She caught your gaze for a second, the corner of her mouth curving upward as she made a sharp comment about the quality of the meat you'd picked out for the meal. You laughed, a genuine chuckle, your shoulders relaxing under the weight of the sound.

"You're the one who picked it out," you teased, shaking your head. "You should know better."

Ambessa rolled her eyes dramatically, giving you an exaggerated look of exasperation. "Do I look like a chef to you?" she quipped, her voice laced with dry humor. "I'm a general, not a butcher."

You chuckled again, the sound so light, so easy, and it felt like a moment that would have been impossible just a year ago. Back then, her humor had been buried under layers of stoic authority, a shield she wore like armor. But now? Now, there was something softer to her—something more human. The laughter that passed between you felt like a bridge, connecting the pieces of your relationship that had once been locked behind walls.

As you finished chopping the last of the vegetables, you glanced up, your eyes meeting hers. For a moment, there was nothing but the warmth of the kitchen around you, and the soft, almost peaceful look on Ambessa's face. She wasn't the intimidating ruler now. She was just... Ambessa. A woman who had learned to find solace in the little things, in the way you had both begun to share your lives, no longer as political allies, but as something more.

There was an intimacy to the moment—something that felt fragile but real. You hadn't expected this when you'd first been thrust into this marriage. At the start, it had been nothing more than a political necessity, an arrangement that held no promise of affection or tenderness. But now, now it was different. There was a bond between you, one that was no longer defined by duty, but by shared experiences and understanding.

Dinner passed with easy conversation, the two of you speaking of everything and nothing. You talked about the empire—its struggles, its future—but also about small things. The mundane, the personal. And somewhere between all the words, you felt it—this quiet shift that had taken place between you two. You weren't just partners in a marriage anymore. You were friends. Allies. And something else, something deeper, was beginning to take root.

You didn't know when it happened, but you realized, in that quiet moment as you looked across the table at her, that you were beginning to feel affectionate towards Ambessa. Not just with her strength or her leadership, though you admired both more than you could express. But affectionate with her. The woman beneath the ruler. The woman who laughed with you in the kitchen. The woman whose eyes softened when she spoke to you. You realized that you loved all of it—the pieces that made her strong and the pieces that made her vulnerable.

And, as the evening drew to a close, you couldn't help but find yourself reflecting on it more. Falling in love with Ambessa wasn't something that had happened overnight. It had been slow, a gradual evolution that you hadn't even realized was happening until it had already taken root deep inside of you. It was all so simple, so profound. It was more than you'd ever expected, and you were certain—she felt it too.

——

The next morning, after a quiet breakfast together, you were walking through the house, passing by the training rooms. The Medarda estate was large, its halls and rooms vast and imposing, but there was a certain comfort in knowing its layout now. You had passed through the training rooms often enough, but today was different. You didn't expect to find her there.

You stopped for a moment when you saw her—Ambessa—moving with the same powerful precision you had grown accustomed to seeing on the battlefield, but there was something more relaxed about her. She wasn't in her usual tactical gear but instead wore a simple black sports bra and sweatpants, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail that showed off the smooth line of her neck. Sweat glistened on her skin, and the muscles in her arms and legs flexed with each movement. She was focused, her body moving with the kind of grace and power that you had only seen in battle, but this was different. This was something else entirely.

You watched, frozen for a moment, as she went through her drills. Her movements were fluid, controlled—each strike, each block, precise and powerful. But it was her body that caught your attention, her strength so evident in the way she carried herself. Her abs were defined, her shoulders broad and strong, and the sight of her muscles flexing under the strain of her movements made your pulse quicken.

And then, it hit you.

Damn. Your wife is kinda..

Your mind went into overdrive, and you couldn't stop yourself from muttering quietly to yourself, "damn."

It was like a punch to the gut—a sudden realization of just how attractive she was. Not just attractive in the way she could command a room or lead an army, but physically. The way her muscles rippled with every movement, they way her breasts bounced when she made a sharp turn or swing, the way she moved with confidence and grace that radiated power... it was alluring.

She paused, catching you in the middle of your stare, and you felt a rush of heat flood your face. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. There was something playful in her expression now, something that wasn't there when she was leading armies or making plans for battle. She was enjoying this, enjoying how flustered you looked.

"You like what you see?" she asked, her voice low and teasing.

You blinked rapidly, trying to pull yourself together, but you couldn't hide the sudden rush of heat in your cheeks. Ambessa's gaze was intense, her eyes lingering on you as if daring you to respond.

Swallowing hard, you managed a laugh. "I... uh, didn't expect to see you like this," you stammered, mentally kicking yourself.

Ambessa's smirk widened. "Maybe I should start training in front of you more often, then."

Your eyes widened, the playful challenge in her tone making your heart race in ways you hadn't expected. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to really appreciate her. The woman who had once been a distant figure, now up close, no longer just the leader of the Medarda house, but someone you were falling for—harder than you had expected.

"Well," you said, clearing your throat, "I wouldn't mind."

Ambessa's smile was teasing, but there was something deeper in her gaze. Something that told you, despite everything that had been said and done, despite the complex web you were caught in, she was feeling the same pull you did.

—-

One night, after another grueling day of meetings, you find yourself in the common room, trying to unwind. You're not really in the mood for company, but as the door creaks open, Ambessa steps in, her figure framed by the doorway. There's something different about her tonight—she's less sharp, less focused. The usual fire that fuels her seems dimmer, and she's quieter than usual. She pauses, looking at you with a faint, almost unreadable expression.

"Still awake?" she asks, her voice softer as it always seemed to be with you.

You nod, offering a faint smile. "I couldn't sleep."

She steps further into the room, her boots making soft sounds against the stone floor. You watch her as she crosses the room, every movement controlled, deliberate. Her face is tired, the lines of stress around her eyes a little deeper than usual, but there's also something tender in her demeanor.

Without saying anything more, she lowers herself beside you on the couch. The space between you is small, but the distance still feels like a chasm. You've grown accustomed to her commanding presence, to her strength, but tonight, there's more vulnerability that you can't deny. She sits in silence for a moment, her gaze fixed ahead, as though she's lost in thought.

You find yourself studying her, the way her shoulders slump ever so slightly, as though the weight of the day is finally too much to bear. Her fingers are tense, restless, as they curl around the edge of her sleeve. It's an unconscious gesture, but it tells you more than words ever could.

After a long pause, she shifts, turning slightly to face you. Her dark eyes meet yours, and there's a flicker of something in them—a softening that you haven't seen in a while.

"You don't have to do this alone, Ambessa," you say, your voice gentle but firm.

She exhales slowly, the weight of the words hanging in the air. "I know," she admits, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. "But I've always done it alone. It's how it's always been."

You move closer, not saying anything, just offering the quiet support that she hasn't asked for, but that she's beginning to accept. And then, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, you reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. It's a simple gesture, but it feels significant.

For a moment, she doesn't react, just stares at you with those dark, unyielding eyes. But then she reaches out, her hand finding yours, and she squeezes it gently. The contact is enough to say everything—trust, need, something deeper that neither of you can fully articulate.

Your thumb brushes across her hand. "You don't have to be perfect, Ambessa. I'm not asking for perfection."

She huffs, the faintest hint of a laugh escaping her. "Perfection? That's never been my thing."

The lightness of her tone makes you smile even more, Ambessa was being... human again. Not a ruler, not a general, but a woman who has carried too much on her own for too long, and who is now slowly learning that she doesn't have to anymore.

As the night drags on, the two of you talk—really talk—about everything and nothing. Politics, of course, but also small, personal things. The food you both like, the rare books you've both read, the things that make you laugh. There are moments of quiet laughter, moments of shared glances, moments where it feels as if you're no longer two people bound by duty, but two people who are beginning to understand each other on a deeper level.

And as the night deepens, and you both grow tired, Ambessa remains beside you, her presence solid and steady, a quiet promise that she is here, and that you, too, are here for her. When she finally stands to leave, she pauses, her hand lingering near yours. You don't hold it, not again, but the moment stretches between you, unspoken and undeniable.

"Goodnight," she says softly, her voice almost a murmur.

"Goodnight," you reply, your heart unexpectedly full.

—-

The day had started out like any other, filled with meetings and reports and the relentless demands of the Medarda estate. But today—today, there was a quiet defiance in you. The walls of the estate felt like they were closing in, and you were done with the suffocating air of politics, the endless games. You were done with the grand halls and ornate rooms. You needed to breathe.

You had mentioned it, half-joking, while walking through the courtyard. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm starting to suffocate in this place. Wouldn't it be nice to get out of here for a bit? Just... go somewhere normal?" You didn't expect anything to come of it, but to your surprise, Ambessa had listened.

The carriage ride into the city had been quiet, the only sound the occasional rumble of the wheels against cobblestone and the soft murmur of the horses. Ambessa had seemed thoughtful, more contemplative than usual. And you? You had felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. You hadn't been out in public like this in ages, certainly not since the marriage, and definitely not with Ambessa by your side. The thought of it left a fluttering sensation in your chest.

You were both dressed plainly for the trip, her choice of clothing casual yet still effortlessly commanding, while you kept it simple. No one would look twice at either of you—no layers of jewelry, no towering heels or extravagant dresses. Just two people walking among the crowds.

The market was alive with energy—vendors shouting, the scent of fresh bread, spices, and produce filling the air. People moved in every direction, navigating the bustling pathways between tents and stands, the occasional shrill call of a child's laughter ringing out. It was chaotic, but in a way, it was... freeing. You could almost forget the weight of your roles for a moment.

Ambessa moved with the ease of someone used to commanding space, her tall frame cutting through the crowd. She wasn't rushing, but she was moving at her usual pace, and you found yourself falling behind, struggling to keep up with her longer strides.

You tried to match her pace, your feet tripping over uneven cobblestones, your steps quicker than usual to catch up. The noise of the market buzzed in your ears, people jostling you from all sides. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the tightness in your throat as you worked to not lose sight of her.

You didn't want to make a fuss about it. You could manage. You didn't need to ask her to slow down or grab your arm. It was... silly, really, but you couldn't shake the feeling that this was one of those moments where you could finally be without the constant weight of the political and personal forces that pulled at both of you. So, you kept your pace, and let yourself feel the excitement of simply being here, out in the world.

That's when you felt it—a hand, warm and sure, clasping yours. Ambessa's fingers curled around yours in a way that felt so natural, as if you had always fit together in this unspoken way. Without looking back, she tugged you forward, guiding you through the sea of people with ease, her steady pull helping you keep up with her stride.

You didn't say anything—didn't need to. There was something about her touch that made you feel at ease, as though she had done it without even thinking, just instinctively. She was letting you be part of her world now, not as the ruler of the Medarda estate but as Ambessa—someone who cared about you more than the role she had to play. The thought made your chest tighten in a way you couldn't describe.

You were too lost in the feeling of her hand around yours to notice where she was leading you until you found yourself standing in front of a small stall, the scent of something sweet wafting up to your nose. Your stomach growled softly, and you glanced up, blinking when you saw the cinnamon rolls stacked neatly on display, their golden brown edges glistening with sugar.

