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sleepyhoon · 7 months ago

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THREE WEEKS & THREE DAYS - P.SH

pairing. best friend's ex!sunghoon x reader

genre. best friend's ex au, halloween au, smut, angst (if you squint).

word count. 12.2k+

warnings. alcohol consumption, drug usage, partying, driving under the influence, toxic relationships, themes of divorce, brief mention of physical abuse, smut [car sex, use of handcuffs, oral, praise kink/dirty talk, creampie]

summary. a stressful night at a Halloween party has you seeking comfort from the last person you should be involved with — your best friend's ex.

a/n. HIGHLY HIGHLY inspired by season 2 episode 1 of euphoria! this is a work of pure fiction and is NOT a reflection of how i view the members. despite writing this story, i DO NOT condone the dangerous choices the characters in this fic make and DO NOT encourage others to do so! read at your own discretion. also, very special thanks to @zreamy for beta-reading this for me!!

When you were six, you spent Halloween night lying on a hospital bed dressed as Hannah Montana.

Everything happened so fast; one moment, you were trick-or-treating with your father and younger sister while scarfing down a Snickers bar for the first time (a king-sized one at that), and the next, your dad was rushing you to the hospital in a panic, tears in his eyes as he encouraged you to stay awake in the backseat.

By the time you’d arrived at the hospital, your body had gone completely limp, and your father struggled to carry both you and your younger sister into the hospital lobby. From what you can remember, it was like a scene from a movie: seeing your dad cry for the first time, being wheeled into an unfamiliar bright room on a mobile bed, all while dressed as your favorite popstar.

The scariest part of the night was shortly after arriving at the hospital and catching a glimpse of your reflection, not recognizing the person staring back at you. The blonde wig and blue eye contacts were to be expected, but the swollen face and half-lidded eyes were another. Had you been able to breathe (let alone talk), you likely would’ve given your sister a classic Halloween jumpscare.

Your mother had arrived only a few minutes after you did, yelling at your father loud enough to have the hospital staff threaten to kick her out. “You forgot she was allergic to peanuts?! Where was her fucking EpiPen?!”

Your dad sighed, running a hand across his face, “I forgot to pick it up. I’ve been busy with…you know.”

She scoffs, “You don’t think I’ve been busy too?! Especially now that we have to meet with the divorce lawyer once a week?!”

Your ears perk up at that, “Divorce?”

You hadn’t known much about the true meaning of divorce, except that it’s something your friend’s parents had gone through, and now he gets two of everything. Two birthdays, two Christmases, two lives. So simple yet so perfect, what child wouldn’t dream of that?

Your parents, who hadn’t even known you were awake, silence themselves immediately. Tears quickly form in your mother’s eyes as she realizes they’d been caught, trying their best to keep the news of their divorce as quiet as possible, waiting for the right moment to explain to you and your sister, Yuna, the real meaning of it, and how different your lives would be.

It dawns on them that there’s no point trying to keep this secret any longer. You were a smart kid, it was probably only a matter of time before you found out on your own, anyway.

All in one night, you managed to survive a near-death experience, only to be followed by the news of your parents’ divorce. And somehow, at twenty-three years old, watching Lee Heeseung flirt with random girls at a Halloween party is much worse than everything you experienced that cursed night in 2007.

“Can you at least pretend that you’re having a good time?!” You can barely hear Minjeong over how loud the music is, her words fading in and out as you take a sip from your cup.

“I am having a good time, isn’t it obvious?” you reply, showing Minjeong your best fake smile.

Grinning, Minjeong shakes her head at you. “Not at all. Here, need a refill?”

Without waiting for your response, Minjeong hops off the kitchen counter and snatches the red solo cup in your hand. You don’t bother protesting, sighing as you rest your weight against the marble countertop, while she adds a mix of different ingredients to your cup.

When she’s not looking, you tilt your head in the direction of the living room, hoping to get a glance at Heeseung through the sea of drunken college students.

The only word that can be used to describe your relationship with Heeseung is ‘unfortunate’. You were together for six months, and spent most of the time fighting, making up, and having sex. It was a relentless, tiresome cycle you allowed yourself to succumb to just for the sake of not having to be alone.

Most of the arguments would start with you questioning Heeseung’s loyalty, growing suspicious upon seeing his username pop up in the likes section of random girls on social media. In hindsight, it seems like a silly thing to get upset over. The entire purpose of social media was to connect and interact with others anyway, but, why was it always girls? And why would these girls suddenly start watching your stories?

Breaking up with him was harder than you could’ve imagined, and you’re sure you wouldn’t have been able to do it without Minjeong by your side, encouraging you through the entire process.

The aftermath was embarrassingly excruciating. For two weeks, you locked yourself in your bedroom and fell into a cycle of sleeping and crying, occasionally taking breaks to eat or use the restroom. At one point, your phone spent a full forty-eight hours without being turned on at all, causing your loved ones to panic upon not being able to get ahold of you.

Slowly but surely you managed to build yourself back up, finally starting to feel like your old self when Heeseung suggested the two of you get back together.

You were hesitant, of course, telling Heeseung you were willing to work things out if he can prove to you he’s changed and ready to be the loyal, doting boyfriend he should’ve been from the start.

So no, you’re not together. But you’re also not not together. It’s confusing.

A football player is blocking your view of Heeseung (dressed as a cowboy), you have to stand on your tip-toes to catch a glimpse of him talking to — wait, who is that?

“Patrick would not stand for this.” Minjeong interrupts your thoughts, poking fun at your costume choice of a female Patrick Bateman.

You shrug, pretending to act clueless. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Minjeong rolls her eyes, shoving your cup back into your hand “Sure, you weren’t. Come on, cheers with me.”

“To what?” you ask, suspiciously eyeing the drink she’s just handed you. Minjeong isn’t that great of a cook, so you can imagine she’s not the best bartender either. In fact, it’d be best if she stayed far away from any sort of kitchen appliance.

She thinks for a moment then excitedly extends her cup out to you. “To getting over our shitty ex-boyfriends!”

Minjeong’s ex was Park Sunghoon, they dated on and off for a year and a half before calling it quits over the summer. You don’t remember the exact reason why they broke up, there were many different factors. It didn’t matter, they were bad for each other anyway and the relationship was entirely too toxic for either of their wellbeing.

You don’t know much about Sunghoon aside from the things Minjeong felt comfortable enough to share with you and the fact that he is on the university’s hockey team with Heeseung. You’ve probably had a handful of conversations and interactions with Sunghoon in the entire time of knowing him, and are more than happy with things staying that way.

Holding your cup up high, you match Minjeong’s smile and tap your cup against hers. “To getting over our ex-boyfriends!”

The drink is disgusting. You quickly turn away so you don’t hurt your best friend’s feelings by gagging at the taste. She manages to down her entire cup while you make quick work of pouring a majority of yours down the sink behind you.

Minjeong stares down at her empty cup with wide eyes, licking the remains off her plump lips. “Holy shit, that was so good. Do you want more? I’m gonna make myself another cup.”

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you say, snatching your cup away when she reaches for it. Minjeong raises a brow at you, and you follow up with, “I should wait before having another drink.”

She nods understandingly, and you give yourself a mental pat on the back for coming up with that so quickly.

While she’s occupied with making another drink, your eyes trail back over towards Heeseung. The football player from earlier is gone, and now that your view is no longer obstructed, you watch in confusion as Heeseung now has this mystery girl by the waist, leaning his head down close to her lips as she whispers something in his ear.

This really is worse than Halloween 2007.

“Hey.” You tap Minjeong’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She follows your line of sight, scowling when it lands on Heeseung. “YN, don’t make a big deal out of this. You guys technically aren’t even together.”

“Relax, I’m just going to say hi.” You assure her, moving to head towards Heeseung when Minjeong stops you with a hand on your chest. “Think about this, please.”

You sigh, using your free hand to clutch hers and slowly bring it down from your chest. “I’ll be fine. Be back soon so we can dance, okay?”

Minjeong knows she won’t be able to stop you once your mind is made up, all she can do is sigh and wish you the best as you make a beeline for your ex. Maybe not the greatest idea on your part, but you’re too tipsy to think rationally.

