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shy9-29 · 1 month ago

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In Too Deep | 이희승

이희승 x reader

“I don’t know when it stopped being fake… but I don’t think I can pretend anymore.” In a whirlwind of old grudges, fake dating, and unexpected feelings, two sworn enemies find themselves tangled in something that feels a little too real. And once the lines blur, there’s no going back.

genre: enemies to lovers, fake relationship, uni romance

📝 I honestly don’t know what I was thinking while writing this. This is an old ff because I’m stuck on a ff I’m writing on rn but hopefully you’ll like it.

wc. 6.1k · masterlist · rq open

It all started three years ago, the night of the infamous graduation party at Heeseung’s place.

The air had been thick with summer heat, cheap cologne, and the excitement of finally being free from high school. You hadn’t even wanted to go at first, but your friends had dragged you along, promising one last memory before everyone went their separate ways. And you did make a memory—just not the kind you ever wanted.

You drank too much. Way too much. Maybe it was the nerves, or maybe it was the way Heeseung kept flashing that smug smile, acting like the king of the party. You weren’t sure. But by the end of the night, you ended up throwing up in the middle of his parents’ living room. Right in front of everyone. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Jake—Heeseung’s best friend—caught it on video and thought it would be hilarious to post it online.

The video went viral in your town overnight. By morning, your name wasn’t just trending in group chats—it was practically a meme. You were humiliated, and Heeseung? He didn’t even bother taking the video down. In fact, he laughed about it. That was the moment you swore you’d hate him forever.

And so you did.

From the moment you stepped foot on campus, you ignored him. Avoided him. Exchanged icy glares when your paths crossed. You became the girl who bounced back, worked hard, and made a name for herself. And he remained the golden boy, cocky and untouchable.

For three years, you stayed in your own lanes. Until one day, out of nowhere, Heeseung looked you dead in the eye and asked, “Will you pretend to be my girlfriend?”

They were the prettiest pair on campus—and everyone knew it, even if they never stood side by side long enough for the full effect to settle in. The most talked-about students in the most elite university in Seoul. Separately, they turned heads. Together, they could’ve stopped traffic.

You had the kind of beauty that made people pause. Skin that seemed to glow under the sun, shiny hair that, just for today, you’d styled into soft waves. You wore light blue baggy jeans that cinched perfectly at your waist and a simple white summer short-sleeve top that gave off an effortlessly pretty vibe—like you hadn’t tried, but still looked perfect.

Heeseung, on the other hand, stood tall at 6’0, with fair skin and striking maroon hair that somehow looked both bold and natural on him. Today he was in a black zip-up hoodie over a white tee, paired with matching baggy blue jeans that made him look effortlessly cool—as usual. His vibe was more “couldn’t care less,” but the way people looked at him said otherwise.

It didn’t matter that the two of you hated each other. In fact, maybe that made it even more entertaining to watch. Beauty and tension had a way of making sparks fly—and everyone else could feel the fire, even if you both kept pretending there was none.

You blinked at him, thinking you’d heard wrong. “What?”

Heeseung leaned against the wall casually, arms crossed over his chest, like he hadn’t just said the most ridiculous thing you’d heard in your entire life. “Be my fake girlfriend.”

You stared at him. Then laughed. Out loud.

“Are you serious right now?” you scoffed, taking a step back like the words themselves were contagious. “Why would I ever do that?”

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at you with that same unreadable expression he always wore—somewhere between bored and amused. “Because you’re the only one who won’t actually fall for me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Flattering,” you muttered sarcastically, turning to walk away. “Find someone else, Heeseung. I’m not interested in being part of whatever mess this is.”

But he caught your wrist gently, just enough to make you pause. “Wait. Just listen—”

You yanked your hand back. “I don’t owe you anything. Least of all after what happened three years ago.”

Heeseung’s jaw tensed. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something like guilt—but it disappeared too quickly to name.

“It’s fake,” he said quietly. “No feelings. Just for show. A few weeks, tops.”

You shook your head. “I’d rather kiss a cactus.”

And with that, you walked away, heart pounding harder than you wanted to admit.

You didn’t look back, even though you could feel his eyes on you the entire time you walked down the hallway. Your steps were firm, but your thoughts were anything but.

Be my fake girlfriend.

What kind of audacity did Heeseung even run on?

You tried to shake it off the rest of the day—distracted yourself with lectures, group chats, anything to stop thinking about the nerve he had. But his voice kept echoing in your head. The way he said it so casually, like it made perfect sense. Like you were the only logical option.

By the time your last class ended, the group chat with your friends was already blowing up.

Yuna: Girl. Tell me why Heeseung’s been walking around looking like someone just slapped him?

Jisoo: Wait wasn’t he talking to you earlier? What did he say??

You: Nothing. He’s insane. Pretend I never mentioned it.

Yuna: You didn’t mention it, but now you have to.

You sighed, not replying. The campus buzzed around you as you made your way across the quad, but you felt out of it—half stuck in the present, half stuck in that stupid party from three years ago.

Heeseung had humiliated you. Even if he didn’t film it himself, he let it spread. Never apologized. Never cared. And now he wanted you to play pretend in some weird PR stunt or whatever his problem was?

You walked past the library—and of course, he was there. Sitting on the steps. Waiting.

You froze.

He looked up from his phone, spotted you, and stood slowly, like he knew you wouldn’t run this time.

And maybe… maybe you wouldn’t. Not yet.

Heeseung was still the same old popular jerk.

Cocky smirk? Check. Effortless charm? Still there. Girls trailing behind him like he was the second coming of a K-drama lead? Absolutely. And you? You weren’t much different. You had your own crowd, your own reputation, and enough confidence to walk past him without sparing a second glance—most days, at least.

But today was different.

He was still standing on the library steps when you approached, like he had all the time in the world. His maroon hair caught the sunlight, and that familiar smug expression tugged at the corner of his mouth as soon as he saw you.

“You’re still thinking about it,” he said before you could even open your mouth.

You crossed your arms. “I came here to tell you no. Again.”

“Sure you did.” He grinned. “That’s why you didn’t block me after I asked. You’re curious.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t block you because I have better things to do. Like ignoring your existence.”

He chuckled softly, then rubbed the back of his neck—something surprisingly awkward for someone who was usually all confidence. “Look, I didn’t mean to ambush you. I just… didn’t know who else to ask.”

You raised a brow. “You’re Heeseung. You could literally point at someone and they’d say yes.”

He hesitated. “Yeah, well… that’s kind of the problem.”

You stared at him, waiting for the rest.

He sighed. “My parents. They’re coming to visit next month. And they’ve been on my ass about dating. ‘You’re getting older, when will you settle down?’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “They think I’m some hopeless flirt who can’t take anything seriously.”

You blinked. “They’re not wrong.”

He gave you a look. “Not helping.”

You tilted your head. “So… your big plan is to trick them with a fake girlfriend? And you chose me? The girl who hates your guts?”

Heeseung shrugged. “Exactly. You’re the last person they’d think I’d date. Which makes it more believable. If I can ‘convince’ you to fall for me, maybe they’ll back off.”

You stared at him, lips parted in disbelief.

He just looked at you, calm and confident like always, and said, “So? You in, or do I need to bribe you with something?”

You squinted at him for a long moment, arms still crossed as you weighed the absurdity of the situation. Honestly, part of you wanted to walk away again. Tell him to shove his plan and leave you alone.

But then… an idea started forming. A devilish, slow-burning idea that made your lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile.

“Okay,” you said finally.

Heeseung’s brows lifted. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Wait—seriously?”

You nodded. “But I want a bribe.”

He smirked, stepping forward slightly, voice dropping an octave. “What, you want free coffee every day? Access to my Netflix account? A kiss or two to make it look real—?”

You held up your hand to shut him up. “Relax, Casanova. Not even close.”

Now he looked confused. “Then what?”

You smiled sweetly—too sweetly. The kind of smile that meant trouble. “If I agree to be your fake girlfriend… I get to post something humiliating about you.”

Heeseung blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me. Just one post. Could be a picture, a video, a story. Something that makes you the joke for once.”

His face twisted in disbelief, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. “You’re serious?”

“As a hangover on grad night,” you replied, your tone sugarcoated and smug. “You humiliated me three years ago. This levels the playing field.”

Heeseung ran a hand through his maroon hair, letting out a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re insane.”

You grinned wider. “And you’re desperate.”

He stared at you for a second longer… then sighed and held out his hand. “Fine. Deal.”

You took it, shaking once.

The moment your hand left his, you felt it—that shift in the air. Like you had just signed up for something much more dangerous than a fake relationship.

Heeseung gave you a crooked grin, one brow raised. “You’re really going to post something embarrassing of me?”

You nodded, smug. “Absolutely. And it’s going to be good.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was something amused flickering behind his usual cocky front. “Fine. Just remember, you’re my girlfriend now. Even fake ones have reputations to protect.”

You smirked. “Please. I’ve survived worse than being seen with you.”