You hadn't realized you were staring, but Ambessa had. You caught her gaze, and she smirked, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "You've been eyeing those for a while," she said, her voice laced with a teasing warmth. "I thought you didn't have much of a sweet tooth."

"I don't," you replied without thinking, but the truth was, you hadn't been able to stop looking at them. The smell of cinnamon and sugar had triggered some long-forgotten craving, one you hadn't had since before everything started to change.

Ambessa didn't wait for you to say another word. She let go of your hand for a brief moment, stepping up to the stall and speaking to the vendor, exchanging a few words that you didn't quite catch. Moments later, she was back by your side, a warm cinnamon roll in hand, its edges soft and inviting.

"I think you've earned it," she said, handing it to you with a playful grin. "Go ahead. It's yours."

You stared at it for a moment, your fingers wrapping around the soft paper that held it. Your stomach rumbled again, but there was something about the way she was looking at you, the warmth in her eyes, that made the simple act of accepting the cinnamon roll feel more significant than it should have. It wasn't just the treat in your hands—it was the gesture, the way Ambessa had thought of you in this small, seemingly insignificant moment.

"Thank you," you said quietly, and the words felt heavier than they should have.

"You're welcome," she replied softly.

As you took a small bite, the sweet warmth of the roll filling your mouth, you glanced up at her. Her gaze was soft, not the commanding one she usually wore. Instead, there was a tenderness in her expression that you hadn't expected.

"Is it good?" she asked, her lips curling into a small smile.

You nodded, taking another bite. "It's perfect."

She raised an eyebrow, her teasing nature returning. "Perfect for someone with a sweet tooth."

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep within. It felt good, to laugh with her like this. There was no weight to the moment, no politics hanging in the air, just the two of you in the middle of a busy market, eating cinnamon rolls like any other couple.

The quiet intimacy between you was unmistakable now. You realized, as the afternoon wore on and the two of you continued to explore the market together, that it was moments like this—moments of simplicity, of being with her without the expectations, the roles—that were slowly changing the way you felt.

You were falling for her. Not just because of her strength or her position, but because of this—the way she thought about you, the way she cared. It was in the small things. The way she noticed when you needed space, the way she held your hand without a second thought, the way she brought you a cinnamon roll when she saw you eyeing it.

It wasn't grand gestures or declarations, but in its own way, this felt more real than anything else. It was real in the way she was present with you, in the way you had trust in each other.

As you walked alongside her, the cinnamon roll now a sweet memory in your mind, you couldn't help but think that this—this was what you had been searching for. It wasn't just about the power, the politics, or the roles you played. It was about this—a partnership, an understanding, and something far more precious than just a forced marriage. Something real.

—-

The weight of the day presses down on you like the burden of a thousand stones. The council meeting was a disaster, a string of failed negotiations and unresolved conflicts. The frustration churns in your stomach, your body exhausted from the constant push and pull of leadership, compromise, and survival. It's become a rhythm now—the endless struggle to find balance, to find unity in a world that seems determined to pull everything apart.

You were thrust into this marriage by duty, by force, and now, a year and a half later, you're here—still navigating the complexities of this bond, still unsure of what exactly you and Ambessa have become. There's been a shift, you know that much. The power dynamics have morphed, twisted into something neither of you expected. Once, this union was about necessity. Now, it's something else. But what exactly that is remains unclear.

You're in your private quarters, the space familiar yet still a reminder of everything you've had to sacrifice. The bed looms large and empty, the quiet echoing around the lavish room. The tension in the air is thick, palpable, as if the room itself holds its breath, waiting. You try to focus on something—anything—to distract you from the knot in your chest, but there's no denying it. You miss her.

Ambessa.

You think of her the way you always do when you're apart: her broad shoulders, the power that ripples through her every movement, the piercing gaze that makes you feel like she's seen the depths of your soul. The scars on her skin, the roughness of her hands, the way she holds herself—every inch of her radiates strength, resilience, and something darker, something buried beneath layers of pride and duty.

But it's not just her strength that pulls you in. It's the vulnerability that flickers behind those sharp eyes when she lets her guard down, when the weight of leadership, of the world, becomes too much. In those moments, she's something else entirely—raw, conflicted, searching for solace. You've seen that side of her now, and you know it's there, deep inside, even though she does everything she can to keep it hidden.

The door to your quarters opens, and there she is.

Ambessa stands in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the flickering torchlight in the hallway. The contrast between her imposing figure and the soft light that spills into the room makes her seem even larger, more formidable, yet there's something softer in her posture tonight. Her shoulders are not as stiff, not as rigid as usual, and her jaw is unclenched, as though she's trying to shake off the weight of the day. Her hands, always so tightly held in check, are relaxed by her sides, and you notice the tension in her movements, the way she hesitates before stepping into the room.

Her gaze meets yours, and it's softer than it's ever been—no cold command, no dispassion. She's searching, seeking something, and you feel it hit you in your chest like a wave.

"May I?" Her voice is quieter than usual, a rare crack in her usual strength.

You nod, unable to speak, your breath caught in your throat. She crosses the room, her steps deliberate, each one echoing with a sense of finality. Her body fills the space between you, so tall, so commanding, and yet, there's an uncertainty in the way she stands before you.

Ambessa's eyes linger on you for a moment, studying you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, but it's different this time. There's no hardness in her stare—only something unspoken, something raw, a yearning. It sends a shiver through you, makes your pulse race in your veins.

She's no longer the woman who commanded armies, who made difficult decisions without hesitation. Tonight, she's just... Ambessa. She's the woman who has lived with you, who has shared moments of vulnerability and tenderness, even if neither of you ever said the words.

"I need you," she finally says, her voice low and tight. There's an edge to it now, a sense of urgency, as if she's fought with herself for too long to keep the walls up. "Not because of duty. Not because of politics. Just... you."

The words hang between you like a spark in dry brush, a flame ready to ignite.

You swallow thickly, your heart hammering in your chest. Something in her voice makes it impossible to think straight, to hold onto the carefully constructed walls of detachment you'd built around yourself. She's cracked them wide open with just a few words, and suddenly, everything shifts.

You rise to your feet slowly, drawn to her in a way you can't resist. She doesn't step back as you approach, standing her ground, the muscles in her shoulders still tense, but there's something in her gaze—a flicker of trust—that makes you hesitate just before closing the distance between you.

Her hand reaches out, almost tentatively, as though she's testing the waters, unsure if she can truly take this step. You take her hand, your fingers brushing against the rough skin of her palm. Her touch is warm, strong, but it's different now. There's gentleness in it, a softness that she rarely allows. You draw her closer, your heart racing as her body presses against yours, the heat of her skin burning through the layers between you.

For a moment, you stand like that, just breathing, as if the world has stopped turning. You can feel the subtle tremble in her form, the way her breath quickens with the weight of everything unsaid.

Then, she tilts her head slightly, just enough for her lips to hover near your ear. Her breath is warm, soft, and it makes your skin tingle. "I've been holding this in," she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what this is, what we are anymore, but I can't keep pretending it's nothing."

The words hit you like a physical blow. This is it. This is the moment everything changes. No more distance, no more hesitation. You turn your face toward her, searching her eyes—those dark, deep eyes that have seen so much and yet, in this moment, seem vulnerable in a way you've never seen before.

Without thinking, without hesitation, you lean in.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you're both testing the waters, feeling each other out. It's not forceful, not rushed. It's gentle, careful, but it's electric. The touch of her lips against yours is a spark, the beginning of something that's been simmering beneath the surface for months, something you've both been afraid to acknowledge.

Ambessa's hands move, gripping your shoulders tightly, her touch grounding and insistent, as though she's afraid of letting go. You feel the heat of her body seeping into yours, the undeniable pull that draws you closer. The kiss deepens, slow and intentional, and the world outside this room disappears entirely.

Her body presses against yours, solid and warm, and you feel every inch of her—the strength in her arms, the power in her chest, the vulnerability in the way she allows herself to melt into you. Her scent is intoxicating, a mix of earth and leather, and you breathe her in as if you can't get enough of her.

You feel her heartbeat thud against your chest, rapid, urgent. It matches the quickening rhythm of your own. She pulls back for a moment, just enough to look at you, and her eyes are dark with desire, but there's something else there, too. Something deeper.

"This isn't just about the alliance, is it?" she asks, her voice thick with emotion.

You shake your head, barely able to speak as the words lodge in your throat. "No. It's not. It's... more."

A tremor runs through her, and you feel the shift in her entirely. The walls she's so carefully built over the years seem to crack and crumble, and you know, without a doubt, that this—you and her—is no longer a political game. It's something raw, something real, something forged in fire. The same fire that's burned in both of you, changing you in ways you can't even begin to describe.

Ambessa pulls you in again, her lips meeting yours with more urgency this time. It's not soft anymore. It's fiery, hungry, desperate, as if this moment is the culmination of everything you've both been holding back for so long.

Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of her skin, the strength of her frame, as she presses into you. The kiss deepens, the world outside this room irrelevant, as if nothing else matters but the two of you and the fire that has ignited between you.

Ambessa pulled back slightly, her breath warm against your lips. "I've spent my life building a legacy," she murmured, her voice low and husky. "A name that will endure long after I'm gone. And you... you were meant to be a pawn in that game. A means to an end. But now..."

She trailed off, her fingers slipping down to the hem of your shirt. She tugged it up, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. Her hands were on your skin then, her touch firm but gentle, exploring the curves of your body with a curious intensity. "Now," she continued, her voice a low soft mumble, "I find myself wanting... more." Her hand presses against your chest, forcing you gently down on the bed in one swift move.

Her hands slid down to your waist, her fingers working the clasp of your pants. You felt a flush of heat spread through you as she tugged them down with your panties, leaving you exposed, vulnerable before her. She knelt before you, her hands sliding up your thighs, her breath warm against your skin.

"Do you trust me?" she asked, her eyes locked onto yours.

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes," you managed to whisper.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she leaned in, her mouth pressing against the soft, delicate skin of your inner thigh. You shivered, your hands gripping the bed as her teeth grazed your skin, her tongue flicking against it. Slowly, she moved higher, her breath hot against your cunt, her lips brushing against your folds.

You gasped, your hips bucking as her tongue slid between your folds, exploring you with a slow, deliberate intensity. She groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Her hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as she devoured you, her tongue flicking against your clit, her lips sucking and nibbling at your sensitive flesh.

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillows as she worked you, her tongue moving with a skill that left you breathless. Your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, your hips rocking against her face as the pleasure built, coiling deep within you.

"Ambessa," you gasped, her name a prayer on your lips.

She pulled back slightly, her breath hot against your slick folds. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked, her voice a low murmur.

"No," you moaned, your hips bucking against her face. "Please... don't stop."

She chuckled, a low, husky sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and then she was on you again, her tongue diving into you, her lips sucking and nibbling at your clit. The pleasure built, a tidal wave that crashed over you, leaving you trembling and moaning, your body writhing beneath her.

You came with a cry, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling. Ambessa knelt before you, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she licked them clean, her dark eyes gleaming with a fierce yet gentle hunger.

she murmured, her voice low and husky. "I won't let anyone take you from me."