Heeseung doesn’t notice you when you first approach, it takes the mystery girl awkwardly gesturing in your direction for him to finally look over at you, immediately dropping his hand from the girl’s waist. “YN!” He shouts, a little too excitedly, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

A few minutes later, you find yourself in an unfamiliar bedroom with Heeseung on step one of your toxic cycle — arguing.

“You’re overreacting,” Heeseung claims. “We were just talking.”

“About what, Heeseung? Why did you have to hold her by the fucking waist to talk to her?”

“Because! She was drunk! I was holding her up so she wouldn’t fall and hurt herself!”

“Who gives a shit if she falls? She’s not your fucking girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well, neither are you.”

His words shouldn’t hurt as much as they do because he’s right; despite trying to work on things, you aren’t his girlfriend. You were the one who said you weren’t ready to get back together, not him. You shouldn’t be upset with him for talking to other girls.

And yet, here you are with tears in your eyes.

You nod silently, avoiding his gaze as a lump forms in your throat.

Heeseung must realize how much his words have affected you if the way he curses at himself, and shamefully runs a hand across his face is anything to go by. “Listen, I’m sor-”

“Don’t bother.” You stand from the bed, holding back a sob.“Everything about this was a mistake. You’ll never change.”

Heeseung reaches a hand out to grab your arm as you push past him. “YN, I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, Heeseung, you did mean it,” you say, pulling the bedroom door open.

There is no point in trying to reason with Heeseung. You know in a matter of time he’ll apologize, you’ll accept it like you always do, have make-up sex, then lecture him about how important it is that he changes before you can consider getting back together. Another endless cycle you’ve fallen into.

Stepping back into the party, you head in the opposite direction of where Minjeong would be, not wanting to run into her in your current state and bump right into someone dressed as Spiderman, causing the little remains of your drink to spill over and knock to the ground. You’re grateful that a crucial part of Patrick Bateman’s costume involved a plastic raincoat, or else your outfit would have suffered a dark blue stain.

“Oh my God, YN! I’m so sorry!” Spider-Man apologizes with a thick Australian accent.

“Jake?” You question, gesturing for him to take the mask off.

He follows your command, face bright red from embarrassment or alcohol. Probably both.

“Yeah, haha, hey. Really sorry about that, I can get you a new drink.” Jake turns in the direction of the kitchen before you stop him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Jake. Do you know where the bathroom is?”

Jake thinks for a moment, scratching at the small amount of stubble that’s graced his chin. He really does make a perfect Spider-Man, and if you weren’t so upset, you probably would’ve stayed and told him that.

“Upstairs, all the way down the hall. Wait! It’s occupied, people are doing coke in there, I think.”

Great.

You sigh. “Do you know if there’s another one I can use?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s one.” Jake turns, pointing to a door at the end of the hallway. “Right there. I saw a few people come in and out.”

Thanking Jake, you follow his direction and head to the door at the end of the hallway.

It’s a garage, not a bathroom. But, as long as you get a moment alone, you don’t really care where you are.

After shutting the door behind you, you sit on top of a washing machine and flinch at the cold metal sending chills down your thighs.

You shouldn’t have come out tonight, you don’t even care about Halloween to begin with. It’s an overrated holiday, you wish you would’ve convinced Minjeong to stay in with you and have a classic horror movie marathon while eating takeout and pausing to hand out (peanut-free) candy to trick-or-treaters.

Though, you’re sure you still would’ve spent the better half of the night obsessively tapping through Heeseung’s Instagram stories or trying to spot him in the background of someone else’s. It was a lose-lose situation no matter what, and you find yourself wondering if there’s an end to this unhealthy cycle.

Despite being so young when it happened, you’re sure your parents’ divorce obstructed your view of love and how a healthy adult relationship should work. Your father went on to have short-lived relationships with younger women who were using him for his money, while your mother remained single and chose to criticize her ex-husband’s current lifestyle choices. They couldn’t even co-parent in peace, always making petty comments to the other during drop-offs and pick-ups, finding any and every little thing to start arguing about.

One time in particular, after spending the weekend at your father’s house, your mother slapped him in a Dairy Queen parking lot upon realizing his new girlfriend had taken you and your sister to get your ears pierced. You didn’t actually see the slap happen, but it was loud enough to echo through the empty parking lot and hard enough to leave a red mark on his face.

The memory has tears forming in your eyes for the umpteenth time tonight, but before any of them have the chance to trickle down, the garage door swings open.

You turn, and Park Sunghoon (dressed as a police officer) is staring back at you with a confused look on his face. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before pointing in the direction of the party. “Uh, Jake said this was the bathroom.”

Shaking your head, you offer him a small smile. “No, the bathroom’s upstairs but it’s being used. If you really have to go, I’m pretty sure that door leads to the backyard.” You nod your head in the direction of the other door, and Sunghoon picks up on what you’re implying.

He thanks you before jogging over to the exit, setting his cup down on a metal dog crate before turning the knob and pushing open the door.

Sunghoon stands far enough out of frame that you only see a portion of his backside, and once the sound of him pissing on the grass hits your ears, you wonder why he didn’t bother to close the door in the first place.

Men.

He clears his throat awkwardly, “So, you s–”

You cut him off. “Let’s just wait until you’re done, please.”

Sunghoon nods, mumbling, “Right, right.”

He finishes up a few seconds later, zipping his pants back up and properly adjusting himself before returning to the garage, closing the door behind him and picking his drink back up in the process. “So, I’m guessing you’re…upset because of Heeseung?”

You let out a sad chuckle that sounds more like a sob. “Lucky guess. He’s just so fucking confusing, I can’t take it.”

“You’ll be alright,” Sunghoon responds, slipping his phone from his pants pocket and unlocking it. “Heeseung’s a douchebag.”

This catches you off guard, and you’re laughing before you even realize it. “Isn’t he your friend?”

Sunghoon shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at his phone as he scrolls. “Not really. We don’t talk much if it isn’t related to hockey or school.”

A beat of silence passes, then you ask, “When Heeseung and I were together, did he mention anything about cheating on me? Or talking to other girls?”

Sunghoon glances up at you for a split second, taking in how sad and hopeful you look before returning his gaze to the weather app he’d been using to distract himself.

He wasn’t sure if Heeseung went as far as physically cheating on you, but he was definitely talking to other girls behind your back; proudly showing the hockey team countless nudes and vulgar photos they would send him, some of them coming from your own friends.

Sunghoon can’t tell you this, you’re upset enough as it is.

“I wouldn’t know, I always tuned him out whenever he talked.”

Though he’s not sure what answer you were hoping for, Sunghoon can tell you’re a little disappointed by his response. Truthfully, he didn’t feel like getting involved in anyone else’s drama. If you wanted clarity from Heeseung, you should’ve gone straight to the source.

“Sorry,” you apologize, feeling slightly embarrassed that you probably made things awkward, “have you seen Minjeong?”

Your attempt to change the subject seems to work, because Sunghoon scoffs loudly at your question and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Have I seen the girl that just spent ten minutes yelling at me? Yeah, we may have crossed paths.” He says sarcastically, shaking his head before taking a sip of his drink.

“Yell at you? For what?”

“She fuckin’…I guess before we broke up she said I should dress up as a cop for Halloween and I must’ve said no, and now she’s saying I only dressed up like this,” he gestures towards himself, “to spite her. Fuckin’ insanity.”

“Well, did you?” You can’t help but ask, Minjeong would always go on for hours about how spiteful of a person Sunghoon was.

He shrugs, mindlessly tracing the rim of the red solo cup with his pointer finger, “Maybe, but this is all that was left in my size at the party store.”

You’re surprised Sunghoon makes you laugh as much as he does, and maybe that’s a bad thing since it’s making you enjoy talking to him. Though he technically isn’t your enemy, he’s definitely not a person you should enjoy having a conversation with. It’s not appropriate, he’s the ex boyfriend of your best friend; all your ties to him were cut the moment Minjeong broke up with him.

You should tell him to leave, that you’re really upset over Heeseung and prefer to be alone, but you don’t. Instead, you keep the conversation going, laughing every joke he makes and completely forgetting why you were upset to begin with.

Halfway through telling Sunghoon about the horrid drink Minjeong had prepared for you, your legs grow numb from having been sat on for so long. You untuck them from underneath your body, not thinking much of it as you continue on with the story, legs dangling against the cold washing machine.