“You’re not wrong,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, we start tomorrow. My parents are in town for a charity dinner next week, so we have—what?—seven days to look madly in love.”

You blinked. “Wait—tomorrow?”

“What? Gotta build the illusion,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “We’re gonna need a story highlight, at least three posts together, and maybe a casual paparazzi shot. You know, something that screams we’re disgustingly happy.”

You stared at him. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

He didn’t even look up as he started typing. “If I’m doing this, I’m doing it right.”

You suddenly remembered why you hated him in the first place—he was the kind of person who could make faking a relationship feel like prepping for war. And you were now officially enlisted.

“Fine,” you said. “But don’t forget our deal.”

He glanced up at you, that annoying spark of amusement back in his eyes. “Trust me. I won’t.”

You turned to leave, already planning your revenge post in your head—maybe that one photo of him from freshman year in the dorm hallway wearing a pink bunny headband and mismatched socks. Or that video from the campus talent show where his voice cracked mid high note.

Yeah. This was going to be fun.

The next morning, your phone buzzed before your alarm even had the chance to go off. You groaned, rolled over, and saw a notification:

Heeseung [6:38 AM]

Rise and shine, girlfriend. I’ll pick you up in 30. Wear something cute.

You stared at the message for a full five seconds, then typed back:

You [6:39 AM]

Die.

You threw the covers over your face, cursing yourself for ever agreeing to this. But a deal was a deal, and if playing his girlfriend meant finally serving him a slice of his own humiliation, you’d survive.

Barely.

By 7:15, you were waiting outside your building, hair tied up in a lazy ponytail, a cropped hoodie over a black tank, and fitted cargo pants—cute enough, in your opinion. When Heeseung pulled up, he had one hand on the wheel and a smug grin already locked and loaded.

“You clean up nice,” he said, leaning over to push the passenger door open.

You got in without looking at him. “You said ‘fake girlfriend.’ You didn’t say anything about being a morning person.”

He laughed as he pulled away from the curb. “We’re going on a coffee date. Gotta give the people something to talk about.”

“People? What people?” you frowned.

He just held up his phone.

And of course—his Instagram story was already up:

A boomerang of two coffees in a to-go tray with the caption:

“Coffee date with my girl.”

Heart emoji and all.

You stared at it in horror. “You tagged me?!”

He grinned. “Well yeah. Gotta make it official.”

You snatched his phone. “Delete it.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Too late. Already got 23 DMs asking if hell froze over.”

You groaned, sinking lower into the seat. “You’re the worst.”

“No,” he said, shooting you a quick side glance, “I’m the boyfriend.”

You looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. This was going to be exhausting. But strangely… it was already kind of entertaining.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But I’m getting my revenge post by the end of the week.”

He smirked. “Can’t wait to see what you dig up.”

You already had three folders.

Let the games begin.

The next few days flew by in a blur of fake smiles, staged moments, and way too many coffee dates. Every time you tried to go somewhere on your own, Heeseung would be there—casually showing up like he had nothing better to do. And each time, he’d pull out his phone and take a picture or video, making it look like the two of you were the perfect couple.

You hated it. But part of you had to admit, you were starting to get into it—just not for the reasons he thought. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how easy it was to annoy him. How easy it was to mess with his perfectly curated world. And that was exactly what you intended to do.

On the fourth day, you had your first official “couple picture” together. The location? A park in the middle of campus, where everyone could see. You wore a cute dress, a bit too much effort for your usual taste, but Heeseung insisted it was “important for the vibe.” He, of course, looked effortlessly cool in a graphic tee and his usual baggy jeans. You both stood side by side, his arm casually slung over your shoulders, looking casually in love. But in reality, you could barely suppress your smirk as you snapped the photo for his Instagram.

He posted it immediately with the caption:

“Mines Only”

You took the opportunity to really ruin it.

That night, after he had sent you his “thank you for the cute post” text, you sent him one back. You didn’t mention the post. You didn’t mention anything. Instead, you simply sent a photo from the same park—an unflattering, grainy shot of him mid-laugh, where he looked like he was choking on a piece of gum.

The caption?

“When he tells you he’s ‘not like other guys’… but then you see this.”

You held your breath as you waited for his response.

Seconds later, your phone buzzed.

Heeseung [11:02 PM]: Are you serious?

You smirked, typing back:

You [11:02 PM]: I said I was getting my revenge post by the end of the week. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it cute next time (maybe)

He didn’t reply immediately, but you could practically feel his annoyance radiating through the phone. That was the beauty of being his “girlfriend”—you could make him squirm without ever touching a thing that mattered to him.

You hadn’t thought much of it when you posted the photo. It was meant to be harmless payback—just a little jab to keep Heeseung on his toes. You figured people would laugh, maybe tease him for a day or two, and that would be it.

But when you stepped onto campus the next morning, something was… off.

People were staring. Whispering. Smiling.

A girl from your communications class stopped you in the hallway with a dreamy sigh. “That post you made last night… oh my God, you two are literally goals.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

She giggled. “It’s just so real, you know? Everyone’s always posting those perfect, filtered couple pictures, but yours was like—raw, and genuine. You didn’t try to make him look perfect, and that somehow made it even cuter.”

You stared at her in disbelief, only managing a nod before she walked off. Then it happened again. And again. People you barely knew were suddenly giving you heart eyes, acting like you and Heeseung were some kind of rom-com come to life.

By the time you reached the student lounge, two professors had walked past whispering, “Did you see that post? The one with Heeseung and yn? It’s adorable!”

You nearly choked.

And of course, right in the center of the attention storm was Heeseung, sitting back in a chair with one leg crossed over the other, sipping on an iced americano like he hadn’t just been unintentionally turned into everyone’s favorite golden retriever boyfriend.

You stormed up to him. “What the hell is happening?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “You mean the part where we accidentally became the most talked-about couple on campus?”

“Yes! Why are people acting like I posted a love letter instead of blackmail?”

He laughed. Actually laughed. “Because you did it wrong.”

“I made you look like you were choking.”

“Exactly,” he said, standing and slinging an arm over your shoulder like it was second nature. “People love that stuff. It makes us look real. Like we’re actually in love and don’t care how we look. It’s disgusting. They’re eating it up.”

You groaned, trying to shake him off, but his grip stayed firm. “This was not the plan.”

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “you made me look human. And apparently, the school’s obsessed with the idea of Lee Heeseung being whipped.”

You scowled. “You are not whipped.”

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. “But maybe I’ll start pretending to be. Just to sell it.”

Your breath caught for half a second, which only made his smirk grow.

The worst part? You couldn’t tell if he was still playing the game… or if he was starting to enjoy it.

“I am good at this,” he replied without missing a beat. “Have you seen the comments? People are begging for wedding invites.”

You scoffed. “Gross. Delusional.”

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the post, reading aloud dramatically, “‘If this isn’t love, I don’t want it. OMG the way he looks at her!! UGH, my standards are ruined.’” He looked up with a smug grin. “You ruined them, Y/N. Feel powerful?”

You snatched his phone and scrolled for yourself—and yep, the comments were out of control.

@robertwu: Wait why is this the cutest couple content I’ve seen all year??

@ksy.97: Y/N posting that photo like a tired girlfriend who loves her dumb man. I’m crying.

@x_we1: Heeseung in love??? This era is feeding us well.

You blinked. “They really think this is real?”

Heeseung leaned casually against the wall beside you, watching your reaction with that annoyingly entertained expression. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” you snapped. “This was supposed to be harmless. A joke. A fake relationship. And now people are shipping us like we’re some webtoon couple with a tragic backstory and a soft boy redemption arc.”

He grinned. “You’ve been reading fan comments, haven’t you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it with a glare.

“I told you,” he said, nudging your arm with his elbow, “people love mess. And this is their favorite kind—the hot, mysterious enemies-to-lovers storyline.”

You nearly choked. “Lovers?! Calm down, Romeo.”

He just laughed, brushing past you to head down the hall. “Come on, fake girlfriend. You’re walking me to class. Public display of affection and all that.”

You stood there for a second, mentally screaming, before dragging your feet to follow him. This whole thing was spiraling out of control. What started as a stupid plan for revenge had turned into a campus-wide fantasy.

But the worst part?

For the first time since that party three years ago…

You weren’t entirely sure you hated being seen with him.

One week later.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, still not believing what you were about to do.

Charity dinner. With his parents.

In heels, a satin slip dress, a necklace Heeseung had casually handed you earlier that morning with a smug, “It’ll make you look expensive.” You’d thrown a pillow at his head for that, but you wore it anyway.

You were supposed to hate him. Still did—technically. But somehow, between the fake Instagram posts, the morning texts, the way he always had an iced latte waiting for you before your 9 a.m. class, and the fact that he now walked you to said class like a real boyfriend… something had shifted.

You didn’t want to think too hard about it.

When you walked out to the front of your building, Heeseung was already waiting by the car, wearing a sleek black suit and the same damn smirk that made your blood boil and your stomach twist at the same time.