She raised from the bed, unclasping her pants slowly, her golden eyes never leaving yours that was far more sensual than it should've been. She gets her underwear off and for the first time since the forced marriage you see your wife naked from the waist down. How her bare hips dips slightly, how she had a neat trimmed bush at the top of her mound.

She climbed onto the bed, straddling you, her hands sliding up your body, exploring every inch of you. Her lips pressed against yours in a fierce, possessive kiss, her tongue sliding into your mouth, claiming you completely.

"Do you understand?" she asked, her voice a low growl against your lips. "You're mine."

You nodded, your hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. "Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and longing. "I'm yours."

She smirked, her hands sliding down to her own shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. She was left in her bra, the fabric straining against her muscular frame. Her hands moved to the clasp, unhooking it and letting it fall away, leaving her bare before you.

Her breasts were full and firm, her brown nipples hard and erect. You reached out, your hands trembling as you cupped them, your thumbs brushing against her nipples. She groaned, her hips grinding against yours, her clit pressing against your cunt.

"You're mine," she repeated, her voice a low promise as she rocked against you, her slick folds rubbing against yours. "And I'm going to make sure you know that."

Her hips moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her clit sliding against yours. Your hands fell from her breasts to tangle into the sheets, a soft moan falls from your lips that is quickly shut up by ambessa's mouth.

She broke the kiss, her hands sliding down to cup your breasts. Her thumbs brushed against your nipples, the sensation making you whimper. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice a low growl as she rocked against you, her slick womanhood rocking and rolling against yours, mixing your arousal with hers.

Your hips moved in sync with hers, the friction between your bodies sending waves of pleasure through you. You could feel the wetness between you, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the room. Ambessa's forehead rested against yours, her breath mingling with yours as she continued to move, her hips grinding against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"I hate that I married you out of political necessity," she said again, her voice softer this time. Her hips kept moving, her clit pressing against yours in a way that made it hard to focus on her words. "But that's not what this is anymore. You're more than a pawn to me now. You’re my wife.”

Her words sent a surge of emotion through you, your heart pounding in your chest. You reached up, your hands cupping her face as you gazed into her eyes.

She kissed you again, her lips soft and tender against yours. Her hips moved faster now, the pressure against your clit intensifying with each thrust of her hips. You moaned into the kiss, your fingers digging into her shoulders as you felt the tension in your body building.

You were so close again, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. Ambessa's hips moved harder, her clit grinding against yours in a way that made you cry out. She broke the kiss, her forehead resting against yours as she panted, her body moving with yours as you both chased your release.

"Let go," she whispered, her voice a low growl. "Let me feel you come."

Her words were all it took to push you over the edge. Your back arched, your body trembling as the pleasure washed over you. You cried out, your hips moving frantically against hers as you came, the sensation almost too much to bear.

Ambessa kept moving, her hips grinding against yours as she chased her own release. You could feel her clit throbbing against yours, the friction between you sending waves of pleasure through you. She moaned, her body tensing as she came, her hips still moving against yours as she rode out her orgasm.

She collapsed against you, her body trembling as she held you close. Her breath was warm against your skin, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against your chest. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as you both caught your breath.

The room was quiet, the air thick with the warmth of shared intimacy. There was a soft hum from the air circulating through the room, but otherwise, the silence felt heavy, yet comforting. Your body was still pressed against Ambessa's, your chest rising and falling with each steady breath, her skin warm against yours. The two of you lay tangled in the sheets, the weight of the world outside the door forgotten for a moment, as if time had slowed down to let you both savor this fragile stillness.

You could feel the slight thrum of her heartbeat against your own, the rhythm of it soothing, grounding. Her arm was draped over your back, her fingers brushing gently against your skin in absent-minded, slow circles. It was a contrast to the intensity of the moments before, a tenderness that spoke louder than words. Her touch was soft, almost reverent, as if she, too, was taking a moment to fully process what had just passed between you.

You nuzzled into her shoulder, pressing a light kiss against her skin, your lips barely brushing the curve of her shoulder. She hummed in response, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through her chest and sent a comforting shiver through your body.

"You're okay?" You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile peace that enveloped you both.

Ambessa shifted slightly, her hand moving to rest gently on the back of your head, her fingers weaving through your hair in a slow, soothing rhythm. "I'm more than okay," she murmured, her voice low and raspy, still touched by the heat of your shared moment.

Her words settled into you, an anchor in the quiet. She sounded content, maybe even a little vulnerable—something you were getting used to hearing from her, something that made your chest tighten in a way that felt comforting.

You sighed, letting yourself melt further into her embrace, feeling the softness of her skin beneath your fingers as you traced lazy patterns along her arm, mapping out the lines and ridges of her muscles that were usually so defined with strength. But tonight, those muscles were relaxed, the tension of her usual hard exterior gone, and she felt more human, more tangible in a way that you loved.

Ambessa's fingers continued to run gently through your hair, the quiet intimacy of the moment filling the space between you. It felt right—this closeness, this calm after the storm. There was no hurry, no urgency. Just the steady pulse of her heartbeat, the rise and fall of her chest beneath you. You had learned in moments like these that this was the part of her you cherished most—the unspoken connection, the gentleness that only emerged after everything else had been shared.

"Thank you," you murmured, your lips against her skin once again, your words almost lost in the softness of the moment. "For everything."

Ambessa didn't say anything at first. She just held you closer, as if pulling you in even tighter, her arms a quiet reassurance. Then, after a long pause, she spoke, her voice as steady as ever, though there was a softness to it that you rarely heard.

"You don't need to thank me," she said, her thumb lightly brushing the side of your face. "You've never needed to."

There was something in the way she said it, a sense of permanence to her words that sent warmth flooding through you. Ambessa, the woman who had once kept herself so locked away, was showing you parts of herself that she never allowed anyone else to see. It felt both sacred and fragile, like you were sharing something that went far beyond mere companionship.

You pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at her face. Her eyes met yours, dark and intense, but there was a softness in them now that hadn't been there before. The usual walls were lowered, and in their place was something far more raw, more real. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing steady and slow, but you could see the traces of emotion in her gaze—the unspoken feelings that lay beneath her usual stoic exterior.

Her fingers gently traced the line of your jaw, her touch almost like a caress, as if she were memorizing the feel of you against her.

"Do you feel okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern, a note of vulnerability seeping through, it made your heart flutter.

You smiled softly, a genuine warmth spreading through you as you met her gaze. "I feel perfect," you whispered, pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand as it lingered on your skin. "I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Ambessa's lips twitched into a faint smile, but it was different this time. It wasn't the hard smile of a leader, of someone who had to show strength to the world; it was a real, honest smile, a quiet one that spoke volumes. It made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered in that moment.

The two of you lay there for a while longer, tangled in sheets and each other's embrace, letting the quiet moments speak for themselves. There was no rush. No expectation. Just the quiet comfort of being with someone who, despite all the battles, all the struggles, had become something far more than you ever imagined.

And as you drifted off to sleep, her warmth still enveloping you, you realized that, despite everything that had come before, there was nothing more you needed than this—Ambessa, here with you, sharing in this rare, fragile moment of peace. And somehow, in the midst of everything, it felt like it was enough.

—-

The moon hung low in the sky as you sat by the window of the Medarda estate, staring out at the sprawling city of Noxus. Its jagged architecture and war-hardened people, once so foreign and intimidating, now felt strangely familiar. The streets below bustled even in the dead of night, yet all you could hear was the faint crackle of the fire behind you and the soft, rhythmic breaths of Ambessa as she sat in her chair across the room.

The silence between you was companionable now, not the suffocating chasm it had been when you first arrived. Back then, every second in her presence had felt like a punishment. Back then she was everything you feared about this alliance—a looming figure who represented your loss of freedom, a woman who seemed too hardened to care about anything beyond strategy and conquest. You had hated her with a ferocity you hadn’t known you were capable of.

But that hatred had softened over time. It hadn’t happened all at once—it was a slow, reluctant process. It began with the glimpses you caught of her when no one else was looking. The way she stood by the window late at night, her shoulders heavy with a weight she rarely let others see. The small, almost imperceptible sighs she let slip when she thought no one was listening. And then there were her words—few and far between, but meaningful. She didn’t speak often, but when she did, it was with purpose, and there was always something in her tone that hinted at the depth she kept buried beneath her stoic exterior.

The turning point had been the argument. That night when you had finally broken, when the weight of your forced marriage and your duty to your people had become too much to bear. You had screamed at her, vented every ounce of frustration and anger you had bottled up since the day you arrived in Noxus. And instead of meeting your fire with her own, Ambessa had listened. She had understood. And for the first time, you saw her not as the enemy, not as the conqueror who had taken everything from you, but as someone who was just as trapped as you were.

Ambessa began to let you see her vulnerability, not just in fleeting moments but in ways that felt deliberate.

You began to notice the way her eyes softened when she looked at you, the way her voice grew gentler when she spoke your name. You started to see the care in her actions, the quiet way she made space for you in her life without demanding anything in return.

The first time you realized you loved her, it had startled you. It was during one of those rare quiet moments. The realization hit you like a wave, sudden and undeniable: you didn’t just care for her. You loved her.

It wasn’t the kind of love you had ever imagined for yourself. It was messy, complicated, and born out of circumstances you wouldn’t wish on anyone. But it was real. It was deep. And it was yours.

The marriage that had once felt like a prison now felt like a partnership. You weren’t just playing roles anymore. You weren’t just fulfilling a duty. You were building something real, something meaningful, something that belonged to both of you.

Tonight, as you sat by the window, watching the city you had come to call home, you thought about how far you had come. The woman you had once hated now sat across the room, her presence a source of comfort rather than conflict. Ambessa glanced up from her work and caught your gaze, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice low and steady.

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to tell her the truth. “You,” you said softly. “Us.”

Her expression shifted, her dark eyes searching yours. “Good things, I hope.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with a warmth that still felt new, even after all this time. “The best things.”

She set down the papers she had been reading and rose from her chair, crossing the room to stand beside you. Her hand found yours, her touch grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I never thought this would happen,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought we’d get here.”

“Neither did I,” she said, her tone soft but honest. “But I’m glad we did.”

You looked up at her, the firelight casting shadows across her strong features. In her eyes, you saw everything—the strength that had once intimidated you, the vulnerability she had let you see, the love that now bound you together.

For the first time, you didn’t feel like you were in a forced marriage. You felt like you were home.

Ambessa leaned down, her forehead resting against yours. It was a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of everything you had been through together. Everything you had fought for. Everything you had built.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Her hand tightened around yours, her voice steady and sure as she replied, “And I love you.”

The words were a promise, a commitment, a declaration of something that no longer felt forced or contrived. It was real. It was yours. And it was enough.

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aryadelvich · 2 days ago

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So it’s a mixture of all the requests you’ve send — thank you very much ! — Here’s the list :

1. Academic rivals to lover

2. First kiss, first time.

3. Summer love, camp counsellor trope

4. College loves.

Also thanks you for your comments, likes and reblog 🥹🫶 It’s warm my heart

I want to thank Spotify for accompanying me for this story ;)

— University of Pennsylvania – Football Field —

The stands are packed, buzzing with excitement as the inter-university match is about to begin. Your team is up against NYU, and the energy in the air is electric. You stretch your legs, adjusting your jersey while scanning the crowd.