Sunghoon takes notice, though, his eyes quickly darting down to the space between your legs and the white fabric that’s suddenly visible to him due to the short length of your skirt. You miss it the first time he does it, but the second and third time are hard to ignore, especially now that he doesn’t seem to mind being caught.

You really should cross your legs or call him out on his staring. Or maybe even get up and leave entirely.

To no one’s surprise you don’t do either of those things and opt to keep your panties visible enough for Sunghoon to see while you continue to talk his ear off about his ex-girlfriend. There’s something unspoken happening between the two of you, and it’s exciting yet confusing since this is the longest conversation you’ve had with him in the two years you’ve known each other.

The strangest part of it all is that you’re just now realizing how attractive Sunghoon is, Sure, he’d always been a good looking guy, but you’d always seen him as Minjeong’s property and never paid much attention to his face out of respect for her.

But Minjeong no longer has a claim on him, and now you really notice the perfectly placed moles that graced the side of his nose and under his eye. He really was a sight to behold, you often find yourself stumbling over your words as you speak to him, becoming flustered over the intensity of the eye contact he’d been making with you.

“…my throat is still burning and it’s been, like, twenty minutes.” You say with a laugh, watching as Sunghoon finishes off his own drink.

He sets the empty cup down, licking the remaining alcohol on his lips before smacking them, “Yeah, I wouldn’t trust her in a kitchen. I’m not that good either, though. There was this one time I had to make brownies for our hockey team’s bake sale and they turned out awful. It’s like, half of them were watery and the other half were burnt. So weird.”

“That doesn’t even sound possible.”

“I’m serious! Hold on, I probably have a picture.”

It takes Sunghoon approximately forty-five seconds of scrolling through his Snapchat memories to find a photo of those godforsaken brownies, and sure enough, they really are a watery, burnt mess. Not that you can even focus on the picture to begin with now that he’s sitting next to you on the washing machine, and you’re finally able to see him up close.

Sunghoon’s words go in one ear and out the other, because now you’re close enough to smell the cologne he’s dabbed on the back of his neck, and notice the metal handcuffs hooked in his belt loop, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else. Especially his uninteresting story about those stupid fucking brownies.

When Sunghoon locks his phone, you take it as a sign that he’s finished with his story and let out another laugh, “Not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he jokes, slightly slurring his words.

Maybe it’s the fact that his voice sounds deeper than usual, or that he’s staring right at you with half lidded eyes, or that he's started playing with the handcuffs on his waist, but Sunghoon looks dangerously attractive right now.

You gulp, looking down at your lap, “Well, at least one of us had a nice drink.”

Sunghoon nods, running his fingernails along your plastic raincoat, “Wanna taste mine?” He asks, eyes darting down to your lips for a split second.

If there was ever a time to get up and leave, it should’ve been now. The rational part of your brain is telling you to push Sunghoon away and return to the party and forget this encounter with him ever happened. But you can’t move, and if you’re being honest, you don’t even want to.

You’re stuck in place, heart beating out of your chest as Sunghoon leans in closer to you. You feel dizzy in the best way possible, and a part of you feels sick for enjoying the moment as much as you do.

His breath fans your cheek, and the faint scent of alcohol on it should’ve been enough to remind you that you shouldn’t be in this situation with him. Still, you don’t move.

Right before Sunghoon has the chance to kiss you, the door swings open and you jolt away from each other out of shock, clutching your chest as you watch Jake jog into the garage.

“You guys seen my vape?” he asks, a little out of breath.

“I…no, Jake. Why would it be in the garage?” Sunghoon asks, hopping down from the washing machine. He offers a hand to help you down and you ignore it, finally starting to come back to your senses.

“Dude, I don’t fucking know! It was just in my pocket and now it’s gone, it could be anywhere. Help me look!”

Spending your night in a garage helping Jake look for a strawberry-flavored vape doesn’t sound ideal in the slightest; now is the perfect time to leave.

Heading in the direction of the party, you pause when Sunghoon calls out your name, a slight shakiness to his voice. “Keep an eye out for me, yeah?”

Another beat of silence passes, then you nod and say, “Yeah.”

In your defense, there’s nothing to feel guilty over. All you did was have a conversation with Sunghoon, and keeping an eye out for him doesn’t necessarily mean anything else will happen, right?

You try not to think too much about it as you exit the garage, holding in a laugh when Sunghoon says something along the lines of, “You’re a grown ass man, Jake.”

What Minjeong lacks in cooking, she makes up for in dancing.

While you wouldn’t consider yourself to be on her level of dancing, you’d say you’re good enough to keep up with her at a crowded party. If swaying to the music, holding hands, and grinding on each other counts as dancing, that is.

“You’re too stiff; loosen up, babe,” she comments, fingers interlocked with yours.

“Sorry,” you reply, slightly frustrated since you don’t feel like dancing in the first place. “What were you saying?”

“Oh, yeah!” Minjeong turns to face you, moving your arms to drape them around her shoulders. “Then he said I was being crazy, and that he only got the costume because it was all that was left in his size, as if I believe that.”

“Sorry that happened,” you say, and it comes out more sarcastic than you had intended it to.

Minjeong takes notice of this, raising a brow at you before slipping her arms under your raincoat and pulling you closer to her. “You okay?”

The two of you are pressed so close up against each other that it almost feels romantic, and you’re sure if there was another drink in your system you’d probably lean in and kiss her.

You nod. “Just thinking about Heeseung.”

Fake offended, Minjeong’s jaw drops. “You’re dancing with the hottest girl at this party, and all you can think about is your ex? I’m hurt, YN.”

Truth be told, her ex was the one you were thinking about, certainly not your own.

Not a whole lot of time has passed since you left Sunghoon in the garage, but you make sure to keep your promise of keeping an eye out for him upon returning to the party. You’re certain that on the outside you probably look panicked and frantic, eyes darting all over the place for any sign of Sunghoon.

“Well,” Minjeong starts, tugging on your tie. “Since you’re thinking about your ex, it’s only fair that I think of mine; and there he is.”

You stop yourself from excitedly shouting, “Where?!” and watch as Minjeong subtly nods towards the staircase.

Sure enough, Sunghoon is leaning against the banister, eyes zeroing in on you with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“He’s been watching me for, like, ten minutes. Probably wants to see if you and I will make out, fucking pervert,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Minjeong has it wrong, Sunghoon has been watching you for the past ten minutes. Ever since he finished helping Jake find that stupid vape, he’s had his sights set on you and you only.

That other part was probably true, though.

You swallow the lump in your throat and say, “Such a pervert.” It comes out a tad more robotic than you were going for, but you tried your best.

Once Sunghoon is sure that Minjeong is distracted, he mouths, “Bathroom,” before immediately turning around and jogging up the steps.

Fuck, are you really about to do this?

Your eyes dart from Minjeong to the staircase, and you can’t believe you’re even considering going upstairs to meet her ex. Everything about this predicament is sick and twisted and perfectly on brand for Halloween.

But, somehow, it’s not sick enough to stop you.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna get some air; I’m feeling kinda dizzy,” you lie, hoping it’s believable enough.

Minjeong stops dancing immediately, a look of genuine concern on her face. “Here, I’ll come with you.”

“No, no. You keep having fun, I’ll be back soon. Make another drink for me, okay? I’m sure I’ll need it,” you assure her with a smile, taking her hands into yours.

“Fine, I’ll be here. But the only drink I’m making for you is a Ginger Ale.”

Thank God.

After giving Minjeong a kiss on the cheek (feeling guilty as ever), you slip past her and head towards the direction of the backyard. Once Minjeong is fully out of sight, you switch paths and sprint up the staircase, bumping into and angering a few people along the way.

You keep your head down once you reach the second floor, speed walking to the end of the hallway and avoiding eye contact with everyone you walk by until you reach the bathroom.

The door is closed and locked, of course, and that’s when it dawns on you that this could be one big, elaborate prank from Sunghoon. You could open the door and be met with a camera in your face with Sunghoon recording, laughing maniacally before mentioning something about telling Minjeong everything and that he stayed loyal to her the entire time.

Unfortunately for you, even that possibility doesn’t scare you away from knocking on the door and saying, “It’s me, YN.”

The knob twists before the door is pushed open, barely enough room to slide in discreetly, but you manage anyway.