He turned when he heard your footsteps—and for once, he didn’t say anything stupid. He just stared.

“You’re staring,” you said flatly.

“You’re hot,” he replied just as flatly. “Don’t make it weird.”

You gave him a glare, but you couldn’t fight the heat rising in your cheeks as he opened the car door for you.

The car ride was quieter than usual—no teasing, no arguing. Just your phone buzzing with new notifications from people commenting on the photo he’d posted twenty minutes ago.

You and Heeseung in front of the car, your hand on his chest, his chin tilted toward you like he was about to kiss you. It wasn’t even a real moment—you’d taken it as a joke—but he posted it anyway.

“Dinner with the girl who’s ruining my peace and I kinda like it.”

Captioned, of course, with a heart and a black tie emoji.

By the time you arrived at the venue, half the university had already liked the post.

Heeseung leaned in close as you both stepped out. “Ready to meet the people who think I’m still twelve and incapable of monogamy?”

You sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He paused. “Hey.”

You looked up.

He smiled—no smirk this time, just something softer, something that felt… real. “Thanks for doing this.”

You opened your mouth to say something sarcastic—anything—but the words didn’t come.

Because somewhere in the mess of fake posts and planned appearances…

This started feeling less like a lie.

The moment you stepped into the ballroom, arm looped through Heeseung’s, all eyes turned toward you.

You looked around, trying to keep your expression neutral—poised, even. But your heart was doing backflips. This wasn’t some cute café date or a casual run-in on campus. This was a high-end, wine-glass-clinking, string-quartet-playing charity gala… filled with Seoul’s elite. People in suits and gowns. His parents. His actual parents.

“You good?” Heeseung whispered beside you, leaning in slightly, his breath brushing your ear.

You gave him a sharp look. “No. But I’ll survive.”

He smiled. “You’ll do great. Just stay close to me.”

You wanted to snap back with something sassy—maybe “Don’t flatter yourself”—but instead, you nodded. Because truthfully, his steady presence next to you was the only thing keeping your nerves from boiling over.

As you walked through the room, people began coming up to greet him.

“Lee Heeseung! You’ve grown so much. And who’s this lovely young lady?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “My girlfriend, Y/N.”

You felt his fingers gently squeeze yours.

Each time someone approached, he’d introduce you with the same ease, that same little tilt of pride in his voice. And each time, you’d smile, nod, say something polite—like this wasn’t the strangest, most out-of-body experience of your life.

And then came the real challenge.

His parents.

His mother spotted you from across the room first—elegant, graceful, and dressed in a deep navy gown that screamed old money. His father stood beside her, equally intimidating in a crisp tailored suit.

“Oh,” she said with a warm but curious smile as you and Heeseung approached. “So you’re the girl he’s been refusing to shut up about.”

You blinked. “He… what?”

“Mooom,” Heeseung groaned quietly under his breath.

But it was too late.

His mom took your hands and gave you a smile so genuine, it caught you off guard. “Heeseung’s never brought anyone to an event like this before. We were starting to think he’d sworn off love.”

You glanced up at him, expecting his usual cocky comeback, but he was quiet—just watching you with something unreadable in his eyes.

“Thank you for coming,” his father added with a respectful nod. “It’s good to see him with someone who balances him out.”

You swallowed, managing a smile. “It’s… it’s been nice. Unexpected. But nice.”

The conversation shifted as a server passed with champagne, and the moment loosened. Still, you could feel Heeseung watching you—closely, carefully.

Later, as you stood near one of the windows overlooking the city lights, he stepped beside you again, slipping his hand back into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re killing it,” he said softly.

You looked at him. “You didn’t tell me your parents were actually nice.”

He chuckled. “You looked like you were expecting to be interrogated.”

“I was.”

He shifted to face you, his expression unreadable again. “But you still came.”

You shrugged. “A deal’s a deal.”

“Right,” he said, but his voice was quieter this time. “A deal.”

There was a beat of silence—just the distant music and low voices in the background. Then, before you could overthink it, Heeseung leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

You froze.

And not because of the cameras. Not because of the act.

But because it felt… real.

And when you turned to look at him—really look—you realized he wasn’t acting either.

And more like the beginning of something you didn’t know how to fake anymore.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, frozen, staring up at him. Because in that moment—after the temple kiss, after his hand had instinctively tightened around yours, after that soft, unreadable look in his eyes—you knew something had shifted.

This wasn’t for show anymore.

And from the way Heeseung was looking at you, he knew it too.

But neither of you said a word.

Not yet.

You turned your eyes back to the window, heart thudding in your chest as you tried to will the warmth off your cheeks. Heeseung stayed beside you, unusually quiet. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something more careful, more sincere. And it scared you a little, how easy it was to stand next to him like this—like the two of you weren’t faking it. Like this was just… normal.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all.

“Wanna get out of here?” he said after a while, voice low, almost hesitant.

You blinked, surprised. “Now?”

He nodded. “We showed face. You survived my parents. I don’t think I can listen to another speech about tax reform and philanthropy.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, nodding. “Let’s go.”

Within ten minutes, you were both in his car again, but this time there was no music playing. Just the sound of the engine humming softly and the occasional flicker of headlights outside. It wasn’t awkward—it was… heavy. Like the air between you was packed with all the things neither of you knew how to say yet.

Heeseung pulled into a quiet overlook on the edge of the city. The view was unreal—Seoul lit up in gold and silver, buildings stretching into the clouds like stars had landed on earth.

Neither of you moved to get out. Instead, you sat there for a second. Breathing.

Then, finally, he broke the silence.

“I was supposed to hate you, you know.”

You glanced over.

“That night at the party… after Jake posted that video… I was pissed at you for months. Not because you threw up. But because I saw how fast people turned on you. And I hated how much I cared.”

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t smirking.

He was just honest.

“I didn’t want to care about the girl who glared at me in the halls every day. But I did,” he said. “And then this whole fake thing happened, and somewhere between faking it and fighting you, I stopped pretending I wasn’t completely—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in quickly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched yours. “Why?”

“Because if you say it…” You swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep pretending either.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he reached over slowly, gently, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered on your cheek for just a second too long.

And then he whispered—

“I stopped pretending a long time ago.”

And for the first time since that deal was made…

You weren’t sure if this was fake anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want it to be.

The words hung there in the silence between you—“I stopped pretending a long time ago.”

And you didn’t know what scared you more.

The fact that he said it…

Or the fact that you believed him.

Your heart was thudding so loudly you swore it echoed inside the car. You didn’t respond right away. Couldn’t. Because all this time, you thought you had the upper hand—you had the control, the blackmail, the motive. It was just a game. A mess of fake smiles and photo ops and revenge.

But the way Heeseung was looking at you now—like he wasn’t seeing the version of you everyone else did, like he was seeing you—made you realize you’d lost the second you agreed to that stupid fake relationship.

And worse?

You didn’t even care.

You finally tore your eyes away, staring down at your lap. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

“Why not?” he said softly. “It’s not like you’re still pretending either.”

You looked at him then—really looked. His expression was still gentle, still open, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes now, something rare. Something that almost made your chest ache.

You exhaled. “I hate you so much.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re still allowed to. Just… maybe not tonight.”

You gave a small laugh, shaking your head. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but you’re choosing to be here.”

That shut you up.

Because he was right.

You didn’t have to say yes to that dinner. You didn’t have to stand beside him when his mom looked at you like you were the girl who’d changed her son. You didn’t have to come here, to this overlook, to this stupid city view.

But you did.

And somewhere between all the faking and fronting… this had turned into something else.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said quietly, fingers twisting in your lap. “But if you’re not pretending anymore… I don’t want to be either.”

You didn’t look up right away—but you felt the shift. The tension softening. The energy between you changing, quietly but completely.

Heeseung didn’t say anything this time.

He just leaned in slowly, eyes flicking down to your lips, like he was asking a question without speaking.

And you didn’t stop him.

Because when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fireworks or chaos or something wild and dramatic.

It was soft.

Warm.

Real.

And it felt a hell of a lot better than revenge ever did.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead rested gently against yours, and for the first time since all this started, there was nothing left to fake.

Just you.

And him.

And whatever this was turning into.

Heeseung pulled back just slightly, his forehead still resting against yours, his eyes flicking down to your lips again like he hadn’t quite gotten enough.

And then, with that same cocky little grin he always wore when he was up to no good, he murmured,

“So… do you wanna make out?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come on,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Don’t act surprised. You kissed me first.”

“You literally kissed me,” you said, half-laughing, half-scolding.

He shrugged, still wearing that stupid, infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Doesn’t change the fact you kissed me back.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he leaned in again, barely a breath between you now. “Because I’ve been dying to do that again, and I’m thinking the front seat isn’t cutting it.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you seriously trying to seduce me in your car right now?”

Heeseung leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Depends. Is it working?”

And yeah, it was. You hated how easily he got under your skin—how that smooth voice, those eyes, that look he gave you made your heart beat like you were seventeen again and still drunk off one dumb party night.