That’s when you spot him.

Luigi is standing a few rows up in the bleachers, surrounded by his usual group of friends. He’s effortlessly noticeable—tall, with that casual confidence that somehow makes him stand out even when he’s just laughing along with the others. He catches your eye and, without hesitation, jogs down toward the railing separating the field from the stands.

In his hand, he holds a small container of blue face paint.

“Hey,” he calls, holding it out toward you. “Want to do the honors?”

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “The honors?”

He gestures toward his face and chest. “Yeah. Put some paint on me. Show some team spirit.”

You let out a short laugh, tilting your head. “Really? You want me to put my hands on your skin? You trust me for that?”

For a split second, something flickers across his face—hesitation, maybe even realization. His easy confidence wavers just slightly.

“…Never mind,” he mutters, turning the lid back onto the paint.

You smirk, shaking your head. “That’s what I thought.”

— One week later —

Luigi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, his piercing green/brown eyes narrowing at you like you'd just declared war. His curls fell slightly into his face, and he pushed them back with a practiced flick of his hand.

You smirked, leaning forward on your elbows, your own gaze never wavering.

"And here I thought you were paying attention in class. Guess not. Maybe if you spent less time flexing your abs for the cheer squad and more time studying, you'd actually keep up."

His jaw tightened, but there was something else in his expression—something that made his usual cocky grin falter for half a second. He recovered quickly, though, flashing that signature smile that made half the campus swoon.

"Funny. I don't recall asking for your opinion on how I spend my time. But hey, if you're so obsessed with my abs, maybe I should start charging for the view."

You swear, if this guy wasn't built like a Greek god, you'd have punched him by now.

But you didn't punch him. Instead, you rolled your eyes, shoving your notes into your bag with more force than necessary.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mangione. Your ego's already big enough to fill this entire lecture hall."

He laughed, low and deep, and it grated on your nerves.

« Whatever you say, Y/N. But I'm gonna win the debate competition." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air between him and you.

It's been two years consecutive that he wins this competition, and you knew that it's was your chance to prove yourself and for the same occasion humiliate him.

You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Good luck catching up," you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "You're gonna need it."

As your walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back like twin lasers. What the hell is his problem? You thought, your heart pounding for reasons you refused to acknowledge.

You've been at each other's throats since freshman year, competing for top marks in every class, trading barbs whenever you crossed paths. It was exhausting, infuriating... and somehow, weirdly exhilarating.

Two Weeks Later – Debate Competition

The auditorium buzzed with anticipation as the final round of the debate competition began. The topic? "Is capitalism inherently exploitative?"

You stood at your podium, pulse steady, determination burning in your chest. Across from you, Luigi leaned against his own, exuding the same infuriating confidence he always did. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms, and he had that smug little smirk like he'd already won.

Not this time.

The moderator signaled for the debate to begin. Luigi started, his voice smooth and authoritative.

"Capitalism has lifted millions out of poverty, fostering innovation, competition, and economic growth. The free market incentivizes efficiency, rewarding those who work hard and contribute to society."

You let him talk, feigning disinterest as you twirled your pen between your fingers. When it was your turn, you took a deep breath and smiled.

"That's a nice fairy tale, Mangione. But let's talk reality. The wealth gap is wider than ever, workers are exploited for profit, and entire industries thrive on underpaying laborers while CEOs collect bonuses the size of small countries. If capitalism really rewarded hard work, explain why nurses barely make a livable wage while hedge fund managers get rich moving numbers around on a screen."

Luigi narrowed his eyes. "That's an oversimplification. The market adjusts itself. When a system is inefficient, it evolves—industries that fail to provide value either adapt or collapse. Competition forces innovation. If wages are too low, businesses will struggle to retain talent, and the market will naturally push salaries higher. Government intervention only distorts this balance, creating inefficiencies that harm long-term economic growth. The reality is, capitalism isn't perfect, but no other system has produced the same level of progress and opportunity."

"So you're saying child labor in sweatshops is just an inefficiency that'll 'fix itself'?" you responded smoothly.

A ripple of murmurs ran through the audience. Luigi hesitated—just for a second. His sisters, sitting with his parents in the front row, exchanged glances. You caught the small, proud smile on your own mother's face.

Game on.

You pressed forward, dismantling his every counterpoint with cold, hard facts. Every time he tried to regain control of the debate, you had an answer waiting. And for the first time since you'd started competing against him, he had nothing left to say.

When the final vote came in, the judges's decision was tight. But You won.

Luigi stared at the results, lips parted slightly, as if trying to process what had just happened.

"You okay there, Mangione?" you teased, stepping closer. "You look a little... shocked."

He blinked, then let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his curls.

"Huh," he muttered, shaking his head. "Didn't think I'd live to see the day."

You grinned, savoring the moment. "Better get used to it."

"You know," Luigi's voice was calmer now, lacking its usual teasing edge, "I didn't lose because you were better than me."

You turned, arching a brow. "Oh? So what, you tripped over your own ego and face-planted into defeat?"

He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head before meeting your gaze. But this time, there was no smug grin, no hint of competition—just honesty.

"I lost because I didn't even believe what I was saying."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Luigi sighed, leaning against one of the tables. "I've defended ideas in debates before. Won every time. But today? I couldn't bring myself to mean it."

He ran a hand through his curls, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"I know how messed up the system is. I know that no matter how much you try to justify it, it does exploit people. And the second I started talking, I realized I didn't have the same fire I usually do."

You crossed your arms, studying him. This was... unexpected.

"So, what? You're telling me you lost on purpose? »

"Of course not," he scoffed, shooting you a look. "I gave everything I had. But when you're up against someone who genuinely believes what they're saying? Someone who can argue with conviction? You don't stand a chance."

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Sounds like an excuse to me, Mangione."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up.”

You took a step closer, tilting your head. "You know, the whole point of oratory is to convince people, even when you don't believe in what you're saying."

Luigi's gaze flickered with interest. "So you're saying you could argue for capitalism and win?"

You shrugged. "Maybe."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "That's terrifying."

You grinned. "That's debate"

For a moment, there was silence. The usual sharp tension between you had shifted into something else—something quieter. He watched you with an unreadable expression, and for once, you didn't feel the need to break the moment with a snarky remark.

But then he smirked. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Y/N. Next time, I won't go easy on you."

You scoffed. "You didn't go easy on me. You just lost."

His smile faltered for half a second, then he laughed under his breath. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

Before you could respond, your little sister, darted right past you, running up to him.

"Are you Luigi?" she asked, eyes wide.

Luigi crouched slightly to her level, flashing a grin. "Depends. Are you the little sister who's probably way smarter than your big one?"

Before your sister could answer, you grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back.

"Don't talk to him," you told her, voice mock-serious. "He's a racist."

The conversation halted. Luigi's jaw dropped slightly. His sisters, standing a few feet away, whipped their heads toward him. His mother gasped. Your own mother smacked your arm.

"Y/N!"

You snorted, unable to hold in your laughter. "Relax, he's not actually racist. He's just annoying."

Luigi sighed in relief. His father gave him a skeptical glance, and one of his sisters muttered, "For a second, I was about to disown you."

"You're not funny," Luigi grumbled at you, shaking his head.

"You laughed, though."

"Absolutely not." He said with a smile on his face.

"Mm-hm. Sure."

You turned to introduce your mother properly to his family, but out of the corner of your eye, you caught something—Luigi watching you. Not with his usual smirk. Not with irritation. Just watching.

— Summer Break —

The sun hung high over the camp, casting warm golden light over the rows of cabins and the dense forest surrounding them. You adjusted your staff T-shirt, feeling the heat seep into your skin as you made your way toward the main hall for the pre-opening staff meeting.

You had applied to work here months ago—decent pay, free lodging, and a summer spent beside the beach and the soft breeze of summer.

Or so you thought.

The moment you walked into the meeting room, your body froze.

Leaning casually against one of the tables, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the same staff T-shirt as you, was Luigi.

His curls were slightly damp, probably from the heat, and he looked up just in time to see you enter.

For a moment, the room went silent.

Then, in perfect sync:

"No way."

You both said it at the exact same time, staring at each other in disbelief.

Luigi let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You're kidding me."

"I should be the one saying that," you shot back, still processing the sheer misery of the situation. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Volontarisme, obviously." He gestured at the staff badge hanging around his neck. "What, you think I came for the fresh air?"

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. The other counselors were already watching with amused expressions, whispering to each other.

One of the senior staff members, a woman named Maya, clapped her hands together. "Alright, I take it you two know each other?"

Luigi smirked. "Oh, we go way back."

You shot him a glare before turning back to Maya. "We're at the same university, don't know him."

"Right," Maya said, clearly entertained. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to work on your teamwork skills this summer."

Luigi grinned, and you immediately regretted every life choice that led you here.

— Three weeks later —

It had been three weeks since the summer camp started, and somehow, you and Luigi had mostly managed to stay out of each other's way.

Until today.

The staff had been assigned to deep-clean the common areas before the next wave of campers arrived. You were already in a bad mood from scrubbing floors when Maya, ever the troublemaker, sent you and Luigi to restock cleaning supplies in the storage room.

The small, cramped storage closet filled with bleach, detergent, and every cleaning product imaginable.

"Just grab what we need and get out," you muttered as you pulled open the door.

Luigi, of course, took his time. "Relax. It's not like the camp's gonna collapse if we take an extra minute."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a mop from the shelf. "That attitude is why you lost the debate, by the way."

Luigi snorted. "Oh, we're bringing that up again? Please, you won because I was morally conflicted."

"You lost because I was better than you."

"And yet, here we are, stuck working the same job," he pointed out, raising a brow.

You were about to fire back a retort when the door shut behind you.

Then, the distinct click of the lock turning.

Silence.

You whipped around. Luigi reached for the handle, twisting it. Nothing. He tried again. Locked.

He let out a sharp exhale, then turned to you, scowling.

"You couldn't keep the damn door open with your big ass?"

Your eyes widened.

Then, without thinking, you grabbed the nearest spray bottle and chucked it straight at him.

"Are you serious right now?!" you snapped as he barely dodged it. "We're trapped in a closet full of BLEACH, and you're blaming me ?”

Luigi ran a hand through his curls, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. "I'm just saying, maybe if you didn't take up half the doorway—"

"Finish that sentence, Mangione. I dare you."

He shut his mouth.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers against your temples. "Unbelievable. I'm going to die here. With you."

Luigi scoffed. "Oh please, if anyone's dying first, it's me. You'll probably suffocate me before the lack of oxygen does."

You turned to glare at him. "That can be arranged."

A dozen ideas flashed through his mind—one in particular involving you and a rather strategic seating arrangement—but he wisely kept that thought to himself.

"I didn't say it was your fault—"

"Oh, shut up, Mangione." You pressed your forehead against the door, willing it to magically open.

No luck.

From the other side, you heard faint laughter.

The air between you shifted slightly. The usual sharpness of your arguments was still there, but being stuck in a cramped space with him suddenly made it feel... different.