Using your body weight to press the door shut, Sunghoon reaches behind you to make sure it’s locked. “You really came.”

You hate that he sounds shocked, as if he had some faith that you wouldn’t risk your friendship with Minjeong for a few minutes with him, of all people. He’s not even your type.

“Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Sunghoon scoffs as if you’ve said the most obvious thing in the world. “Trust me, I won’t.”

You don’t have time to overthink the meaning of his words because before you can even realize it, Sunghoon is pushing you further up against the door, and he’s kissing you, finally kissing you.

This kiss is everything but soft, and it knocks the wind out of you. Sunghoon’s hand cups your jaw, tilting your head sideways to allow himself further into your mouth. It’s wet and sloppy, you’re certain that dancing with Minjeong was far more romantic than this. You kiss back anyway, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and grabbing a fistful of his hair, shivers running down your spine when he groans into your mouth. Without breaking the kiss, Sunghoon reaches down to slip the raincoat off of you, pressing your body closer against him to ease it off.

He pulls away slowly, his blown-out eyes focused on the string of saliva that connects your mouths to one another. “Fuck,” he groans at the sight, moving his mouth to kiss along your jaw.

You let out a moan when you feel his tongue slide against a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, tilting your head back against the door. Sunghoon takes notice of this, focusing his attention on that same spot, sucking on it hard enough to leave a mark before teasingly scraping his canines along the area.

Quickly, your fingers move to unbutton your shirt, suddenly feeling warm all over. You’re only halfway done when there’s a sudden banging on the other side of the door, startling you enough to halt your movements.

“Ignore it,” Sunghoon mutters against your neck. “They’ll go away.”

They don’t go away, they actually start to bang louder and harder once a few seconds pass.

Sunghoon lets out a frustrated sigh, lifting his head away from you, ��Occupied!”

“Sunghoon?” You hear Minjeong’s voice on the other side of the door, causing you and Sunghoon both to freeze.

“M-Minjeong?” He stutters.

“I have to piss,” Minjeong whines, messing with the doorknob. “Hurry up!”

Sunghoon must sense your panic and the fact that you feel like bursting into loud sobs, because he places his hand over your mouth before mouthing for you to stay quiet.

Minjeong doesn’t let up on trying to open the door, and you’re sure that with just enough force, she could probably get it open.

“I’m using it! Can’t you just go outside?”

“I’m a fucking girl, Sunghoon. Just hurry up and finish.”

“Just…just hold on a second, Minnie.”

Minnie? Fuck is that about?

Sunghoon pulls you away from the door, keeping his voice and movements as low as possible. “You’re gonna have to hide in the bathtub, just lay down flat and wait for her to leave.”

“What?! What if she sees me?!” You whisper, silently praying Minjeong can’t hear you over the music.

“She won’t, okay? I’ll pull the shower curtain back. It’s the only option we have right now unless you want to jump out the window.”

You shake your head. “There has to be a better idea.”

On the other side of the door, Minjeong begins to grow impatient, anxiously tapping her foot against the floor. She’s had three full drinks and is on the verge of busting the bathroom door down if Sunghoon doesn’t open it soon. She focuses her gaze downward, raising a brow at a piece of plastic that’s been slightly pushed under the crack of the door. What is it? A shower curtain? It can’t be, why would the shower curtain be on the floor? It looks more like…

“Fuck! The cops!” A drunk voice yells before the entire house panics, sirens and flashing blue and red lights fill the house.

Inside the bathroom, Sunghoon had still been trying to convince you to lay down in the bathtub when even more panic sets in.

Minjeong bangs on the door one last time. “Sunghoon, the cops are here, you need to leave! Fuck, I gotta find YN!” She yells before taking off down the hall.

Police officers are raiding the house, and all Minjeong can focus on is finding you and making sure you're okay, while you were seconds away from hooking up with her ex. What a fucking nightmare.

“We gotta jump out the window,” Sunghoon says, hurrying over to the other side of the bathroom and forcing the window open.

“What?! Why?!”

“People are doing fucking illegal drugs at this party, YN, and now the fucking cops are here. My dad works for the city and if-” He pauses to grunt, struggling to get the window all the way open. “-news spreads that his son was at a house party that was full of people doing fucking cocaine his career will be fucking over. Fuck!”

This doesn’t explain why you have to jump out of the window with him, but you narrow it down to the possibility of Sunghoon just wanting to be around you for a little longer. And as pathetic as it sounds, you find yourself smiling at the possibility.

Sunghoon finally gets the window fully open, quickly hiking one leg over. “It’s not that far of a jump, we’ll be fine. I’ll go first then let you know when to jump.”

“You’ll catch me?” you ask, buttoning your shirt back up. Now that the raincoat is gone, you probably resemble a perverted schoolgirl costume.

Sunghoon sighs. “Yes, YN, I am going to catch you. Just be ready to run, my car’s down the street.”

He doesn’t give you any time to protest before hiking his other leg out the window and jumping down; you watch in horror as he lands face down. If it weren’t for your current predicament, you’re sure you would’ve gotten the ick.

It takes Sunghoon a few seconds to get back up, brushing himself off before standing, “Come on! Hurry!”

Despite your hesitancy, you follow Sunghoon’s action and hike a leg out of the window, staring down at him. “Are you sure about this?!”

“If you want me to catch you, you better jump now!”

Halloween fucking sucks.

You swear to yourself as you hike your other leg out of the window, saying a quick prayer as you brace yourself to jump.

Sunghoon doesn’t exactly catch you, but he does brace your fall, which is good enough for you.

He groans in pain from the impact as you stand and dust yourself off, reaching a hand down to help him up. “Sorry!”

Sunghoon stands, feeling a tad bit dizzy and lightheaded. “Just follow me.”

It isn’t too late to turn around and find Minjeong and just leave with her. In fact, it’d be the morally correct thing to do in this situation. Not that you seem to care for morals.

You make a mental note to send Minjeong a text later as you run after Sunghoon.

Sunghoon is not that great of a driver, but this doesn't surprise you.

He's still somewhat tipsy, occasionally swerving along the empty back roads.

What makes it worse is that Minjeong has been calling and texting you nonstop, your phone practically burning a hole in your pocket as you ignore her relentless attempts.

Sunghoon is trying his hardest to stay focused on the road, but your phone ringing every few minutes was really starting to irritate him. "Just fucking answer her," he says, shaking his head.

"And say what? That I'm with you?"

Sunghoon isn't too pleased with your sarcasm and rolls his eyes, "Obviously not, YN; just do something to make her stop panicking."

That's way easier said than done, especially considering that you can barely even think about Minjeong without wanting to burst into tears. The guilt has already started to set in, and it has you questioning yourself and your morals.

You can't talk to Minjeong; it's too risky, but you can call your sister and ask her to cover for you.

Slipping your phone from your pocket, you force your eyes to unfocus and ignore the string of missed calls and messages from Minjeong, dialing your sister's phone number with trembling hands.

As always, Yuna answers on the fourth ring, sighing loudly into the phone before greeting you with a monotonous, "Hello?"

"Hey, um, I need you to help me with something," you keep your voice low, not wanting Sunghoon to hear your conversation despite being right next to him.

Yuna sighs again, "With what, YN?"

"The party I was at got raided by the cops, and we all ran, so if Minjeong calls you, I need you to tell her I'm with you," you say, your eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets when Sunghoon makes a sudden sharp turn.

"Sorry," he mutters under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

You hate that even now, you find him cute.

"Well, where are you?" Yuna asks, snapping you back to reality.

"I… it's not important, just please do me this favor."

Your sister scoffs, "You expect me to lie for you, and you can't even tell me the full story?"

"The full story isn't important, Yuna."

"Clearly, it is if you're asking me to lie to your best friend."

"Just tell her," Sunghoon groans, sounding slightly annoyed, "but make sure she doesn't tell anyone else."

Yuna doesn't have many friends, and the few she does have wouldn't even care about your drama, so it's not like she'd have anyone to share your business with. You hesitate anyway because of the principle of the situation, how just ten minutes ago you were unbuttoning your shirt for your best friend's ex. Maybe you're starting to come back to your senses because replaying the scene in your head has you cringing from embarrassment.

You lean your head against the window and squeeze your eyes shut, "I'm with Sunghoon."