“…You’re the worst,” you muttered.

He smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

You didn’t answer him. You just reached for the door handle, opened it, and slid out without a word—walking around to the back.

Heeseung froze for a second, blinking in disbelief, before a low, amazed laugh escaped his lips. “No way.”

You turned your head, giving him the same smug look he always gave you. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

He was already moving before you finished the sentence.

And when the two of you climbed into the backseat, the space suddenly felt way too small. Too warm. Too charged.

You barely got the door closed before his hands were on your waist, pulling you in like this was something he’d been holding back for a long time.

And for the next little while, the only thing that mattered…

Was the fact that none of this felt fake anymore.

The windows had fogged up within minutes.

You were straddling Heeseung in the cramped backseat, his top bunched up around your fists, your lips tangled with his like the past three years of tension had finally snapped.

Every shove, every glare, every petty comment—this was what it all had been building to. Not the revenge. Not the fake posts. This.

His hands were on your waist, fingers pressing into the curve of your hips like he couldn’t believe you were real, like if he let go, you’d disappear. And you hated how good it felt. How good he felt.

“Still hate me?” he mumbled against your mouth, breath warm and teasing.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen, eyes locked.

“Undecided,” you said, but your voice was softer than it should’ve been.

He grinned, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re really bad at fake-dating.”

You leaned in again, this time slower, letting your lips hover just over his. “Good thing this doesn’t feel fake anymore.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. Just for a second. Then his expression shifted—eyes darker, more serious.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, like your name alone could ground him.

And it kind of did.

You looked at him, chest rising and falling, and for the first time since this whole thing started, you let your guard down completely. No sass. No comebacks. Just truth.

“I don’t know when it stopped being fake,” you whispered. “But I don’t think I can pretend anymore.”

He didn’t say anything.

He just pulled you in again—slower this time, deeper. And when he kissed you now, it wasn’t just to tease or shut you up or win a fake game.

It was a promise.

And in the backseat of a car, windows fogged and hearts exposed, that kiss changed everything.

849 notes · View notes

rafes-slut · 1 month ago

Text

You go through his phone while he is asleep

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x insecure!reader

Warnings: Mild angst, insecurity, emotional vulnerability, slight language, mentions of trust issues, obsessive behavior (romanticized), fluff ending, implied possessiveness, toxic undertones.

Word Count: ~2,000

Rafe was asleep beside you, sprawled out and tangled in the sheets, one arm loosely draped across your waist. His bare chest rose and fell steadily, the subtle warmth of his breath brushing against your shoulder each time he exhaled. The room was quiet, dark, the only light coming from the moon slicing through the half-open blinds, painting silver stripes across the floor and bed.

You should’ve been asleep too. His hand on you should’ve made you feel safe. It always did. But tonight? It wasn’t enough to calm the storm brewing in your chest.

Your eyes drifted over to his phone on the nightstand. Unlocked. Open. Screen dimly lit from his earlier scrolling before he’d knocked out cold beside you.

You hesitated.

You hated this feeling—this gnawing, twisting doubt in your stomach. You hated the part of you that didn’t trust him. The part that whispered maybe he wasn’t as loyal as he claimed to be. Maybe there was someone else. Someone he talked to when you weren’t around. Someone prettier, bolder. Someone who didn’t flinch every time she felt insecure.

But you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Not tonight.

You slowly shifted out from under his arm, careful not to wake him. His body moved slightly, muscles flexing unconsciously, but he stayed dead asleep—mouth slightly parted, brows soft for once. He looked so peaceful. And that only made the guilt worse.

Still, you picked up his phone.

It felt like betrayal just holding it.

The screen blinked awake with a tap of your finger. No passcode. He never had one. Always said he didn’t need to hide anything from you. But words weren’t enough. Not anymore.

You opened his messages first. Scrolling through thread after thread. Mostly short conversations with the guys. Some group chats about parties, some random memes. But nothing suspicious. Nothing flirty. Nothing that made your heart sink.

Then you checked Instagram.

You braced yourself.

His DMs were mostly dry. A couple of unread requests. One from some girl you recognized from around the island—Kook girl with perfect lashes and a smile too flirty for her own good. But it was her who messaged him, not the other way around. And the message was sitting there, unopened. Ignored.

You stared at it for a moment before backing out.

Snapchat. Same story.

Nothing. No saved chats. No flirty pictures. Just some snaps from Topper and Kelce and you. Mostly you.

You opened the camera roll.

Your breath caught.

Hundreds of pictures. Almost all of you. Some of you asleep. Some of you laughing at something stupid he said. Selfies you didn’t even know he took. Pictures of you from behind while you were walking ahead of him. Close-ups of your smile. Your bare shoulder peeking from his sweatshirt. Your hand in his. Your legs wrapped around his waist from a night you barely remembered. Screenshots of your texts. Voice memos labeled with your name.

Your throat tightened.

You scrolled and scrolled, eyes wide, heart racing. The obsession was… clear. Maybe even overwhelming.

And then you found a folder labeled with your name and a little heart.

Inside were more photos. Notes. A recording of you humming in the car. A screen recording of a video you posted months ago. A text he wrote but never sent:

“I know I act like a dick sometimes but God, I love her. I’d burn everything for her. I just don’t know how to say it without sounding like a freak.”

You stared at the screen, blinking hard.

Then his voice cut through the silence, low and groggy.

“…What are you doing?”

Your heart dropped.

You turned slowly, guilt flushing your face, phone still in hand.

Rafe was awake now, barely, propped on one elbow. His hair was a mess, eyes heavy with sleep, but the way he looked at you—soft and confused—made your stomach twist.

“I…” you stammered, setting the phone back on the nightstand like it burned. “I just—I couldn’t sleep.”

He blinked at you. Then looked at his phone. Then back at you.

“You went through my phone?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

He was silent for a long moment. You expected him to snap. To get pissed. To accuse you of not trusting him. But instead, he just let out a breath, voice lower now.

“Did you find anything?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He leaned closer, reaching out to gently tilt your chin up until your eyes met his.

“Baby… why would you think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I just… I’ve seen how girls look at you. And I guess I just needed to know. I needed proof.”

“And you thought I was fucking around behind your back?” There wasn’t anger in his voice—just something that sounded like hurt.

“I didn’t want to. I just… sometimes you make me feel like I don’t really know where I stand with you.”

He studied you for a long second. Then he sat up fully, pulling you gently into his lap, wrapping both arms around you as your legs folded over his.

“I don’t talk to anyone else,” he said, lips brushing the side of your head. “I don’t want anyone else.”

You stayed quiet, cheek pressed to his bare chest.

“I’m obsessed with you, you know that, right?” he muttered, almost like he was embarrassed to admit it. “Like… completely fucked in the head about you.”

You finally laughed a little, tears pricking your eyes. “I figured that out.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I take those pictures of you because I miss you even when you’re in the same room. I keep your texts because I like reading them when I’m alone. I don’t keep anything from you. Ever.”

You nodded slowly, finally understanding the depth of it. The way he loved you wasn’t always healthy or easy—but it was real. Intense. Borderline obsessive. But real.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have looked.”

“I’m not mad,” he said. “Just… talk to me next time, yeah? You don’t have to wonder. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Okay.”

He pressed a kiss to your lips—slow, firm, full of promise.

Then again, softer.

He whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “Only mine. And I’m yours. Always.”

703 notes · View notes

jungwnies · 10 days ago

Text

f1 grid (1/2) | friendly interactions... or not

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : meeting your friends who they seemingly get along with...kinda...not...really?

୨ৎ : genre : comedy (angst if u squint) / slight beef ୨ৎ : word count : 3008

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun and unhinged i loved being able to create different personalities for the friends and everything LMFAO // oscar's was my favorite one to write i love it...

ʚ・max verstappen

you’d warned them ahead of time.

“he’s not rude, he’s just… quiet. and blunt. but like, in a sweet way. sometimes.”

that did not stop your friends from collectively side-eyeing you like you’d announced your boyfriend was a literal dragon.

“max verstappen? that max?”

“i just feel like he’d roast me for my driving.”

“do you think he even knows how to have small talk?”

you rolled your eyes. “he’s literally so normal. you’ll see.”

they didn’t believe you until thirty minutes into girls’ night, when max wandered in after his workout, sweat-tousled and comfy in joggers, and waved like he didn’t just walk into a room full of skeptical women.

“hi.” he looked between all of them. “you’re the ones who always send her those weird memes, right?”

cami gasped. “wait… you read our group chat?!”

you groaned. “max!”

“i didn’t scroll,” he said, completely unbothered. “i just saw the one where someone said ‘he probably dreams in dutch and drs.’ that was funny.”

syd choked on her drink. “…that was me.”

max turned to her, expression dead serious. “you’re not wrong.”

you covered your face. “this is going horribly.”