Closer.

Too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping away from the door. "Let's just find another way out before we die of chemical inhalation."

Luigi smirked, that irritating confidence returning. "Scared of being trapped with me, Y/N?"

You shot him a glare. "Terrified."

His chuckle was low and amused as he crossed his arms. "Don't worry. I'll protect you from the scary cleaning supplies."

You could hear the faint click of his tongue, the sound of him shifting slightly behind you. His body grazed yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

You reached for your phone, only to realize it wasn't in your pocket. Of course. You'd left it in your bag. "Do you have your phone?"

"No," he admitted, his tone clipped. "Left it in my locker."

Silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. The room was cramped, the shelves stacked with supplies pressing in on all sides. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence impossible to ignore.

You pressed yourself harder against the shelf, hoping to put some space between you and Luigi, but it was useless. He was right behind you, his chest nearly brushing against your back.

"Can you not stand so close?" you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I would if I could," he said, his voice annoyingly calm. "But there's literally nowhere else to go."

The room was suffocatingly small, and the faint scent of his cologne wasn't helping.

"Well, stop breathing down my neck," you muttered, hoping the irritation in your tone would mask the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

He let out a quiet laugh, and you could feel the rumble of it in the air between you.

"I'm not breathing down your neck," he said, his voice dipping lower, "but you do seem tense. Nervous, even."

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, your irritation bubbling to the surface. You turned your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, but immediately regretted it. He was too close. His face was inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Back off," you hissed.

"Sure," he replied smoothly, "as soon as we figure out how to open that door."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the lock, ignoring how your hands shook slightly as you fiddled with the knob. The silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, until you felt him lean in closer.

"Are you always this stubborn, or is it just when I'm around?" he murmured near your ear, his voice low and teasing.

Your breath hitched, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting. Instead, you glared at the lock as if it were the source of all your problems.

"Are you always this insufferable, or is it just with me?" you shot back.

He chuckled again, soft and infuriating. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Your grip tightened on the handle as your heart raced. You weren't flustered. No. That's exactly what he wanted, and you weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered, shoving the handle harder in a desperate attempt to break free.

But in the back of your mind, as you felt his warmth against your back and his calm, steady presence behind you, you weren't sure if you wanted him to move away after all.

And then it happened. You felt it.

A subtle shift against your lower back, a hardness you hadn't anticipated. Your breath caught in your throat, your body instinctively stiffening. No. This was not happening. Not with him.

But it was happening. You could feel him—every inch of him—pressed against you. His breath hitched, barely audible, but you heard it. A soft, involuntary sound that sent a jolt through you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, thick with tension, and you were hyper-aware of every tiny movement. His hardness pressed more insistently against you, and you couldn't stop the way your body reacted.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly, just enough to feel him more fully against you. His breath caught again, and you heard him swallow hard.

"Y/n," he whispered, his voice strained.

You didn't respond. Instead, you did it again, this time more deliberately. You rubbed against him, feeling the way he tensed behind you, the way his breath came in shallow bursts.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the shelves on either side of you. You could feel him struggling to stay still, to resist the pull between you. But it was too late. You'd already crossed the line.

You pushed back against him again, your heart pounding in your chest. This was wrong. He was your rival. Your enemy. And yet, the way he was reacting to you—the way his body responded to every move you made—was impossible to ignore.

He groaned softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hips moved against you, almost unconsciously, and you could feel the heat building between you.

"You're not... stopping," he breathed, his voice barely audible.

"You want me to stop?" you shot back, your tone defiant.

“No,” he said between two moans.

He let out a low, guttural sound, his body pressing harder against yours. You could feel the tension in him, the way he was trying—and failing—to hold back.

And then it happened. He came.

You felt it—the way his body trembled against yours, the way his breath hitched, the way he let out a soft, almost pained moan. His hands gripped the shelves tighter, his body shuddering as he spilled into his pants.

The room fell silent again, the only sound the ragged breaths escaping both of you. You stood there, your back still pressed against him, your mind racing.

"Fuck," he muttered again, his voice rough and filled with frustration.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your body was still humming with the tension, the heat, the way he'd reacted to you.

And then, finally, he spoke again. "This doesn't change anything," he said, his voice low and firm.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see his profile in the dim light. His jaw was clenched, his expression hard. "No," you agreed, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "It doesn't."

But as you stood there, still pressed against him, you couldn't help but wonder—was that really true?

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the heat of his body against yours. His breath was warm on your neck, and the tension between you was almost unbearable. But something in you resisted—this wasn't the time, and he wasn't the one who got to decide when things escalated.

Not like this. Not with him.

You took a deep breath, then stepped back, breaking the contact between you. The sudden distance felt cold, like you'd ripped off a blanket in the middle of winter. Luigi blinked, his expressive face flickering with surprise before it settled back into that infuriating smirk.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low but laced with curiosity.

"I'm not doing anything," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're the one who got us stuck in here. So, figure out how to get the door open."

He raised an eyebrow, that smirk widening. "Oh, so now it's my fault? I seem to recall you were the one who followed me into the lab in the first place."

Your cheeks flushed, but you refused to let him see how much his words affected you. "I didn't follow you. I had work to do. You just happened to be here."

"Sure," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I just happened to get locked in here with you. Totally a coincidence."

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him to examine the door more closely. "Just fix it, Luigi. I don't have time for your games."

He stepped closer, his presence looming behind you. You could feel the warmth of his body again, and it took everything in you not to lean back into it. "What if I don't want to?" he murmured, his voice so soft it sent a shiver down your spine. "What if I think this is... convenient?"

You whirled around, glaring at him. "Convenient? Are you serious right now? We're locked in a lab, Luigi. This isn't some romantic comedy. This is a safety hazard."

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, like it was meant only for you. "Romantic comedy, huh? So, you do think about us like that."

"I think you're delusional," you snapped, though your voice wavered slightly. "Now, either you figure out how to open this door, or I'll start yelling for help."

Your heart was racing now, and you could feel your resolve starting to crumble. Why does he have to be like this? You clenched your fists, trying to steady yourself. "Luigi, I swear, if you don't back off—"

"If I don't back off, what?" he interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What are you going to do about it?"

You spun around, ready to snap at him again, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was something there—something raw and unfiltered. It wasn't just arrogance or amusement. It was... truth. And it terrified you.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. "Because I can't help myself," he admitted, his voice rough. "Because every time I'm near you, I can't think straight. And I hate it."

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. "You hate it?"

"Yes," he said, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "But I also can't stop."

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, and you felt your resistance melting away. This is a bad idea, your brain whispered, but your body didn't seem to care.

"Luigi..." you started, but he cut you off, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that took your breath away.

For a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. But then your body took over, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with equal intensity. It was messy, it was desperate, and it was everything you'd been trying to avoid.

He pressed you against the door, his body pinning you in place as his hands roamed over your waist, your hips, your thighs. You gasped into his mouth, your mind spinning as the world around you faded away.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured against your lips, his voice heavy with need. "You know that, right?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't. All you could do was hold on as he deepened the kiss, his fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting.

"I... I've never done that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Luigi..." you whispered, your voice trembling.

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "We shouldn't do this," he said, though his eyes said something entirely different.

"Then why did you start it?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

He hesitated, then stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Because I'm an idiot," he admitted, his tone laced with frustration. "And because I can't stay away from you, no matter how hard I try."

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. What do I do now?

Before you could answer, he turned away, pacing the small room like a caged animal. "This is a terrible idea," he muttered, mostly to himself. "You're my competition. My rival. This is only going to complicate things."

"You're the one who kissed me," you pointed out, your voice steadier now.

He stopped pacing and looked at you, his expression a mix of desire and resignation. "Yeah, I did. And I'd do it again if you let me."

Luigi's words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. "I'd do it again if you let me." His eyes burned into yours, daring you to make the next move. The lab felt impossibly small now, the air thick with tension and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Your heart raced, torn between the logical part of your brain screaming that this was a terrible idea and the part that wanted to see just how far he'd go.

You stepped closer, your breath hitching as his gaze followed you. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just watched you, his expressive face betraying a mix of anticipation and doubt. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the hem of his hoodie, and felt him tense under your touch.

"You're not going to stop me, are you?" you murmured, your voice low but steady.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do I look like I want to stop you?"

That was all the confirmation you needed. Your hands moved to the waistband of his short, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. He didn't help you, but he didn't stop you either, his hands hovering at his sides, he wasn't sure what to do with them —much like you. It was the first time you had ever been this close to a man. When you finally got the zipper down, you glanced up at him, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Don't overthink it," he said, his voice rough but soft.

You didn't. You pushed his jeans down just enough to free him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He let out a sharp exhale, his head tipping back slightly as you began to stroke him, — tasting his previous cum — slow and deliberate. His hands finally found their place, one tangling in your hair while the other gripped the edge of the lab table behind him.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice strained. "You're not playing fair."

You smirked, your lips brushing against the tip of him before you took him into your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips twitching forward instinctively, but he stopped himself, letting you set the pace. You could taste the salt of him, feel the way he hardened further as you worked him with your tongue and lips. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and when you glanced up at him, you saw his eyes dark with desire, his jaw clenched as he fought to stay in control.

"You're—" he started, but his words cut off into a groan when you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. His hand in your hair tightened again, not painfully, but enough to make your scalp tingle. "Oh, you're good at this."

You pulled back slightly, swirling your tongue around the tip before looking up at him. "You sound surprised."

He let out a breathless laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I shouldn't be. You're good at everything."

The compliment sent a thrill through you, and you returned your attention to him, sucking harder this time. His hips jerked forward, and he cursed under his breath, his fingers flexing in your hair. "Careful," he warned, though there was no real threat in his tone. "If you keep doing that, I'm not going to last."

You hummed in response, the vibration making him groan again. His free hand found its way to your shoulder, gripping it tightly as if he needed something to ground him. You could feel him trembling under your touch, his control unraveling with every stroke of your tongue, every flick of your lips. He was close—you could tell by the way his breathing hitched, the way his thighs tensed under your hands.

"Wait," he said suddenly, his voice strained. "Wait, I—"

You didn't stop. Instead, you took him deeper, your throat relaxing as you swallowed him down. His grip on your hair tightened almost painfully, but you didn't mind. You wanted him to lose control, to let go completely. And he did. With a low, guttural groan, he came, his body stiffening as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed, your lips still wrapped around him as he rode out the aftershocks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

When you finally pulled away, he slumped back against the lab table, his chest heaving. His hand fell from your hair, and he ran it over his face, letting out a shaky laugh. "Fuck," he said again, his voice hoarse. "That was—fuck."

You stood up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He looked at you, his eyes still dark but softer now, almost tender. "You're insane," he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

"So I've been told," you replied, your voice teasing.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "Come here," he said, his tone softer now. You stepped closer, and he kissed you—tasting himself—slow and deep, his hands tangling in your hair again. It was different from the first kiss—less frantic, more deliberate, as if he was trying to convey something he couldn't put into words.

You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breathing ragged, and it only made you want him more.

When you finally broke apart again, you were both panting, your foreheads pressed together.