The line goes silent for a few seconds, and you're worried you may have lost service from driving in such a rural area until Yuna sighs for a third time, "The pretty ones are never that bright."

"I swear it isn't like that," you plead, "just, please, help me out."

"And what will I get out of this?"

Of course, she wants something, classic younger sibling bullshit.

"Well, what do you want?"

"I don't know…a normal older sister?"

"Yuna, I don't have time for this, will you help me or not?"

Bickering with Yuna was starting to give you a headache; you were seconds away from hanging up and coming up with a new plan entirely.

"After tonight, don't involve me in this anymore; I have my own shit to deal with."

You hold back a laugh at that as if Yuna does anything other than stay home and talk to the same two people. "I won't, I swear. I'll text you when I'm close to being home; let me know if Minjeong reaches out to you."

"Whatever, just get home safe and don't do anything else stupid," Yuna says through a yawn before immediately hanging up, not giving you the chance to say goodbye.

As much as you loved your sister, the two of you weren't exactly close. The divide started sometime during high school; your interests and friend groups never really aligned and only led you to stray further away from each other.

You being fairly well-known within your high school didn't help much, either. Countless random students would approach Yuna on the daily, asking if you were seeing anyone, begging her for your number, or even giving her small gifts and treats to pass along to you.

What annoyed her the most was that they never called her by her name, in their eyes, she was always known as "YN's sister", and nothing more than that.

You're sure Yuna doesn't hate you because of it, but it certainly didn't make her very fond of you.

"What'd she say?" Sunghoon asks, interrupting your thoughts.

"She agreed to cover for me tonight," you respond, gazing out the window, "pretty sure she's pissed, though."

"She'll get over it," Sunghoon taps the navigation system on his dashboard, "type in your address."

Despite making you jump out of a bathroom window, Sunghoon technically doesn't owe you anything. He never claimed he'd bring you back to his place to finish what you started; you quite literally only jumped because he told you to, under the pretense that maybe — just maybe — he'd want to hook up with you.

Clearly, that wasn't happening, at least not tonight. Having to jump out the window and then proceed to drive while tipsy must've knocked some sense into him, making him realize he'd been making way too many questionable choices all in one night.

You let out a disappointed sigh, hesitantly reaching out to type your home address into the car's GPS. The system buffers for a few seconds as it calculates the quickest route to your home before displaying an estimated travel time of thirty-eight minutes.

"Forty fucking minutes?!" Sunghoon shouts, causing you to jump.

He sighs, cursing under his breath before reaching forward and ending the navigation route. You sit up further in the seat, ready to ask Sunghoon what he's plotting before he starts typing "7/11".

You raise a brow at this, "Why're we going there?"

Sunghoon gestures towards the navigation system as if the answer is obvious, "Your house is forty minutes away, and I'm still kinda tipsy; I'm gonna need to pull over and get something other than alcohol in my system if I'm gonna be driving for that long." There's a slight slur to his words that had you weary about him driving, so pulling over to recharge isn't a bad idea.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sunghoon managed to safely drive the two of you to the nearest 7/11, opting to pay seventeen dollars to park in a parking garage down the street instead of the shop's personal lot.

"This neighborhood isn't that safe; I don't want anyone breaking into my car," he claims, taking up two spots as he parks in the most secluded corner possible.

The neighborhood is fairly safe; he was just being dramatic.

The walk down the street is quick and slightly awkward, with you and Sunghoon stumbling every few steps yet refusing to hold onto the other for stability.

The two of you go your separate ways upon entering the shop, Sunghoon headed straight towards the snack aisle while you make your way to the slurpee machines. The difference in your priorities was humorous, with him wanting to focus on building up energy and you wanting nothing more than a quick sugar fix.

Blue raspberry isn't necessarily your go-to flavor, but it's the only flavor on the Slurpee machine that's currently working, so you fill your plastic cup to the brim before absentmindedly reaching for a straw.

Sunghoon is still prancing around the store by the time you've finished making your drink, and despite not being that hungry, you decide to kill time by strolling through the snack aisles.

The Snickers bars and Reese's Cups look tempting as always, but you refrain, sighing as you look over the selection of peanut-contaminated candy.

"Don't even bother," Sunghoon says from behind you, causing you to gasp in shock.

He pauses for a moment, staring at the array of snacks before grabbing a pack of Skittles and walking off.

The thought of Sunghoon being aware of your peanut allergy is as comforting as it is strange. You can't imagine this is something Minjeong randomly decided to tell him, and even if that is the case, why would he bother retaining that information? It's not like the two of you are friends.

Whatever, you're probably thinking about it too much.

After deciding on a package of powdered mini donuts and Haribo gummy bears, you proceed to the checkout counter and set your items down, looking over your shoulder at Sunghoon, who was selecting the last of his items.

The man behind the counter smiles at you, typing his employee ID number into the cash register, "How's your night going?"

"Horrible," you say, making the clerk laugh even though you weren't joking.

"Sorry to hear that," he responds, scanning your items, "your total came out to…$6.12. Oh, hello, officer."

Despite not having done anything wrong, you nearly panic before remembering Sunghoon's unfortunate costume choice.

He nods at the man, setting his own items down on the counter, "Add these too. You guys take Apple Pay?" He asks, unlocking his phone.

"Oh, you don't have to pay for mine," you say, a nervous tremble in your voice.

Sunghoon shrugs, "No big deal."

Except it is a big deal. Sunghoon behaving like a boyfriend gentleman by paying for your items only made you like him even more, which is the exact opposite of what you need right now.

You sigh, taking a literal and metaphorical step back as Sunghoon taps his phone on the card reader.

"A cop and a schoolgirl, huh? These couple's costumes are starting to make less and less sense," the employee comments, eyes darting between you and Sunghoon.

"We're not a couple," Sunghoon responds, a little too quickly for your liking, but whatever.

The employee apologizes, embarrassed about his implications as he bags your items and wishes the two of you a safe trip home.

On the way back to Sunghoon's car, it dawns on you that Minjeong has stopped trying to get ahold of you, which is slightly worrisome considering that she's a person who wouldn't give up that easily.

Sunghoon climbs into the backseat this time, mumbling something about needing to rest and stretch out before driving you home. He sets the bag down on the center console, grabbing a few of his items before propping himself up against the door.

You do the same, retrieving your own items from the bag before slumping into your seat.

When you finally unlock your phone, a new voice memo from Yuna is waiting for you. Hesitantly, you hold your phone against your ear and hit play.

Yuna lets out a loud sigh, "So, you and Minjeong must have some sort of, like, telepathic connection because she called me as soon as I hung up on you. Anyways, I told her our cousin was also at the party and was able to, uh, give you a ride home once the cops came. Oh, and I told her your phone died and that you'd call her, um, later or in the morning. I'm not sure if she believed it, but she calmed down.

And, by the way, I meant it when I said I don't want to be involved in whatever this is after tonight. So, for everyone's sake, if something serious is going on, do not tell me about it. Get home safe."

You're not entirely sure if you deserve a sister like Yuna, who'd go against her own morals just to cover for you, but you're grateful you have her.

you [11:54 pm] : *you liked a voice memo*

you [11:54 pm] : thanks so much

you [11:55 pm] : i promise i wont involve u anymore. if minnie calls again u can just ignore it and lmk please

yuna [11:56 pm] : oh and she told me to let you know that she's safe. tho im sure that's not your biggest concern :/

Harsh but true.

You set your phone on your lap and tear open your pack of donuts, wiping away the powdered sugar that falls onto your blouse. Much like the blue raspberry slurpee, mini powdered donuts weren't exactly your go-to snack, but your options were limited, and you weren't in the mood to roam around the store any longer.

Suddenly, Sunghoon groans from the backseat and sits up, "Phone died."

Leaning over the center console, he plugs his phone into the car charger right underneath his navigation system, resting it on the dashboard before returning to his seat.

The car falls silent, and as much as you want to start a conversation, you're not sure where to begin. There's so much you want to ask, but you refrain, biting down on your tongue so hard you're surprised the taste of blood doesn't fill your mouth.

Sunghoon leans forward again, this time resting his cheek on the side of your seat, "What'd you get?" he asks, staring down at your lap.

You turn your head to look at him, holding up the half-eaten pack of donuts for him to see.

"Can I have one?" he asks, already holding his hand out before you could even say yes.