“no it’s not,” he said, crossing the room to kiss your forehead like it was nothing. “your friends are funny. i like them.”

that was the turning point.

thirty minutes later, max was sat between cami and val on the couch, holding one of their iced coffees like it was a fine wine, eyebrows furrowed.

“so you’re telling me,” he said, gesturing at syd’s phone, “this guy left you on read for four days, but still viewed your story?”

syd nodded. “yup.”

max shook his head. “he’s done. block him.”

“oh my god, you do get it!” she laughed.

“i’m not heartless,” he mumbled, cheeks slightly pink. “people just need to stop wasting her time.”

you leaned in from the kitchen. “should i be worried you’re starting a girl gang without me?”

he grinned. “we’re gonna get jackets made.”

later, as you walked him out so he could head back to the hotel, max laced his fingers through yours and said, “your friends are cool. i thought they’d hate me.”

you smiled up at him. “they thought you’d hate them.”

“that’s stupid.”

“they also thought you’d be scary.”

he stopped, leaned in close. “do i scare you?”

you laughed. “only when you’re behind me on track in karting.”

he smirked, kissed the tip of your nose, and said, “tell them i’m free next friday. i’ll bring snacks.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“i’m warning you now,” you said as you opened the front door. “don’t act weird.”

“you’re dating lewis hamilton,” mariah whispered like you’d just casually admitted to dating royalty.

jess widened her eyes. “do we call him sir lewis? like—is that a thing?”

you didn’t have time to respond, because lewis walked in holding a box of vegan pastries and a bottle of wine, dressed in cozy neutrals and smelling expensive.

“hi, beautiful,” he said, kissing your cheek like nothing else in the room mattered. then he turned to your friends with a megawatt smile. “you must be the infamous trio. i’ve heard so many stories.”

nina blinked. “from her?”

he nodded, handing her the wine. “and i remembered all your names. don’t quiz me though. it’s been a long day.”

mariah snorted. “okay, i like him already.”

fifteen minutes in and they were obsessed. not just because he was lewis hamilton, but because he was soft-spoken, asked thoughtful questions, and had the kind of eye contact that made people feel seen.

jess: “so… do you ever get nervous before a race?”

lewis: “not as much now. i get more nervous when she’s watching.”

mariah: “why?”

lewis: smiles “because i care what she thinks.”

meanwhile, his hand never left yours. fingers brushing yours under the table. knuckles against your thigh. every now and then he’d look over at you with this quiet little smile, like you were some kind of calming center.

when you got up to grab more ice, you heard nina whisper:

“dude. he hasn’t stopped looking at her all night.”

jess added, “he gave her the softest little smile when she laughed at that dumb joke. i almost cried.”

mariah leaned in. “okay, no, but that man is in love. like, core memory level in love.”

you froze in the kitchen doorway. “he’s right there.”

“we know.” jess whisper-yelled. “and he doesn’t care. he’s a certified loverboy.”

when he finally left, he gave them all warm hugs and said, “thank you for loving her. it means the world.”

and before heading out, he turned to you, cupped your face gently, and murmured, “text me when you’re home, okay? sleep’s always better when i hear from you.”

when the door clicked shut, mariah flopped on the couch like she’d run a marathon. “girl. i can’t even be fake salty. he’s so in love with you it’s romantic comedy level ridiculous.”

ʚ・george russell

you knew george was a bit territorial.

not in a scary way — more like the gentleman version of a cat that rubs his head on you to claim ownership. he’d do things like put his hand on your back when someone complimented you. or slide closer when you talked to strangers in the paddock. but this? this was new.

“wait… who’s micah?” george asked as you grabbed your bag.

you blinked. “micah? my best friend?”

his brow furrowed. “you said you were going out with friends tonight, not… guys.”

you laughed. “babe, literally every friend i’m seeing tonight is a guy.”

his jaw did a subtle tighten. “right.”

when you got to the rooftop bar, george was civil. polite. british, even.

but the grip on your waist tightened just a bit when luca hugged you. and he didn’t laugh when micah said, “god, you’re so hot when you parallel park.”

george just said, “she’s hot doing anything,” with the fakest smile you’d ever seen.

you tried not to laugh.

halfway through the night, you leaned over and whispered, “you good?”

he smiled. “of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

you gave him a look.

he exhaled. “you didn’t tell me all your friends were dudes. i’m just trying to… assess.”

“assess what?”

“if i need to fight anyone.”

you snorted into your drink.

the turning point came when micah and luca started arguing over whether george clooney or paul mescal was the superior white boy crush.

micah went, “listen, i’d let paul ruin my life but george is my tax bracket soulmate.”

and luca added, “you’re forgetting dev patel exists, which is crazy because i would risk it all.”

george blinked.

then turned to you, slowly. “i’m sorry. are they all—”

“gay?” you said, trying not to wheeze. “yes. every single one of them.”

“oh.” he sat back in his chair. “oh.”

you leaned in, grinning. “were you feeling threatened?”

he cleared his throat. “i was… aware.”

“they all follow you on instagram, george. they send your shirtless pics in the group chat with heart emojis.”

micah shouted across the table, “he’s on my lockscreen!”

george turned red. “i—really?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” luca deadpanned. “it was a joke. you were standing next to lewis.”

later, on the uber ride home, george had his arm slung around you, looking appropriately sheepish.

“i really thought luca was into you.”

you laughed. “he literally helped me pick your birthday gift and called you ‘delicious.’”

“i wasn’t listening. i was too busy panicking.”

you kissed his cheek. “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

he kissed the top of your head. “i’m also lucky your friends are hot and unavailable.”

“micah’s still flirting with you.”

george shrugged, smug now. “he has taste.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

when you told your friends you were bringing carlos to the group dinner, the reaction was immediate.

“wait—like carlos sainz?”

“the spanish one?”

“the one with the hair?”

“bro. he’s hot but does he talk?”

you laughed. “he’s so normal, guys. you’ll see.”

carlos showed up exactly two minutes early with a bottle of wine and a handmade bouquet he’d “accidentally” picked up on the way because he “thought it looked like something you'd like.”

immediate chaos.

“oh, he’s dangerous,” said tiff, already hiding behind her wine glass.

your bestie eli raised an eyebrow. “he’s not allowed to make eye contact with me. i’m weak.”

but then he spoke.

“so,” carlos started, standing there with his hands awkwardly folded in front of him, “who is in charge of… uh… the vibes?”

there was a beat of silence. then eruptive laughter.

“you mean like the playlist?”

“no, i think he meant the vibes.”

“oh my god he’s an actual golden retriever.”

“no, he’s like a very polite tourist.”

you couldn’t stop laughing. “carlos, baby, just sit down.”

to be fair, he tried.

he listened to the conversations, nodded thoughtfully, smiled politely.

but then he pointed to amara’s glass and said, “you drink that very fast. is that normal?”

she blinked. “…it’s a margarita, carlos.”

“oh. i like tequila. but not margaritas. they’re… too horizontal.”

everyone paused.

“too… horizontal?” eli echoed.

carlos nodded. “too flat. i like drinks that have… structure.”

you whispered, “i have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“he’s handsome. let him be strange,” tiff murmured.

but then he helped clean up the dishes without being asked. offered his jacket to eli when they stepped outside. complimented. tiff’s nail color in a way that wasn’t creepy, just genuinely curious. when amara made a joke, he laughed even though he clearly didn’t get it — just because everyone else was laughing.

by the end of the night, your friends were perched on the couch, dissecting him like an art exhibit.

“he’s awkward. but like… warm awkward.”

“like golden retriever professor awkward.”

“like if a sexy man had the brain of someone who collects model trains.”

you threw a pillow at them. “he’s just spanish!”

carlos poked his head in from the kitchen. “who is spanish?”

eli grinned. “you are.”

carlos blinked. “…yes. i know this.”

in the car on the way home, he leaned into you, a little sheepish.

“they laughed a lot.”

“with you,” you said quickly. “not at you.”

“…i was strange, wasn’t i?”

you kissed his cheek. “you were perfect.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

“okay. i need you all to be normal.”

you stood at the kitchen island while your three closest friends — maya, bri, and jade — collectively ignored you in favor of speculating about your boyfriend.

“i just feel like he’s intense,” bri said, sipping her wine.

“he’s monegasque,” jade replied like it explained everything.

maya added, “i bet he’s one of those guys who listens too closely and then says something super personal and makes you cry. in a good way.”

you groaned. “you guys are insane. he’s literally just charles.”

and then he walked in, hair a little windswept, cheeks pink from the cold, carrying pastries and wine with the proudest smile.

“hello,” he said. “i brought snacks. and the red wine that she said tastes like… uh… the floor?”

you winced. “i said it tasted earthy.”

he kissed your cheek. “same thing.”

to your surprise — and theirs — he fit in immediately.

and not just like, polite boyfriend sitting quietly kind of fit in.

like, full-on engaging, bantering, storytelling with hand gestures and wild facial expressions kind of fit in.