"So... what now?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

You hesitated, your mind racing. What was next? You were still rivals, still the same people we'd been five minutes ago. And yet, something between you had shifted, something that couldn't be undone.

Before you could answer, the sound of footsteps outside the door made you both freeze.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?" a voice called from the other side.

Luigi and you quickly pulled apart, your faces flushed, as the door swung open. One of the other counselors stood there, looking confused.

"Oh, there you are! We've been looking for you two," they said, oblivious to what had just happened.

"Uh, yeah. We got... locked in," Luigi said, his voice uneven.

"Right. Well, come on, we need you out here for the next activity," they said, turning and walking away.

Luigi glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "So... next time we're alone—"

"Next time," you interrupted, your voice firm. "We finish what we started."

— Sunset —

The air was thick with the scent of pine and campfire as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The camp was alive with laughter and chatter, but your mind was elsewhere. Luigi. The memory of his lips on yours, his hands trembling against your waist, lingered like a phantom touch. You couldn't shake it. The rivalry had always been intense, but now it felt like something else entirely.

You found yourself wandering in the beach, where you can heard the sound of the waves and feel the breeze against your skin. The faint sound of rustling leaves caught your attention, and you turned to see Luigi standing a few feet away. He looked nervous, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts. "Hey," he said softly, his voice almost lost in the rustling of the waves.

"Hey," you replied, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something about the way he looked at you, a mix of vulnerability and determination, that made it hard to breathe. "What are you doing out here?"

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I wanted to talk to you. About... earlier."

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to steady yourself. "What about it?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours again. "I've never done that before. Kissed someone, I mean."

Your breath hitched. You knew he was a virgin, but hearing him say it out loud sent a jolt of electricity through you. "Neither have I," You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you, his eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"

You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Really."

There was a moment of silence, the tension between you palpable. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out to grasp yours. His touch was warm, his fingers trembling slightly as they interlaced with yours. "I don't want to stop," he said, his voice low and rough. "I want to know what it's like. With you."

Your heart was racing now, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You wanted it too, wanted to feel him, all of him, but the rivalry that had always defined your relationship was still there, lurking beneath the surface. "What about this?" You asked, gesturing between him and you. "This... thing between us. Is it just about competition?"

He shook his head, his grip on your hands tightening. "No. It's not. It's never been just about that. Not really."

You searched his eyes, looking for any hint of deception, but all you saw was honesty, raw and unfiltered. "Then what is it?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It's... I don't know. Something more. Something I can't explain."

You didn't need an explanation. You could feel it, the pull between you and him, the way your bodies seemed to gravitate toward each other without conscious thought. You stepped closer, your chests almost touching, and tilted you head up to look at him. "Show me," you whispered.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his hands were on your face, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that took your breath away. The kiss was different from the one in the supply room, deeper, more intense. It was like he was pouring everything he had into it, every ounce of his longing, his desire, his need.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the sides of his face. Your tongues clashed, the taste of him intoxicating. He groaned, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, and his hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, your own voice shaky. "Yes."

He hesitated for only a moment before scooping you up into his arms and carrying you deeper into the tent. You could feel the soft sand of the ground beneath you, and he gently set you down, his body hovering over yours.

"I've never done this before," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I'm doing."

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. "Neither do I. But we'll figure it out together."

He nodded, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. Then slowly, almost reverently, his hands began to explore your body, tracing the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, your breath hitching as he moved lower.

His fingers fumbled with the button on your shorts, and you helped him, guiding his hands until the fabric slid down your legs. His eyes widened as he took you in, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

His hands were tentative at first, exploring the curves of your body with a reverence that made your breath catch. And then he was kissing you again—starting at your collarbone, trailing down to your stomach, lower and lower until you felt his breath between your legs.

You tensed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Luigi,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you, his eyes blazing. “Trust me,” he said, his voice steady.

And you did. You trusted him enough to let go, to surrender to the waves of pleasure that crashed over you as he began to explore you with his mouth. His touch was hesitant at first, unsure, but quickly grew more confident as he learned what made you gasp, what made you arch your back.

“Where did you learn this?” You managed to say, your voice breathless. “In a book, uh?”

He paused, looking up at you with a smirk. “Maybe,” he said, his tone teasing. “Or maybe I just know what you like.”

You laughed—a soft, breathless sound that was quickly swallowed by the sensations coursing through you. His tongue was relentless, his hands gripping your hips as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

You reached for him, your hands trembling as you undid his belt and slid his pants down. He was hesitant at first, his movements unsure, but as your bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a sense of urgency overtook the two of you.

He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes. Please, Luigi."

With a shaky breath, he entered you, the sensation both strange and exhilarating. There was a moment of discomfort, a sharp sting that made you gasp, but he paused, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Yes. Please keep going."

He did as you asked, moving slowly at first, the friction between you building with each thrust. The awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a pleasure that was unlike anything you has ever felt. His movements became more confident, his body pressing against yours with a rhythm that had you gasping for air.

"Luigi," you moaned, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. His hands gripped your hips, his touch firm but gentle as he moved inside of you. The tension, the rivalry that had always driven you, seemed to melt away, leaving only raw, unfiltered passion.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender. Your tongues tangled, the taste of him mingling with the sensation of his body moving against yours. The world outside ceased to exist, the night fading into a blur of sensations and emotions.

You could feel the pressure building inside you, a coil of heat that threatened to unravel at any moment. His movements became more erratic, his breathing ragged as he whispered your name against your lips. "I'm close," he gasped, his voice filled with need.

"Me too," you replied, your hands clutching at his back. The tension inside you snapped, a wave of pleasure washing over you as you cried out his name. He followed soon after, his body tensing as he found his release, his voice a low, guttural moan against your neck.

For a moment, you lay there, your bodies tangled together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Then slowly, he pulled away, his eyes meeting yours.

"So... that just happened," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The reality of what you had just done began to sink in, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. “I’ve never tough it will be with you." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

— End of summer back to university —

Back at university, it was as if nothing had changed. You still argued in class, still traded barbs at parties, still acted like you couldn't stand each other. But behind closed doors, in the privacy of Luigi's dorm room, it was a different story.

His room was small and cluttered, with textbooks piled on the desk and posters of his favorite bands peeling off the walls. But to you, it was your sanctuary. The place where you could let go of the act and just be with him. You'd sneak in late at night, careful not to be seen, and he'd be waiting for you, his lips claiming yours the moment the door clicked shut.

Tonight was no different. You were lying on his bed, his arms wrapped around you as you traced circle patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your fingertips, and the room was filled with the soft sound of his breathing.

"We can't keep doing this," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You froze, your hand stilling on his chest. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to hide this anymore. I don't want to pretend like I don't love you when we're around other people."

Love. The word sent a shiver down your spine. You'd both danced around it, never saying it out loud, but hearing it now made your stomach twist with both fear and longing.

"I don't care what they think," he said fiercely, his eyes locking onto yours. "I love you. I want the whole world to know it."

You shook your head, sitting up to face him. A smile tugged at your lips as your heart pounded in your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

"You mean that?" you asked softly, searching his face for any hesitation.

He didn't waver. "Of course I do."

Relief and warmth flooded through you, and without another thought, you cupped his face in your hands, leaning in until your foreheads touched.

"Then let's tell them," you whispered. "I love you too."

A large smile appeared in his face.

"No, I love you." He bids.

"Don't start the completion again..."

"Because you'll lose." He adds his smile still on his face.

Thanks you for reading all this ! If you have a request just ask I will do my best ! Which you all the best ! Love.

#luigi mangione #free luigi #luigi #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione college #luigi my beloved #enemies to lovers #summer love

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munsonsmixtapes · 2 days ago

Text

Such a Good Boy, Knows How to Please

Billy Hargrove x Hopper!fem!reader

You convince yourself that you hate Billy, but after having nothing but dirty thoughts about him, you give him a proposition.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) mention of vomit/throwing up

The summer sun beats down on the pool that's filled with people swimming, splashing, and just generally just trying to soak up the last few days of summer before school starts again. It's so hot that you can feel your flesh burning underneath your many layers of sunscreen. You're there because you know you're really going to miss the pool when you go back to college next week.

Most of the other women, though, they're just there for him. Every day, you watch them fix themselves, touching up their hair and pulling down the tops of their swimsuits to show off their cleavage. And he eats out of the palm of their hands, always making conversation, pulling down his sunglasses as he not so subtly flirts with them.

You seem to be the only one who's not on the receiving end of the flirting and you're starting to think that maybe it's because he knows who your dad is. It would make sense that he wouldn't want to involved with the daughter of the chief of police. And it's not like you care, anyway. You've always hated Billy.

You honestly just don't get the hype, why pretty much every woman in Hawkins is throwing themselves at him. Why wives and mothers are willing to ruin their marriages for that pig. Sure, you can admit that he's hot, but any admiration you might have always goes out the window anytime he opens his mouth.

He just says those dirty things for shock value and you have no idea why anyone ever believes him. You're sure that he just has a notebook filled with lines that he uses instead of speaking from his heart. That's not his thing because all he cares about is getting women into bed and as soon as he's done with them, he kicks them to the curb. It's nothing you haven't seen before.

Billy exits the back room to start his shift and you roll your eyes, adjusting your sunglasses on your face as you collect your things to leave. You can't take another minute of watching everyone fawn all over him. And besides, you really think you need to be in some AC.

You're leaving just as Billy is passing your lounge chair and just when you think he's going to head to his chair, he stops right in front of you, preventing you from leaving. His arms are crossed over his chest and he's got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that always means that he's up to no good.

"Where ya goin', Hopper?" He asks and you pull your sunglasses down to show him just how unimpressed you are with him.

"Home, not that it isn't any of your business." Billy knows that you don't like him, but he just loves pisses you off. You're so hot when you're angry and the fact that it's aimed towards him makes it even more so.

"Aww, you can't play with me for a little longer?" He pouts and you just scoff. How do people actually fall for this shit? "I just got here."

"Afraid not," you shrug. Usually being short with people is a deterrent, but not with Billy. It only eggs him on. But you can't be bothered with making conversation with him.

"Our sisters are friends, why can't we be?" If Billy were a nice guy, you probably would have been friends with him, but he's not and the kind of friends he wants to be doesn't interest you.

"Because you don't have friends, Billy. And I really don't want to be whatever you do have so if you'll excuse me." You push past him and he watches you hurry towards the gate where you exit before disappearing from his view.

Once you're gone, he turns to head to his chair, but the sun reflects off something out of the corner of his eye. He heads over to the lounge chair where you had been lying and notices a book there. Billy picks it up and pulls down his sunglasses to get a better look at it. There's a man and woman on the cover. They're embracing and he's got his lips on her neck as she arches her back. He never would have expected you to read this kind of thing, but he supposes he doesn't know you very well.

He sticks the small book into the pocket of his swim trunks then makes the rounds of flirting with all of the MILFs before heading to his chair, pulling the book out once he's settled.

He flips to the first page and his eyes widen at how graphic it all is. It's not something he normally reads (he doesn't actually read at all) but he has to admit that he's intrigued. So much so that he does nothing but read until it's time for his break.