You hand him one regardless, watching the powder fall from the pastry as he pops it into his mouth.

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you find yourself narrowing your eyes at him as you ask, "Sunghoon, can I ask you something?"

He nods, gesturing towards the remaining donuts in a way that tells you he wants more. You hand him the remaining three, nodding back when he mumbles "Thanks" under his breath.

"How did you know that I'm allergic to peanuts?"

Sunghoon pauses, brows furrowing in utter confusion as he looks up at you, "What do you mean?"

"Earlier in the store, I was looking at the peanut candy, and you told me not to bother. I'm assuming you must've known I'm allergic, right?" You ask, fully turning around in your seat to face him.

"Um…yeah. I know."

"Okay…how?"

"I mean, was it supposed to be a secret or something?"

"What? No, of course not. Allergies are probably the one thing that shouldn't be kept secret," you respond, "I'm just curious about how you know. I don't think I've ever told you, and I can't imagine Minjeong randomly deciding to tell you."

Sunghoon awkwardly scratches the back of his neck as he avoids looking at you. It takes the tips of his ears turning pink for you to realize that he's embarrassed, which only confuses you even further.

Sunghoon shrugs, staring down at the snack you've just given him, "Whenever all of us would hang out, and there was, like, food involved, I just noticed you'd pay so much attention to the ingredients of whatever it was you were eating. At first, I thought it was a calorie thing, but you never really asked about the calories, only the ingredients."

"But, how'd you know it was peanuts specifically?" you ask, feeling embarrassed about how curious you were over something as silly as a peanut allergy.

"Remember the hockey team bake sale? The one I made those terrible brownies for?" He asks, continuing when you nod, "You were there, and I remember how excited you were to try the cookies that Jake made, but right before you bought one, you asked him if there were peanuts in them. That's when I knew."

You can't remember the last time someone had paid this much attention to you, and it's dangerous, considering how easily impressed you are by the smallest things. Sunghoon was by no means a friend of yours; you hardly knew anything about each other and often kept your interactions rather short, so his being able to pick up on your peanut allergy just by watching you was … different. Maybe even nice.

You don't even realize you've been staring at him until he stops chewing and stares back, unblinking.

You look away, retrieving your Slurpee from the cup holder and taking a long sip as Sunghoon watches.

"Can I ask you something now?" he asks.

You don't respond, side-eyeing him as you continue to sip your drink.

Sunghoon smirks, amused by your sudden silence, "Why'd you meet me in the bathroom?"

You pull the straw away from your lips, voice barely above a whisper as you respond, "To see what you wanted."

He nods, taking the cup from your hands, "You knew what I wanted," he says, pausing to take a sip of your drink, "and you still came; why?"

When you don't respond, Sunghoon lets out a loud sigh and sets your cup back down in its holder, "It's okay, YN."

"It isn't."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I guess we'll never know, huh?"

This is a test of your morals, and Sunghoon knows this. Every decision you've made tonight has led you to this exact moment. There's still enough time to redeem yourself and make an excuse for your actions. You could easily lie and say that making out with Sunghoon was just a result of being tipsy and vulnerable. But now, with the two of you in his car, sobering up and coming back down to your senses, you won't be able to use those same excuses.

Realistically speaking, what are the chances of your ex's finding out? Heeseung probably wouldn't care, but Minjeong was an entirely different story.

In your defense, they've been officially broken up for three weeks and three days, so you wouldn't technically be hooking up with her boyfriend. Right?

Sunghoon must've sensed the gears turning in your head because, after a few seconds of staring at each other in silence, he leaned over the center console and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss is softer this time, nothing like how it was in the bathroom as if he's trying to coax you in and convince you it's okay, that you're doing nothing wrong.

You find yourself slipping under his spell, eyes finally fluttering shut as he gently swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. The faint taste of alcohol is still on his tongue, but he does taste much sweeter now, like the blue raspberry slurpee he'd just had. A part of you wonders if he'd done that on purpose as if tasting better would make you enjoy kissing him like this.

He pulls away, scooting farther back into his seat, "C'mere, climb over."

You do as you're told, slipping off your shoes with Sunghoon guiding you right onto his lap as you climb into the backseat. You can't help but squirm on his lap, and he can still sense a slight hesitancy in your actions, the way you shiver when he touches you, how you initially pulled back when he tried to kiss you again.

"You're nervous," he comments, eye flickering across your face.

You shrug, holding onto his shoulders for support, "I can't help it."

Beneath you, Sunghoon reaches down to unclip the handcuffs from his belt loop, "You're making it hard to focus."

"The fuck am I supposed to do, then?!" You didn't mean to shout, but your patience was starting to run thin. You felt guilty enough as it is, and Sunghoon reminding you of how nervous you are certainly didn't make it any better.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, undoing the handcuffs before grabbing your left hand. He tightens the cuff around your wrist, "Just trust me," he says simply. He sits up further in his seat, grabbing your cuffed wrist as he pulls down on the car's grab handle. He slips the empty cuff through the slot before gesturing for you to give him your free hand.

Fuck.

"Sunghoon…"

"Just trust me," he doesn't wait for a response, grabbing your wrist and bringing it up towards the empty cuff. It locks around your wrist with a click, causing him to smile in satisfaction.

You're sure that with just the right amount of force, you could easily snap the handcuffs in half, but it's the thought that counts. With your arms and hands restricted towards the ceiling, all you can do is stare down at Sunghooon and await his next movement, his very calculated movement.

He presses his cold lips against your neck, simultaneously using his hands to slowly unbutton your blouse. The mark he'd left on your neck earlier was as prominent as ever, and it pleased him to know you were okay with him marking you up like this. He swipes his tongue against the sensitive spot, hardening in his pants when you squirm on top of him.

His nails trace along the bare skin of your waist once he's finished unbuttoning your blouse, your bralette — that was a few sizes too small — fully on display for him. He's practically salivating at the site, his tongue sliding across his canines, completely in awe of your breasts spilling out of the flimsy, white material.

Sunghoon can't unclasp and slide off your bra, or else it'd be awkwardly hanging in the air, and trying to slip it through the handcuffs would take too much effort. Instead, he apologizes under his breath before his hands reach the front of your bra.

"Wait, Sunghoon—!"

Without warning, he stretches the fabric until it finally rips, seemingly pleased with himself if the cocky smirk is anything to go by. "Relax," he says, "I'll buy you a new one."

You don't have time to scold him because before you can even process what's happening, Sunghoon's tongue is swirling around your nipple. You swear at the sudden contact, arching your back and pressing your chest further into his face. It's almost embarrassing how such a simple act already had your head spinning.

His hands trail downward until they reach the hem of your skirt, slowly pushing it upwards until it's bunched around your waist. He traces the tip of his finger across your clothes cunt, pleased with how wet you've already gotten without having done much.

Your hips buck up into his hands on instinct, desperate for the friction, borderline craving it.

Sunghoon releases your perked bud in his mouth, looking up at you as he asks, "You want me to stop?"

"No, please don't." You beg.

"So this is okay then, right?"

If your wrists weren't handcuffed to the grab handle, you're sure you would've reached down and choked him for all the teasing. "Yes, Sunghoon, it's okay! Just hurry up and do something!"

Sunghoon shakes his head at you, mumbling, "So impatient." as he moves to lie flat on his back.

You stare down at him, confused, when he doesn't immediately start undoing his pants but instead positions his head right between your thighs.

It's funny, Minjeong claimed Sunghoon wasn't really into giving head and only gave it to her a handful of times during the course of their relationship, claiming he preferred to save it for special occasions.

But yet, here he is, willingly pushing your thighs further apart before pressing his lips against your clothed cunt.

The action sends shivers down your spine, and the handcuffs around your wrist suddenly feel tighter. He presses his tongue flat against you, groaning at the taste of your slick that's soaked through your panties. You grind down on him instinctively, your body trembling with anticipation as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Fuck." You whisper, tugging at the handcuffs in frustration.

The sound of the metal clinking makes Sunghoon chuckle, pressing a final kiss against your damped underwear before mumbling, "Cute."

He makes quick work of sliding your underwear off your legs, tossing them to the

front seat with a grunt as you wait for him to continue. Sunghoon settles himself between your thighs again, groaning in annoyance as you hover over him. "Stop fucking hovering," he demands, attempting to pull you down directly onto his face, "it's fine."