“and then,” charles said, wide-eyed, “i realized the bike i had taken was not my bike. it was—how do you say—locked to someone else's bike. so i am dragging two bikes across monaco like a thief.”

jade was crying. “did no one stop you?!”

“they stared! i waved and said, ‘it’s okay, i am very sorry!’ which is not helpful if you look like a criminal.”

bri gasped between laughs. “you’re unhinged.”

charles shrugged. “it is not my fault all bikes look the same.”

but what really got them wasn’t just the stories — it was how he looked at you.

when you got up to get more drinks, his eyes followed you automatically. when you sat back down, he rested a hand on your knee like it grounded him. when you laughed, he smiled like it was the only sound that mattered.

at one point, when you reached for the wine, he gently pulled it back. “drink water first,” he said softly, like it was second nature. “you get headaches.”

later that night, when he went to take a call from his brother, your friends immediately rounded on you.

“okay. i get it now,” maya whispered.

“he’s funny,” jade added, stunned. “like. actually funny. and kind of chaotic?”

“and so in love with you,” bri finished. “like, if you asked him to move to the moon with you tonight, he’d be like, ‘yes, let me pack my helmet.’”

you tried not to blush. “he is a little awkward sometimes.”

“he is, but in a hot way,” maya said. “like… emotionally available french cartoon character energy.”

you nearly choked.

ʚ・lando norris

“are you sure he’s ready for this?” you asked as you poured drinks.

your best friend zara smirked. “is he ready, or are you scared we’ll like him more than you?”

“both,” added amina, already plotting.

and then, of course, lando showed up five minutes early with takeout, a mischievous smile, and a hat too big for his own head.

he looked around the room. “so. you’re the ones she keeps texting during our dates.”

“depends,” zara said. “are you gonna give us something to talk about?”

lando blinked. “that sounds threatening.”

“good. you’re learning.”

they clicked immediately.

amina asked about his sim setup. zara grilled him about his spotify playlists. jules challenged him to mario kart and then screamed when he barely won.

and the whole time, lando kept up effortlessly — tossing jokes, throwing fake shade, and flashing you the smuggest grin every time he got a laugh.

“oh, so you think you’re funny now?” you teased.

“i know i’m funny. ask your friends,” he said, sliding closer.

zara leaned in. “he is. unfortunately.”

at one point, the conversation somehow devolved into an argument about cereal rankings.

“frosted flakes are top tier,” jules said.

lando gasped. “that’s so vanilla of you.”

“sorry, mr. i-buy-fancy-cereal-in-monaco,” jules shot back.

amina whispered to you, “i get it now. he’s just one of us in a more expensive hoodie.”

you smiled. “i told you.”

but it wasn’t just jokes.

it was the way lando would pause mid-story to rub your back. or how he leaned over to top off your drink without asking. or the moment you yawned and he whispered, “want me to wrap it up?” against your shoulder.

zara caught it and mouthed he’s obsessed with you across the room.

when he left that night, jules dabbed him up like they’d been boys for years.

“you’re alright, norris. for a mclaren driver.”

“i’ll pretend that didn’t hurt,” lando said dramatically.

zara hugged you and whispered, “he can stay.”

amina added, “but only because he beat me at uno.”

later that night, you were scrolling through your phone when lando texted: your friends are chaos and i love them. also, zara’s playing it cool but she’s totally a fan. i saw the twinkle. also also. you looked stupid pretty tonight. thanks for sharing your people with me <3

ʚ・oscar piastri

you’d prepped him on the way there.

“they’re loud. you’re not. please don’t shut down.”

oscar glanced at you from the driver’s seat. “i don’t shut down. i just… conserve energy.”

you laughed. “whatever you call it, try not to look like you want to leave the whole time.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the faint smile.

the moment you walked in, your best friend dani narrowed her eyes.

“that’s him?” she mouthed.

you nodded, and she replied with a very slow, hmm.

you sighed.

oscar stood next to you like a polite guest at a wedding, smiling faintly, hands in his pockets.

“you alright?” you asked, low.

he nodded once. “i just feel like i’m being judged.”

you smiled. “because you are.”

to his credit, he tried.

made small talk. laughed (softly) at jokes. asked how everyone knew you. but dani wasn’t biting. she stayed suspicious, arms crossed, watching him like she was waiting for a slip-up.

meanwhile, your friend luke — loud, dramatic, and a certified flirt — came up behind you and slung an arm over your shoulder.

“hey, sunshine. you look hot.”

oscar’s eyes did a slow blink.

you didn’t catch it — but dani did.

later, while you were grabbing drinks, dani cornered oscar in the hallway.

“so. what’s your deal?”

he blinked. “my… deal?”

“you like her?”

oscar’s brows lifted slightly. “very much.”

“then why do you keep glaring at luke like you want to run him over with a scooter?”

oscar blinked again. “because i do.”

dani paused.

“…okay,” she muttered, then turned and walked off — almost smiling.

back in the kitchen, luke was showing you something on his phone when oscar came up behind you and casually slid his hand around your waist.

you leaned into him instinctively.

“having fun?” you asked.

he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “loads.”

luke looked between you two. “oh. so you do like her.”

oscar blinked. “why does everyone keep asking me that?”

later that night, when you were saying your goodbyes, dani pulled you aside.

“i still think he’s too quiet,” she said, eyes narrowed. “but. he passed.”

you grinned. “he grew on you?”

she shrugged. “he has some personality. i just think he’s got trust issues.”

you blinked. “based on what?”

she looked over at oscar — who was very subtly glaring at luke again. “…girl. he’s five seconds from growling.”

in the car, you nudged him.

“hey. be honest. you hate luke, don’t you?”

oscar didn’t look away from the road. “he’s too friendly.”

you tried not to smile. “you mean he called me hot.”

“he also winked.”

“he’s gay, oscar.”

oscar blinked. “…is he?”

you burst out laughing. “you are so bad at this.”

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soapysoapysoapysoapy · 25 days ago

Note

I need to know what happens next in 'soap fucked prices daughter' please it gave me brainworms and i need to know

ask and ye shall receive...this time.

INT. 141 COMMON AREA – LATER

Soap slams the door behind him and leans against the wall, panting like he just barely escaped a lion’s den. His hair’s a mess. His soul has left his body.

Gaz strolls in like he owns the place, still grinning.

Gaz: “You alright, lover boy?”

Soap: (dead inside) “He’s gonna kill me. I saw it in his eyes. That man was calculating my death in real time.”

Gaz: “Well… maybe he’ll be distracted by the mental image of you climbing his daughter like a jungle gym.”

Soap groans and throws a pillow at him.

Ghost enters silently, as he always does. Looks at them. Blinks once.

Ghost: (casual) “You’re the one who shagged Price’s daughter, right?”

Soap: (yelping) “How the hell did you find out?!”

Ghost: “It’s all over base. Heard she called you ‘Sir’ and you cried.”

Gaz: (wheezing) “He did cry. A little. Right before he told Price she was ‘a demon in bed.’”

Ghost: “...Impressive. Stupid. But impressive.”

Soap: (burying his face in his hands) “I was a dead man before. Now I’m a meme.”

EXT. BASE – EVENING

Soap’s walking toward the barracks when he sees her—Price’s daughter—leaning against the wall in a hoodie and boots, arms crossed, watching him.

He freezes like a guilty raccoon in headlights.

Her: “You told my dad?”

Soap: (panicked) “No! I told a man, who I didn’t know was your dad, and then your dad turned into your dad after the fact!”

She squints. Trying not to smile.

Her: “So… you told Captain Price that I was, quote, ‘the best ride since the Triumph Rocket III?’”

Soap groans. Soap: “Okay, who is leaking my quotes?!”

She walks toward him. Slowly. Teasing.

Her: “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re panicking.”

Soap: “I’ve aged ten years today. Price threw a chair out a window. I think I’ve been disowned and I’m not even related.”

She finally reaches him, smirking. Her: “You really think it was top three?”

Soap: (blinking, hopelessly lost in her now) “...Top one. Don’t tell your dad.”

She leans in—like she might kiss him—then just pats his cheek with a wicked grin.

Her: “Too late.”

She walks off.

Soap stares after her, hands on his hips, muttering to himself.

Soap: “I’m gonna die with an erection. That’s how this ends.”

#cod #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod modern warfare #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #ghost cod #soap x reader #gaz cod #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish

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dollishmehrayan · 1 month ago

Text

# TAKE EVERYTHING AS IT WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU ── .✦ ( batboys x writer!reader who writes ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ౨ৎ: hey so I’m back from the dead apparently, anywaysss omgg I missed you guys Hii and I will posting more content from now on and taking this seriously and these past days I was super stressed out over moving but hey my lovess anyways I decided to base this writer s/o over like anyone, like whether you write fan fic like me or write actual books, it matters to this hcs !! Tags: (batboys x writer!s/o)

# DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He loves that you're a writer ( listen he just LOVESSS creative women like hello !? God forbid a guy likes creative people 🫠) he's your #1 fan and biggest hype man.