He's already halfway through when his shift is over and he makes sure to hide it in his bag so nobody can see it. Can't have people thinking he reads and especially not something like that. That would be too fucking embarrassing to actually admit it.

He hurries to his car to make sure no one will talk to him and is quick to peel out of the parking lot, driving faster than he definitely should have, but everyone is used to it by now. Well, they should be.

You arrive home just in time to make dinner. you head to El's room to tell her that you're back from the pool only to find her and Max on the floor, giggling while reading magazines. You're surprised to find someone who's not Mike, but you love that she actually has friend who's a girl. She definitely needs more female presences in her life and having one who's actually her age makes you nothing but happy for her.

"Oh, hello," you greet, still caught off guard by your guests.

"Hi," El responds, then gestures to the re4d head to the right of her. "This is Max. She's sleeping over."

"Did dad say this was okay?" You ask, suddenly taking on your older sister role as you put your hands on your hips.

"Yep," she nods, and you glare at her, staring into her eyes because you know how terrible of liar she is and she always cracks if you lean into her just a bit. Once you decide she's telling the truth, you ease up and go back to being her friend again.

You had met Max briefly over the years with giving El rides different places and such, but you've never actually been able to have a full-on conversation with her. Now you think you might have a chance. She actually seems normal compared to her gross step-brother.

"Hi," Max gives you a little wave.

"I'm y/n," you introduce yourself with a smile. "Well, dinner's ready if you guys are ready to eat." You leave the door open then head back towards the table.

The girls follow you and the three of you sit at the table, chewing on your waffles between conversation and your heart warms at hearing your sisters laughs. Just from what you've seen, you really like Max and the influence she has on El. That she's letting her be her own person which you've been so hard to do ever since she became your sister.

You really hope this friendship lasts, really hoping that doesn't mean that you have to talk to Billy. But anything for El. If her having a friend that actually cares about her interests means you have to actually speak to Billy Hargrove, then so be it.

After dinner, the three of you gather around the tv and watch some cartoons. The girls are giggling about something while whispering to each other and you hate that you're suddenly feeling left out, jealous. El would often call you her best friend and now you're just her older sister.

There's a knock on the door and you're grateful for something to distract you from your silly feelings. You excuse yourself and hurry to answer the door, not even thinking about who could be on the other side. You step back as Billy Hargrove comes into view. You're sure that this is all just a very vivid nightmare and hate that this man keeps taking over your thoughts. It isn't fair. It's your mind so you should have a say in what goes on in it, right?

You can't help but let your eyes rake over his body, taking in his very cropped tank top and very very short cut offs that have you feeling dizzy. How fucking dare he look so good when you're trying so hard to hate him?

"Hopper," he says with a smile and you feel gross that you actually like the way his last name sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Hargrove," you mutter, wanting him to get on with whatever he's going to say so he'll leave your property. You keep blinking and he's not going away. You even go as far pinching yourself just to be sure that this is real life.

"It's not a dream," he winks. "I'm actually here. I'm sure you've imagined this a lot, haven't you?"

"Not even once," you grimace at the thought. "Now what do you want? I'm kind of busy."

"Yeah, doing what? Getting off to the thought of me?" He's got on his signature smug smirk and you just so desperately want to smack him, but decide against it because you're sure that he would like it.

"Not even close. Now tell me what you're doing here before I grab my dad's shotgun." You're getting even more angry and Billy's feeling himself getting hard. He almost wants to say something even worse so you'll yell at him. That always makes him so fucking hard.

The girls are now off the couch, making their way to stand on either side of you, feeling the need to protect you from whoever you're threatening to shoot.

"What are you doing here?" Max asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, Maxine," he smiles, reaching into the back pocket of his shorts, pulling out the book that you left at the pool, so close to asking if you have another one he can borrow because now he's obsessed.

You snatch the book out of his hands and quickly flipping through the pages because there's no telling what he's done to it. Billy just stands there, amused by whatever you're doing with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing there, Hopper?" He asks, trying his best to bite back a laugh.

"Making sure none of the pages are stuck together," you glare and hand the book to El once you've flipping through every page. Max giggles at your joke but El just stares at you in confusion. You then step out on the porch and give Billy a shove, which catches him off guard.

"Now get lost, Hargrove," you glare and he knows he's got to get out of there before you see his hard on. He turns on his heel and descends the stairs and you definitely do not check out his ass as he heads to his car.

Once he's speeding away, you slam the door and swipe the book from El's hands, storming off to your room, letting your anger the best of you. The girls invite themselves inside and the three of you sit on your bed, the two of them waiting for you to tell the story of why you hate Billy so much. Too bad there isn't one.

"I fucking hate your brother," you tell Max and she just laughs because it's very obvious just by the way you speak to him.

"Join the club," she sighs. "Did he-did he do something to you?" She asks, suddenly concerned about your wellbeing.

"No," you shake your head. "He's just a pig but what else is new?"

"So you haven't-" she doesn't even need to finish her sentence and you don't want her to because you're grimacing now, images of Billy on top of your naked body pounding into you flash across your mind and you're concerned that your waffles aren't climbing up your throat. That you maybe, kind of actually like what you're seeing?

"No," you reply quickly, shaking your head. "I mean, c'mon, Max. And no offense, but I don't want to be discussing my sex life with a couple of thirteen year olds."

"Fair enough," Max nods.

"Do you like him?" El asks and you turn to her, confused by her question. Did she not see how you were talking to him? That's not how you treat people you like.

"Yeah, do you?" Max asks, genuinely curious. "It's okay if you do. A lot of girls do."

"Absolutely not."

"But you were checking out his ass," Max points out and you hadn't realized you were that obvious about it.

"He has a nice ass, sue me. Alright, let's put it this way since you guys don't seem to understand. If Billy were on fire and I had a glass of water, I'd drink it."

"Noted. So who do you like?"

"Nobody," you reply, which is true. "I mean, I used to have a huge crush on Steve Harrington in high school, but there hasn't been anyone since."

"Steve's your best friend," El tells you, almost as if she's confused.

"Right," you nod. "But I don't have feelings for him anymore." and you don't. The two of you kissed once at a party and it was too weird so you just went back to being friends.

"Well, he's a lot better than Billy," Max points out. He's actually a guy that Hopper would approve of. Steve's the kind of guy you can take to meet your parents and Billy's the kind of guy who you sneak in through your window."

You really wish you were with Steve because maybe then you wouldn't still be thinking about Billy and his slutty outfit. Well, maybe you'd be thinking about it, but then you could just go and to Steve's where he'd fuck you until you forgot Billy's name.

"No offense, but I don't need my little sister and her friend setting me up. I can get a date by myself, thank you very much." It's not that El doesn't believe you, but she hasn't seen you go on a single date since she's known you. You've always been independent, but she can see that you're lonely, that you crave companionship like she has with Mike.

She doesn't know what you do when you're away at school, but she hopes that if you did have a boyfriend that you'd tell her about it. The two of you are close, you share everything with each other, so she really hopes that there's nothing that you're keeping from her.

"I just want you to be happy," she says, grabbing hold of your hand.

"I am happy," you reply, giving her hand a squeeze. "I've got you and dad and that's all I need. I don't need some stupid boy getting in my way."

Max watches the two of you with admiration. She loves that Eleven has you in her life, that she has you to guide her through life. It really makes her wish that she had a sister of her own and not her stupid brother who doesn't even seem to care about her in any way, shape, or form. Sure, she has her mom who she wouldn't trade for anything, but it's not the same.

You notice her looking at you and you hold out her hand for her to take. She's hesitant, but she eventually takes your hand and you give hers a squeeze with a warm smile.

"You're one of us now," you tell her and she decides that's exactly what she wants to be, finally feeling she's apart of a family.

You can't sleep. You're tossing and turning, constantly seeing the minutes pass by on the clock on your nightstand. You look over on the floor where the girls are sleeping in their sleeping bags because they insisted on staying the night in your room.

You can't seem to get the image of those damn shorts Billy was wearing out of your head and you really wished you had pulled him inside and had your way with him when you had the chance. You're convinced that he did it on purpose, offering up his best asset up on a platter and you almost took the bait.

If you had the option do it over, you would have pegged him the way that you were convinced that he was silently begging for. Why else would he have worn such short shorts for?

Or maybe you're just overthinking it. You have to be delusional because why the fuck would he have worn those for you? He should know that you wouldn't fuck him if he were the last man on earth, but do you kind of want to now?

Why do you suddenly want to see what the hype is about? You want to know if his dick is really as big as they say, to know if he's as good in bed as you've heard he is. You're just curious, you try to convince yourself. You're actually just wanting to see if they're right. If you'd like it. You're not attracted to him, no fucking way. This would purely be for research purposes.

You spend the rest of the night thinking about nothing but stupid Billy and his stupid great ass. You think about the two of you in all sorts of positions as you beg and plead for him to do more, to go harder, faster, and he listens, nothing but dirty words falling from his pretty lips as he pins you down to the counter in your kitchen. He's pressing your face into the countertop, thrusting in and out of your ass as one of his hands kneads your tit, making you moan so loud, but he's got your underwear stuffed into your mouth because he doesn't want you waking anyone up.

You wake up in disappointment, your dream so vivid that it almost felt real. You can't believe that you had sex dream about Billy of all people. and you liked it. How the fuck is it that just seeing him in those stupid shorts somehow rewired your brain and made you actually interested in him? You're pretty sure that you've actually gone mad.

You sit up in your bed and notice that the once occupied sleeping bags in the floor are now empty. You then look and see that it's already eleven in the morning. Even during the summer this is the latest you've slept in. You try to shake your thought from the night before and head out of your room to see your dad, El, and Max at the table, eating what looks like breakfast from McDonald's.

"Hey, sleepy head," Your dad greets you with a smile, pulling out the chair next to him that he's saved for you. You plop down and he shoves the bag over to you and upon opening it, you realize that it's your usual order.

"Sleep well?" He asks, reaching over to ruffle your hair and you slap his hand away. "Somebody's grumpy," he laughs then goes back to his biscuit.

"No, I didn't sleep well because somebody was snoring," you glare at El. It's not a total lie since she was snoring loudly, but you can't exactly tell your father of all people that you were thinking about Billy Hargrove in an inappropriate manner. In fact, you can't tell anyone at this table so you're just going to take it to the grave.

You're surprisingly quiet during the rest of breakfast and as soon as Jim and El leave to take Max home, you race to your room and grab your phone, feverishly dialing the number you know by heart as your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

You feel like your going to throw up as it rings for what feels like forever. You never call Steve about boy problems, but now you feel like you have to, to get confirmation that you're not actually going crazy. Steve is the person you feel like you can go to for anything, so why are you so nervous to tell him that you might be interested in Billy?

Maybe it's because you know he'll be grossed out or maybe it's because you're afraid he'll be jealous even though it's very clear that he's not even remotely interested in you romantically.

"Hello?" The familiar voice rings through the phone.

"Steve, hey," you greet. "Do you have time to talk?"

"Yeah, of course. What's up?" So you tell him everything and he listens like the great friend he is, only offering his opinion when he's asked for it. And that's why you always like talking to him. Because he genuinely listens and offers good advice and never judges you for what you have to say.