It's too intimate; you've never even sat on Heeseung's face before, and you're sure this isn't something he's done with Minjeong.

"But, I don't wanna cru- fuck!"

Sunghoon dismisses your worries, forcing you down onto his face and instantly wrapping his lips around your clit. You barely have any time to process that this is completely new territory for you, being this intimate with a man, sitting right on his face while he drags his tongue along your cunt; gathering your wetness and dragging it up towards your clit before wrapping his lips around it once more.

You let out an embarrassingly loud moan at that, leaning your head against the cold window as your face heats up. This only encourages Sunghoon even further, and his confidence grows, feeling bold enough to tease the tip of his tongue into your hole.

You jolt up at this, biting back a moan and wishing you could reach down and grab a fistful of his hair and properly ride his face. He licks another stripe up your folds, gripping your thighs and holding your body in place when you try to squirm away.

"Stop trying to run from me," he groans into your pussy, the vibrations from his voice sending a shiver across your body.

He presses his face further into your cunt, moaning at how much wetter you've gotten since he's started. For a man who apparently wasn't one to eat a girl out, he sure did seem desperate and eager to have you come on his face. In fact, it almost seemed as if he was doing it for his own pleasure rather than yours, which only turns you on even more.

After a few more slides of his tongue, you finally feel your orgasm approaching, your thighs tensing around Sunghoon's head.

"I know you're close," he whispers, placing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, "go ahead, use me. I know you want to."

He's practically begging at this point, big, wet eyes staring up at you in pure adoration as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. That's your breaking point, the knot in your stomach finally untying itself as your orgasm washes over you.

You let out a moan so loud that your throat hurts shortly afterward, your wrists going limp in the handcuffs as you ride out your high.

Sunghoon doesn't let up until you're practically shaking from overstimulation, your body naturally twitching and squirming away from his greedy mouth as he cleans you up. He pulls away finally, his mouth and chin completely coated with your slick as he leaves a trail of kisses on your bare thighs.

You can't help but stare down at him in awe; he looks completely dazed as if he's running off, nothing but pure desperation and lust for you. You.

"Sunghoon," you say, trying to get his attention, "I…do you keep condoms in here?"

He flutters his eyes open, shaking his head, "No, but 7/11's just down the street. I can go-"

You interrupt him with a shake of your head, "I don't wanna wait; we don't need one."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm on the pill. Just, please, fuck me already."

It's music to his ears, really.

Sunghoon slides himself back up the seat, reaching up to release you from the handcuffs. You groan at this, having gotten used to them and quite frankly enjoyed the temporary feeling of restriction.

"You liked the cuffs?" Sunghoon questions, dropping your wrists from the grab bar.

"Yeah," you admit, "I liked it more than I thought I would."

He nods at this, and you realize now that one of the cuffs is still clasped around your wrist. Sunghoon also notices this and smirks as an idea forms in his head. "Turn around."

You comply with no further questions, groaning when he suddenly pushes your body down into the seat. He brings your arms behind your back, handcuffing you once more as he lets out a sigh of pleasure. "I knew you'd like it."

Sunghoon pushes your skirt back up, straddling himself around your things after pulling his pants and boxers far enough to allow his cock to spring free. He steadies himself with a hand on your shoulder, using the other to teasingly drag his fully-hardened cock across your slick folds.

Sunghoon shivers at this, cursing at the sight as he repeats his movements. He knows he won't last much longer; he was practically seconds away from coming in his boxers just from eating you out, so he really should quit with the teasing for his own sake.

Minjeong had never allowed him to fuck her without a condom, so this type of intimacy was new and overwhelmingly good.

He finally pushes himself into you, his tip alone causing you to bite down on the leather of his seat. You already felt so full, and he wasn't even halfway inside yet.

"Ah fuck," he groans, "you're so tight, you're so…fuck." He can barely even form a sentence, biting down on his bottom lip as he further inches himself inside of you.

You're not doing any better, feeling as if you're already seconds away from your second orgasm when he's hardly even done anything. It takes a minute before he's fully inside of you, pausing before he leans down and asks, "Can I move?"

"Please, I need you to."

Sunghoon nods at this, pressing a kiss against your ear before sitting himself back up. He angles your hips off the seat but presses your chest further into it, giving you (and himself) the perfect arch to comfortably slide in and out.

The first few thrusts are slow, as expected, but just enough to get you used to his size. Even this was all too much for Sunghoon; he was already dangerously close to his orgasm.

He didn't intend on speeding up his thrusts already, but he really can't help it. Everything about this feels too good. The way your walls perfectly wrap around him, and the way you're moaning and cursing for him to keep going are overwhelmingly good.

"Fuck." He moans, squeezing his eyes shut as he presses you down further into the backseat. He pulls his cock all the way out before pushing himself back in, which you seem to enjoy. He does it a few more times, mostly to humor himself since it's something he assumed you would've been annoyed by.

"Sunghoon," you pant, "I'm close."

"Already?" He asks, pushing your hips downwards until you're lying flat on your stomach.

He tries to come off as cocky and frustrated, but he really is grateful you're already so close to your orgasm, seeing that he felt like he could burst at any given second.

You nod, "Please, keep going."

He doesn't respond, opting to remain silent as you pull his cock out of you before ramming it back in at a pace much harder and faster than before. His thrusts are sloppy and borderline desperate, the sound of skin slapping and grunts filling the air shortly afterward.

The two of you could hardly keep your eyes open, too lost in the pleasure of your approaching orgasms.

Your's hits first, and Sunghoon's follows shortly after, practically filling you up to the brim with his cum. You've never felt so full and warm, heat spreading through your entire body as you slowly calm down and regulate hour breathing.

Sunghoon doesn't feel like moving, but he does anyway, slipping himself out of you with a wince, watching his cum drip out of you and onto the seat of the car. He curses at the sight, stopping himself from leaning forward and eating it out of you.

He undoes both of the handcuffs this time, helping you sit up as you avoid eye contact with each other. "Hold on," he says, re-adjusting his pants and boxers, "I should have a towel or something in the trunk."

Sunghoon steps out of the car, returning a minute later with a towel in hand. He leans down, prepared to clean you up, until you stop him, "It's okay, I got it."

He shakes his head, "I can do it for you."

"It's fine," you say, buttoning up your shirt, "I'd prefer to do it myself, actually."

Sunghoon finally gives in, handing you the towel before leaning over the center console and retrieving your panties from the passenger seat. He waits patiently for you to finish up, instructing you to just drop the towel on the floor as he hands you your underwear.

"Hey, have you…do you think you've sobered up yet?" He asks, watching as you slip your panties back on.

"Yeah, why?"

"Before I met you in the bathroom, I took a few bites of an edible, and I think it's starting to kick in. I think you should drive."

You sigh, mostly because this was not at all what you'd been hoping he'd say. "Drive where? To your place? Then where would I go?"

"I can pay for your Uber home."

"Sunghoon, it's past midnight, and I'm a girl; taking an Uber this late is too dangerous."

"Then drive back to your place; I'll sleep in the car and drive off in the morning."

You groan, "No, Minjeong might visit me in the morning. What'll she think when she sees your car in my driveway?"

"Dammit, YN, then just spend the night at my place. You can take my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch; just please drive us somewhere, for fuck's sake."

Bickering with Sunghoon somehow doesn't annoy you; in fact, it feels almost domestic. Going back and forth like a real couple.

"Fine." You say, climbing into the driver's seat.

Sunghoon's phone falls off the dashboard in the process, now charged at twenty-eight percent, and apparently, a missed text from Minjeong that was sent a few minutes ago.

The jealousy that fills your chest is downright abnormal; Minjeong is your best friend; there's no real reason for you to feel jealous of her in the first place.

In fact, you shouldn't feel any sort of guilt at all; it's not like they're still together. They've been broken up for three weeks and three days.

Three weeks. And Three days.

#enhypen smut #enhypen imagine #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #sunghoon imagine #lee heeseung #sim jaeyun #jake sim #enhypen scenarios #kpop imagine #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #sleepyhoon

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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

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From Eden | The Epilogue (8/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Seasonal Depressive Episodes. So much fluff it’ll rot your teeth. Time skips.