Tries to read your work over your shoulder while you're typing, even if you hate it “Babe, I need to know what happens next!” Like constantly over your shoulder seeing what you’re drafting and etc.

Occasionally offers cheesy plot ideas like “what if the love interest also knows parkour?” (His ideas suck)

Will 100% brag to everyone: “Yeah, my partner’s a genius novelist. Ever heard of them? You will.” OOOOO

Falls asleep listening to you ramble about story arcs and character development. It's his favorite sound.

Writes you little encouraging notes like, “You got this, Hemingway 💪” and sticks them on your laptop / tablet or wtv you have bbg.

# JASON TODD ── .✦

Loves your dark, gritty writing especially if there's violence, angst, or moral grayness involved since a lot of people don’t write angst that casually.

Offers surprisingly insightful edits or plot ideas: “This villain's motivation is weak. Give them a tragic backstory and don’t make them redeemable.”

Low-key wants you to base a character on him but will pretend he doesn’t care.

Has a soft spot for reading your fluff pieces though and will be quietly emotional about them.

Will threaten anyone who leaves bad reviews on your work. "Just say the word. Username 'Booktoklover93'? I got 'em."

He buys you fancy notebooks and pens and acts like it's no big deal, but he's proud of himself.

# TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Absolute king of writing dates you'll both sit in a café typing furiously and sipping terrible coffee.

Helps you fact-check obscure things at 3am without complaint (okay, maybe some complaint).

If you write mystery or thrillers, he treats it like solving a real case. “Wait… that clue in chapter 5…”

He totally has a secret folder on his computer labeled “[Your Name]’s Writing – Favorite Stuff” with all your pieces saved.

You’ve accidentally inspired him to write fanfic once and he WILL take that secret to the grave.

Sends you prompts or memes like “this is so your OC.” (Sorry I just keep cringing at oc 🥲)

# DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

At first, he might not get why you write fictional stories… but then he reads them.

He's completely blown away and demands to know what happens next immediately.

Occasionally critiques your logic but ends up emotionally invested in your characters.

“Why did you kill him off?” Because it served the story—” “You’re a monster.”

Will sit next to you while you write, drawing or sketching your characters in his own style.

Has probably told Alfred he thinks you’re a genius at least once when he thought no one was listening.

# BONUS WHICH MR WAYNE! ── .✦

Loves that you're creative and has the patience of a saint when listening to you rant about plot holes.

He doesn’t read everything you write, but when he does, he’ll quote it back to you at random times like a proud husband.

“Chapter 7 really showed growth. I was impressed.”

Offers to fund your writing career or self-publishing venture without blinking. “You’ll need an editor and marketing team.” SIGN ME UP !!

He also gently reminds you to eat and sleep when you’re on a deadline: “You’ve been writing for 16 hours. Come to bed and go to sleep.”

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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 3 months ago

Text

NFL Honors

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Rockstar!Reader

Summary: The NFL Honors ceremony had always been a spectacle, but tonight. Tonight, all eyes were on them. For months, there had been whispers. Sideline glances. Shared exits. Paparazzi catching them “coincidentally” at the same places. But neither of them had confirmed anything. Not after the season started. Not after the break-in. Not after Joe’s frustrating year on the field. But tonight, there was no denying it.

She stepped onto the red carpet, wearing a sleek, black floor-length dress that hugged her figure perfectly—classic, effortless, but stunning.

And beside her?

Joe Burrow.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, hand resting comfortably on her waist, walking like he wasn’t single-handedly sending the internet into flames.

Reporters were scrambling to adjust their questions. Cameras flashed wildly. Fans lost their minds.

Joe leaned in, murmuring just for her.

"You ready for this?"

She smirked, squeezing his hand. "Are you?"

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "Not even a little."

By the time they reached the interview section, reporters were barely containing their excitement.

Interviewer: "Joe, [Y/N]—is this your way of confirming the rumors?"

Joe, completely unfazed: "I think the rumors confirmed themselves."

She laughed, tilting her head. "But if you need it spelled out—yeah, we’re here together."

The internet? Exploded.

Hailee Steinfeld, already at the event, sprinted across the carpet the second she saw them.

"OH MY GOD, FINALLY."

Joe sighed, shaking his head. "Here we go."

Hailee grabbed her by the wrist, beaming. "You don’t understand—I have been holding this secret in for MONTHS."

She rolled her eyes. "You literally told me to wait for the perfect moment."

Hailee grinned. "Yeah, but I didn’t think it would take this long."

Joe smirked. "She wanted to keep the mystery alive."

Hailee turned to the cameras, gesturing to them dramatically. "Well, mystery’s dead. They’re a thing. This is real. You're welcome."

Joe laughed, pulling her closer. "Guess there’s no going back now."

She grinned, looking up at him. "Nope."

NFL Memes (@NFL_Memes): “JOE BURROW JUST CASUALLY SHOWED UP WITH HIS GIRL LIKE IT WASN’T THE BIGGEST DEAL EVER.”

PopCultureBuzz: “HAILEE STEINFELD BREAKING HER SILENCE LIKE SHE WAS A HOSTAGE TO THIS SECRET.”

ESPN: “Joe Burrow’s biggest win of the season? Making it official.”

The moment Joe’s name was called for Comeback Player of the Year, the entire room erupted in applause.

She turned to him, smiling proudly, squeezing his hand before he stood up.

“Go get your award, Burrow.”

Joe smirked. “You gonna be here when I get back?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

Joe leaned down just slightly, brushing his lips against her cheek before heading to the stage.

The cameras caught everything.

Joe stood at the mic, taking a second to compose himself before speaking.

“Man… this is an honor.”

He went on to thank his coaches, teammates, trainers, the fans, the people who helped him grind through the tough season.

And then?

His eyes flickered toward where she was sitting.

“And, uh… one more person I gotta thank.”

She froze.

The audience leaned in.

Joe smirked just slightly. “She knows who she is.”

The room erupted in murmurs and laughter.

She shook her head, covering her face as Hailee smacked her arm, grinning.

Joe just chuckled, clearing his throat. “Anyway… let’s get ready for next season.”

NFL Memes (@NFL_Memes): “JOE BURROW GAVE HER A SHOUTOUT IN HIS SPEECH AND JUST LEFT US TO GUESS???”

PopCultureBuzz: “‘She knows who she is’—JOE BE SO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.”

ESPN: “Joe Burrow keeps winning. On and off the field.”

She barely had time to process what just happened before she felt strong arms wrap around her waist.

Joe.

“You good?” he murmured against her hair.

She turned in his arms, poking his chest. “Seriously? She knows who she is?”

Joe smirked. “You did, didn’t you?”

She huffed, biting back a smile. “I hate you.”

Joe just leaned in, whispering against her lips. “No, you don’t.”

And with that, he kissed her.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fanfic #cincinnati bengals #bengals #nfl #nfl football #nfl honors #hailee steinfeld

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dakotalun · 2 years ago

Text

"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else.

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

#eddie stranger things #munson #eddie munson #eddie my love #eddie my beloved #female reader #oneshot #smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things season 4 #eddie x reader

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sv3t1ana · 1 month ago

Text

Thinking about Husband!Sukuna with his stupid little wife. (739 words)

Sukuna is a king. Grumpy, ancient, borderline-sadistic, a being whose name alone would send entire nations into panic. He once ruled entire regions with a flick of his clawed finger. Of course, his sanctum still stands with sprawling halls and servants who keep their heads down unless spoken to. His throne has seen more executions than conversations.

And now he’s married to you.

You, his absurd little wife.

The thing is, Sukuna’s interacted with humans his whole life. He’s bathed in their blood, cursed their lineage, swallowed them whole.

But you were something else entirely. You came into his life one day like a raccoon through a doggy door, all chaotic, demanding snacks, and absolutely fucking impossible to get rid of.

Like clockwork, he settled into bed beside you after a long day of doing God knows what (Tending to the cursed realm? Massacring a clan?) He sighs, muscles relaxing as he’s pulling the silk covers over his tired frame.

And then his entire body goes rigid.

“I told you─no eating in bed.”

You glance up at him, pout already in place. “But I was hungry earlier.”

He throws the covers back as if they’ve betrayed him. The bed, his bed, is now a wasteland of crumbs, evidence of your rendezvous of whatever snack his era would consider garbage. He stares, expression that of a man who’s just been told his empire was conquered by ants─and that wasn’t really so far off from the truth.

“This is sacred,” he hisses. “This is a fortress of slumber.”

You just crawl into his lap and kiss his cheek, already forgiven in your mind.

He’s slaughtered kingdoms for far less. But for you, he’ll only seethe in silence before getting Uraume to change the sheets.

Then there are moments where your behavior is so detrimental to his legacy he begins to question whether binding his soul to yours was truly a wise decision.

“You used an enchanted dagger to open a box of Pop-Tarts?”

You’re sitting cross-legged, happily chewing on a blueberry pastry and barely sparing him a glance. “It was really hard to open, ‘Kuna.”