"You know how I said you can tell me anything?" He asks as soon as you finish speaking.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I changed my mind." Well, so much for him not judging you.

"I spared you the details."

"And thank god for that. So what exactly is the reason you're telling me all of this?"

"Because I want to know if I'm totally crazy for wanting to go for it."

"Why should my opinion matter? If you want to fuck Billy, y/n, then fuck Billy. What do I care?" He genuinely doesn't care about your sex life and just wants to do what you want to do. He doesn't know why you're asking his permission to fuck Billy Hargrove.

"So I'm not crazy?" You're feeling even more nervous even though calling Steve was supposed to calm you down.

"Look, I'm not blind. The guy's hot, alright? And I think if you want go for it, you should."

"Thanks Steve."

"Anytime. And if you do go for it, please, please spare me the details."

"Will do," you nod even though he can't see you then hang up. You then hurry out of the room and head out to your car, preparing to head to the pool where you know Billy will be. If you're going to make this proposition, you want to do it face to face.

Billy hasn't been able to stop thinking about you since he showed up at your house yesterday. Seeing you in that large t-shirt made his brain short circuit, immediately wondering what you've got going on under it.

He wants you so bad and the fact that you don’t want anything to do with him makes his want even stronger. He sees it as a challenge. He thinks needs to flirt with you just a little more to get you to crack. He saw the way you were checking him out and now he’s thinking of cutting the shorts even shorter to give you a little taste of what you seem to want so badly.

He ended up buying another “bodice ripper” as he found out the novels are called at the book store and he just can’t fucking put it down. He’s even more interested in the story now since he’s cast you and him as the leads.

Sebastian has got his hand up Juliette’s dress and Billy’s just imagining what it would be like to get his fingers inside you. He’d tease you about how wet you are then got to town, fucking you with his fingers, making you come over and over, until you’re begging for his massive cock.

He’s thinking about you so much that he swears that he sees you out of the corner of his eye, making your way over to him in a hurry. God, he��s really got to stop thinking with his dick.

But you’re calling his name, so it must be real, right? He looks down and from this angle, he’s got the perfect view of your cleavage. He’s so distracted by it that he’s not even paying attention to what you’re saying. He sees your lips moving-god, your lips. He doesn’t usually kiss during sex, but he suddenly wants to kiss you stupid. He wants to kiss you while he grinds against you, making you beg for his-

“Billy?” You ask and he finally snaps out of his dirty fantasy, his eyes snapping up to your face.

“Hm?”

“Can we talk for a second?” Is that code for you wanting to hook up? Whatever you want, he’s in. He climbs down the ladder then comes to meet you face to face.

“What is it, doll?” He asks, his voice so smug because he’s finally able to read you like a book. You’re nervous, guard completely down and he’s loving that he’s finally gotten through to you.

“Can we talk…in private?” You’re picking at the skin around your thumb nail and he’s wondering why you just won’t just come right out and ask him. Yeah, you definitely want his cock.

He blows his whistle and you cover your ears as checks his watch. It’s time for his break anyway so he calls for an adult swim before grabbing you by the hand and taking you into the locker room. This isn’t the first hookup he’s had during his break and it definitely won’t be the last.

He’s not going to give in right away, though. He wants you to beg. He wants you to be whining for him before he even lays a hand on you. He’s certain that he’s so powerful that he could make you come just with his words. And that’s exactly what he intends to do.

“So you finally want me to fuck you, huh, doll?” He asks as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, removing one from the pack, then lighting up.

Normally, you find smoking to be disgusting, but when Billy does it, he’s so fucking hot that it’s unfair. The way he puts it between his lips-god, his pretty pink lips-and blows the smoke out like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

You don’t admit it like you were intending, you just take his hand and a pen from your purse before scribbling down an address then fleeing the locker room. He looks down at your pretty, neat handwriting and realizes that he recognizes the address. It’s the Motel 6 on Cornwallis where he was supposed to meet Karen Wheeler before she bailed.

He smiles to himself as he’s finally gotten another one then spends the rest of his break thinking about all the ways he’s going to make an absolute mess of you.

Billy is already at the motel when you get there. He’s leaning against the fence of the pool, with his back facing you, smoking yet another cigarette. He’s wearing the same outfit from when he showed up at your house, but this time, the shorts are even shorter. So short, in fact, that his ass is hanging out. God, what you would give to give it a squeeze. To use it as your personal stress ball as he fucks you. What you would give to give it a much needed spanking.

You approach him and pluck the cigarette from his lips, putting it between your own and taking a drag, only to cough immediately.

“Jesus, take it easy, Hopper,” he says as he takes the cigarette back from you.

You’re still coughing and Billy doesn’t know why he’s so worried, lightly patting your back to help you out, suddenly wishing he had some sort of beverage to make it all go away. He doesn't know when his hands started rubbing smooth circles along your back, but you’re stepping closer to him, feeling much more brave than he is.

“I’m good, I’m good,” you tell him. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” You actually don’t know why, but feel like you should.

“I don’t know. Now c’mon,” you lift the latch of the gate that leads to the pool and open it slowly before taking Billy by the hand, leading him through the gate. His fingers are rough but somehow soft and you can’t wait to have them roaming all over your body.

The lights that are lining the inside of the pool somehow make the dingy coloring even more so, but the heat of the night is making it look inviting despite how gross it looks. You just want to dive right in and take a swim. You don’t care if it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, you just need to feel the cool water against your skin.

So, you begin to strip. It’s not by any means sexy like you wanted it to be as you’re just desperate to just get out of your clothes. And Billy doesn’t even seem to be phased by this, just checking you out as you pull off your shirt and shorts so you’re just left in your bra and panties. He barely even gets the chance to look at your body before diving into the water, just staring at you, confused as your head pops up from the water.

Apparently Billy didn’t get the swimming memo since he’s still standing there, fully clothed. So, he’s quick to get down to his underwear and follow you, diving into the water, probably (definitely) not looking nearly as graceful as you.

“Never pegged you for a bad girl Hopper,” he says as he surfaces, pushing his hair out of his face. You’re over by the shallow end, sitting on one of the steps, running your fingers through your hair, trying to get the knots out.

“That just goes to show how little you know about me, Hargrove,” you reply as he sits next to you. The lights in the pool usually make people look not so great, but you look absolutely beautiful in the blue-green hue. He really wishes he had a camera so he could capture this moment, you looking at him with that sweet smile.

You scoot closer to him, so that your bare thighs are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck, twirling a piece of his hair around your pointer finger. Your face is inching your face towards his. His hands wrap around his waist as his lips find yours in a gentle kiss. Billy doesn’t think he’s ever been this gentle with a woman, and just as he’s starting to enjoy it, you kick it up a notch, tilting your head to the side as your tongue slides into his mouth. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long and it feels so good.

Your lips are soft and you taste sweet, but he can’t quite make out what it is. He could do just this for hours and be satisfied. He doesn’t why he always denies this part of sex, but he thinks he’s just enjoying it because it’s you. He lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, now straddling his lap.

“Fuck,” he whines into your mouth as your fingers wind into his hair, giving it a tug at his scalp as you bite down on his bottom lip. You’re now grinding against him and his nails dig into your hips, his head falling backwards, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss his neck.

They start out soft and gentle, but then you’re using your tongue, licking and sucking on his skin, driving him absolutely crazy. He’s hard beyond belief and he swears he’s going to come right there just because of what you’re doing with your mouth, your wonderful talented mouth.

He’s seeing stars, whining and moaning as you work on his neck, giving him a hickey. As nice as this is, as much as he’s enjoying it, he needs to get inside you because he’s about to bust. You bite down on the skin and he moans again, your name slipping from his lips. You’ve got him right where you want him and you’re sure that he’s ready now.

Your lips find his again, desperate and hungry, still grinding against him and he’s getting harder by the second. His hip buck against yours and you move so he can get his underwear off and you remove your own before settling yourself onto his cock.

“You’re so big,” you tell him and his eyes light up at your observation. He’s very well aware of this, but hearing it from you is a huge compliment. He loves seeing you like this, on top of him in nothing but your bra. This is something he could only dream about, something he has dreamed about even though he’d never admit it.

You watch him come undone as you begin to ride him, eating up how quickly you were able to dominate him. It’s clear that you have the control here and he’s loving it. He’s always on top, but letting you take the lead is much more fun. He wants you to boss him around, to make him your bitch.

“Yeah? You like that?” You ask and he nods, feeling fucked out already and you’ve barely even done anything. Maybe it’s because he never engages in foreplay so he has more energy for the main event. “Look at you. Already tired, baby?” God, he really wants you to call him that again.

“No,” he replies through a deep breath, bucking his hips against yours. “Keep going.”

You continue, moving faster as his hands move up to remove your bra as he continues to buck his hips against yours, trying his best to keep up with you. As soon as your chest is bare, he can’t help but stare, watching your tits bounce up and down. And just when he thought you couldn’t get any hotter.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” you moan as you pick up your pace, and Billy’s pretty sure that it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. You moan again and again as his hips buck against yours, wanting to make you feel as good as you’ve made him feel.

There’s no way he can fuck anyone else after this. It’s like someone mediocre going on stage to perform right after Prince. This is easily the best sex he’s ever had and it’s not even over. He’s got to have you every night for the rest of his life now. And if this night is all you’re wanting from him, then maybe he’ll just refrain from ever sleeping with anyone ever again.

Although, he’d never admit any of this to you. His ego won’t allow it. He likes being complimented, but he’s never one to do so unless it directly benefits him. Well, except for him telling you how pretty you looked. That was just because he wanted to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, doll,” he moans as he comes and you don’t even care if he pulls out. You just help him ride his high and you’re close, your eyes shut tight as his name rolls off your lips. And fuck does it feel good to hear you scream it.

“Billy, oh my god. His name tumbles out of your mouth as you reach your peak reached and fuck does it feel good for him to hear you scream it.

Once you’ve come down, you climb off him and hurry to retrieve your underwear, Billy quickly following behind even though he’s not as in a rush as you are. He wants to stay here for a little longer, just to hold you in his arms and shower you with compliments. He might even actually tell you that you’re the best he’s ever had.

“If I’m not home by ten, I’m going to be dead,” you tell him and now he understands, because of course Jim Hopper would still have his daughter under curfew even though she’s an adult now.

He doesn’t know what time it is, but doesn’t want to be the reason why you’re late so he lets you go, not getting dressed nearly as quickly as you, but he’s still trying to keep up. He’s wondering how you don’t completely hate the wet clothes against your skin and how you’re going to explain that to your dad, but he supposes that isn’t any of his business.

So he watches you slip on your flip flops as he gets out of the pool with his underwear on. He’s pulling on his shorts which is proving to be a struggle, but he eventually gets them on and throws on his shirt as he’s hurrying to catch up with you, following you to your car.

“Well, this was fun,” you tell him with a bright smile. “We should do it again sometime. You can get the house number from Max, right? I’m sure he has it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Don’t be a stranger, alright?” You ask, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek before you get into your car. You start it up and Billy watches you back out of the parking lot, knowing that he’s going to be giving you a call very soon.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x hopper!reader

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