“That blade was forged in agony. It has been blessed in blood. It howls when drawn.”

“Yeah, it did kinda make a weird noise when I stabbed the foil.”

He’s silent. Processing.

“Anyway, please tell Uraume to get more of this flavor. I don’t like the weird brown sugar ones.”

He mutters something in a dead language as he turns away, mentally tallying the amount of shrines that needed a good burning to cleanse your disrespect. But later that night, you’re asleep in his four arms, legs tangled with his while his cursed energy pulses low and steady around you both like a purring furnace.

And yes, Uraume does return (rather quickly, as per his request) from their next mission with another six-pack of blueberry Pop-Tarts.

However, one of his lowest moments was when you finally convinced him, after two whole years, to get a smartphone.

You nearly cried when he unboxed it. He scowled at it like it was a cursed relic. “Foolish woman,” he muttered, trying to press the screen with fingers better suited for ripping out ribcages.

One day, post-battle and freshly showered with his wet hair cascading down his back, you did the mistake of saying his hair looked slay.

“…Who must I slay?”

“No no, slay, like, slay queen.”

“There is no queen. She has been devoured for centuries.”

You just giggle, pressing kisses into his chest.

And then there’s the drama recaps you give him.

You’ll sit beside the King, dressed in one of his ancient robes, face deadly serious as you recount the horrors of online beef.

“…So she soft-launched her situationship with the dude who used to date her sister, but then her sister hard-launched a new guy like five minutes later. Twitter was in shambles.”

Sukuna stares at you like you’ve just spoken in tongues even he doesn't know.

“Bring me this ‘Twitter.’ I shall slaughter him myself.”

But despite everything, the memes, the crumbs, the cursed dagger Pop-Tarts, and your insistence on calling him “babygirl” when he walks into the chambers shirtless, he adores you.

His chaos gremlin.

His wife.

He may rule over death, but only you rule over him.

It wasn’t even two weeks after the phone arrived that he looked you dead in the eyes and said,

“You burnt the cookies, woman. I ratioed you.”

You blinked. He blinked in response.

He’ll fold for you every time. Even if you eat hot chips in bed again or call him “my little meow meow” in front of the servants.

He’s yours.

So fully, tragically, and unironically yours.

more husband!Sukuna hcs here

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bjlipss · 6 days ago

Text

— bug, part ix.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. jin and yuuji are here!!!

part viii <- part ix -> part x

you and sukuna are walking back from your afternoon lecture, the sun warm on your shoulders, the spring air sticky with that lazy, golden kind of peace that always hits around 4 p.m. your fingers brush as you walk—like they’re testing the water, seeing if it’s okay to hold on. sometimes you do. sometimes you don’t. today, he keeps his hand close enough that you can if you want.

you kick a pebble ahead of you, watching it skip across the sidewalk, and he hums under his breath. his phone keeps buzzing, but he doesn’t check it, just glances at the screen with a slight twitch in his jaw. he’s not frowning exactly, but his whole vibe is… pinched. distracted.

you nudge him with your elbow. “bad memes again?”

he snorts, but doesn’t answer.

and then—just as you’re about to ask what’s up—a voice cuts through the campus air:

“SUKUNA!”

you both stop in your tracks.

“seriously, pick up your damn phone!” comes another voice—higher, lighter, and far too cheerful for how public this moment is becoming.

you turn just in time to see a tall man jogging up the campus path, one hand waving in the air, the other wrapped around the wrist of a tiny, pink-haired child who’s practically vibrating with excitement.

“UNCLE SUKUUUUNAAAA!” the kid shrieks.

he barrels into sukuna’s legs like a rocket, clinging to him with the fearless enthusiasm only kid can pull off. sukuna doesn’t even stumble—just plants his feet, jaw clenched, while the kid starts talking at a hundred miles per hour about juice boxes and frogs and something called “angry dinosaur mode.”

your boyfriend looks like he’s malfunctioning.

“what the hell are you doing here,” sukuna grits, glancing around like he wants to teleport into the earth. “jin, are you serious?”

“you weren’t answering your phone,” jin says, completely unfazed, ruffling yuuji’s hair. “i got worried. figured i’d swing by and make sure you weren’t dead.”

sukuna scowls. “i was in class.”

“you were not in class twenty minutes ago when i called you five times in a row,” jin replies, smug. then, noticing you, his whole expression brightens. “oh! you must be the mystery girl i know nothing about.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “uh. i mean. maybe. probably?”

jin laughs and extends a hand. “i’m jin. sukuna’s brother. and this little guy is yuuji, my son.”

yuuji tugs on your sleeve immediately. “hi! you’re really pretty! do you know about frogs? i have one. not a real one. a toy one.”

you blink and the grin at him. “i would love to hear about your frog.”

sukuna groans. “this is my nightmare.”

—

you’re supposed to part ways right after—sukuna mumbles something about going back to his dorm, and you start to offer him an out. but then yuuji grabs your hand with his tiny, slightly sticky fingers and says, “you have to come to our house. we have dinosaur nuggets and i’ll let you name my frog.”

and that’s how you end up in the back seat of jin’s car, listening to kung fu fighting on the radio while yuuji gives you a passionate summary of paw patrol lore.

sukuna sits beside you with his arms crossed, legs spread, glaring at the dashboard like it insulted him personally. but every now and then, you catch him sneaking glances at you—like he’s trying to gauge if you’re annoyed or overwhelmed or secretly plotting your escape.

you aren’t.

you’re smiling. nodding along to yuuji’s wild stories. making jin laugh with your half-hearted dinosaur impressions. like you belong there already.

sukuna feels something dangerous and warm unfurling in his chest.

—

the house is cozy and lived-in—wooden floors, sun-faded rugs, drawings taped to the fridge. you help jin in the kitchen while sukuna and yuuji chase each other around the couch, shrieking laughter echoing off the walls.

you glance over your shoulder and catch sukuna lifting yuuji into the air like he weighs nothing, both of them laughing as he threatens to “yeet him into the next zip code”. your heart flips, a grin splitting your face.

“he’s good with him,” you say quietly.

jin smiles, handing you a pair of tongs. “he raised him for a while, you know. back when things were hard.”

you turn to him, surprised. “really?”

“mm.” he leans against the counter. “our parents weren’t the greatest. and i was struggling after yuuji was born. couldn’t even afford daycare. so ryomen stepped up. no complaints, no questions. just—helped.”

you glance back at the living room, where sukuna is currently covered in couch cushions and pretending to be crushed.

“he doesn’t talk about that,” you murmur.

“no. he doesn’t.” jin smiles softly. “but i think you’re good for him. he’s been… lighter. since you showed up.”

you open your mouth to say something back. but nothing comes.

because the truth is, you’re not even sure how it happened.

you just like him.

and he keeps choosing you back.

—

after dinner—warm and chaotic and full of second servings and juice spills—yuuji passes out on the couch, curled up in a pile of blankets with a stuffed frog clutched to his chest.

jin shoos you and sukuna upstairs with a wink. “go show her your cringe teenage posters.”

“don’t,” sukuna mutters, dragging you by the wrist, “say another word.”

his room is… small. cluttered. a little dusty. it smells like old cologne and nostalgia. it has some of yuuji’s toys and the half opened drawer is full of random stuff, but part of sukuna is still in the room.

you take it in slowly—the peeling bleach poster, the crooked bookshelf, the pile of old basketball jerseys stuffed into the closet corner. there’s a cracked basketball trophy on the shelf and a sticker-covered lamp by the bed.

there’s a picture frame turned face-down on the desk. you don’t ask.

you sit on the edge of the bed while sukuna flops down beside you, staring at the ceiling.

“sorry about all that,” he mutters.

you smile. “i liked it.”

he glances over. “you… did?”

“mhm. your brother’s nice. and yuuji’s basically the coolest person i’ve ever met.”

“he’s a menace,” sukuna says, but his voice is soft. proud.

you lean against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

and then, after a beat—he says quietly, “i didn’t wanna be like our dad. so i tried. with yuuji. even if i fucked up sometimes.”

your chest aches. not with pity, but with something bigger. something heavier. something warm.

“you didn’t fuck up,” you whisper. “you were there. that’s what matters.”

he doesn’t answer. just shifts, turns slightly, and pulls you closer. your heart stutters.

his breath is slow, steady against your hair. his hand finds yours, fingers tangling together. it’s so gentle you could cry.

“you fit,” he says quietly.

“huh?”

“in my life,” he clarifies. “you just… fit.”

you turn to look up at him, stunned.

“i want you to come over more,” he murmurs.

you blink up at him. “okay.”

“like. often.”

“okay.”

“like. maybe forever.”

you smile. slow and sure.

he turns toward you, hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face.

you nod, heart thundering.

“okay.”

he leans in, brushing a kiss to your forehead. you melt into him like you were made for it.

and for the first time in a long time, sukuna thinks maybe home isn’t a place or a childhood memory or a messy room in his brother’s house.

maybe it’s this.

you.

right here.

now.

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