Notes — Not the longest, but I think that it's perfect. You have all shown this fic so much love. Thank you, I hope this ending does their story justice — Peach x

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, landonorris, and 102,374 others

bookishgoldie surrounded by so much love

view all comments

user1 henry is like HELL NAH MOM TAKE ME BACK INSIDE RIGHT NOW😭

bookishgoldie he actually loves being outdoors!!!! until he sees people and/or other cats

user03 the texts😌😌😌 ur faves could never

user63 CAN WE HAVE A SEQUEL UPDATE PLS??????

bookishgoldie 😉

user17 are you going to be at the GP this weekend?

user91 she hasn’t been to any of the last 3 😕

bookishgoldie just because you haven’t seen me, doesn’t mean im not there!!🫶 been having a hard time lately so ive just been hiding from the cameras

user91 feel better soon francesca❤️

user60 bf oscar crumbs…. IKTR

user76 you might actually be the prettiest girl in the world. like your HAIR????????

oscarpiastri glad those are the texts you decided to post and not the ones a little further down 👍🏻

bookishgoldie OSCAR

oscarpiastri 🧡

user75 god this feels like watching my parents flirt🤧

user33 new vlog soon? ♥ by bookishgoldie

—

Things always got a little harder to deal with in the winter.

Cold weather, dark, shorter days.

Oscar, gone more than he was home, spending more time in England than Monaco, preparing for the new season at the MTC.

Katie arrived after Christmas with sacks full of presents and the intention to stay for as long as she was welcome.

And Francesca let herself struggle.

She didn’t mask it or push it down. She let herself sleep in. Let herself cry into the collar of Oscar’s hoodies. Let Katie wrap her up in blankets and feed her shitty microwavable pasta. She let herself feel the heavy days without guilt.

And then spring came, slow and golden. The sea looked blue again. Henry sat at the window for hours, purring in the warmth.

Francesca curled up in the corner of the sofa, a half-drunk cup of tea resting on the armrest. Oscar stretched out beside her, hair damp from the shower, an arm slung loosely over her shins.

Their bodies were tired, but their faces were soft — content, a little dazed, totally at peace.

There was music playing faintly from a speaker in the kitchen. The balcony doors were open. The scent of jasmine drifted in with the breeze.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Then, without opening her eyes, Francesca whispered, “I think I’m ready.”

Oscar turned his head, brushing his nose against her knee. “You sure?”

She opened her eyes. Looked at him. Smiled. “Yeah.”

—

The wedding wasn’t extravagant.

They’d talked about a big one — at home in Monaco, or away in Lake Como, with flower arches and string quartets and draped silk.

But in the end, the choice was easy.

A coastal garden just outside Melbourne. A warm autumn breeze. Less than fifty guests. A white dress with long sleeves and lace along the hem. A charcoal grey suit with a crooked boutonnière that Oscar kept fiddling with until Logan smacked his hand away.

Katie cried the entire time. Her mascara was streaked halfway down her cheeks by the time Francesca walked down the aisle — Max, seated beside her in an unusually well-fitted suit, held her hand tightly, leaning in to whisper something that made her laugh through her tears. Henry had a bow tie and a seat in the front row, though he spent most of the ceremony asleep in Zac’s lap.

Oscar didn’t stop smiling. Not once.

He cried when she reached him. Not dramatically — just soft, silent tears.

Their vows were simple. Sweet. (“I’ll never stop choosing you,” he’d said, thumb brushing her knuckles as his voice caught. “In every version of life, in every timeline — it’s always you.”)

After the ceremony, they danced barefoot under fairy lights. They kissed for too long during dinner. Katie gave a toast that quickly turned into a roast, full of sharp jabs and softer edges, the kind only a best friend could get away with. Mark cried during the father-daughter dance — harder than he had the day Francesca first asked him to step in for her absent father. Lando caught the bouquet.

And when the music quieted and the guests thinned, they stayed. Just the two of them. Sitting on the edge of the dance floor, champagne in one hand and her heels dangling from the other.

“You happy, baby?” Oscar asked, nose against her temple.

Francesca leaned into him, her lips brushing the line of his jaw. “Yeah.”

They didn’t rush off on any kind of honeymoon. There was a race two weeks later. It didn’t matter. Wherever they went, Monaco, London, Melbourne, a grid in the middle of nowhere; they had each other.

And that was more than enough.

—

There were tiny shoes by the front door — worn at the toes, one toppled over like it had been abandoned mid-adventure. A toddler-sized karting suit swayed gently on the balcony, its colours faded slightly from the sun, dancing on the breeze like a memory.

Inside, the apartment held a hush, the kind that settled in the late afternoon when the world was between moments. Oscar was gone — somewhere fast and loud and far away — and her baby girl slept soundly, curled in a bassinet adjacent to Francesca’s desk.

Francesca sat in front of her computer, bathed in soft light, her fingers moving slowly across the keys. A new manuscript sat on the screen. This one was different. Quieter. Gentler. Woven with the kind of love that had grown slowly over time, deep-rooted and certain. Her tea, long forgotten, sat cold beside her.

Sunlight spilled across the floor, golden and drowsy, stretching toward an old pet bed in the corner. Henry lay there, curled up in a patch of warmth, his ginger fur dulled with age. Curled beside him, a kitten — all fluff and white — snored in perfect harmony, their bodies forming a sleepy, tangled mess.

A quiet rustle, the creak of little feet on hardwood.

Francesca paused, fingertips hovering above her keyboard.

From the living room, the low hum of the television drifted in. The race broadcast, crowd noise swelling like waves. And then, clearer than anything else, a small, delighted voice rang out, “Daddy!”

She was smiling even before she pushed up from her desk. That voice, high and sweet and excited, cut through the stillness like some kind of magic.

Her little boy was standing in front of the TV, one hand pressed against the screen where Oscar’s face was displayed. His curls were rumpled from sleep, cheeks still flushed, tiny fingers smudging the corner of the screen as if touching his father would bring him closer.

Francesca leaned in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, her heart full.

The race commentary carried on in the background, and her little boy bounced on his toes.

Her gaze drifted to the balcony, to where the tiny karting suit hung in the breeze; the sleeves smudged with stains, the knees scuffed from victory. It was so small that just looking at it made her chest ache.

Her little boy had won his first race a week ago. The youngest in his category. Sharp in the corners. Smooth on the throttle. Brave.

It was in his blood.

His father, now a three-time world champion, had scooped him up in the pit lane like he was the one who’d just won a title, not the other way around.

Generational, they called it.

Her little boy caught sight of her in his peripheral and beamed. All toothy grin and sun-kissed cheeks. Without hesitation, he ran to her, arms outstretched. She bent to meet him halfway, grunting softly as she lifted him onto her hip.

He wrapped himself around her neck, squeezing her tight.

He didn’t have to win races to be held like this. Didn’t need to be the best or the brightest or the bravest. He didn’t have to earn a single inch of her love.

It was already his. Always would be.

She kissed the side of his head, inhaling the familiar scent of sun and sugar and something impossibly sweet.

“You hungry, darling?” she whispered into his hair.

He nodded. “Toast, please. With jam.”

“Coming right up.” She gave him another squeeze before setting him down gently. “You wanna stay and watch daddy?”

He nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling as he twisted his head around to watch the TV screen, where Oscar was currently navigating through an interview.

She carried him over to the couch, his small weight settled against her side as she tucked the quilt around him, the soft fabric a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He curled into it, content and safe.

She took a few steps toward the kitchen, paused, then pulled out her phone and took a photo.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

*insert photo*

Oscar

Thank you

Needed that

Love you

Francesca

Love you <3

—

The sun was low in the sky. Francesca sat on a pink towel, legs stretched out, toes buried in the cooling grains. Beside her, Oscar lay propped up on one elbow, his eyes half-lidded as he watched their son dart across the shore, chasing a scuttling crab with wild delight. Their daughter sat nearby, deeply engrossed in her sprawling sandcastle mansion, occasionally glancing up to make sure her parents were still there, still watching.

Oscar shifted slightly, pushing up onto both elbows now, his brows knitting as he stared out at the horizon.

Francesca moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice soft, knowing.

He shook his head a little, a half-smile pulling at his lips. “Just... thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched the sun dip lower. Then, finally, his voice low and sure, he said, “I think it’s time.”

She frowned, confused. “Time for what? To head back? It’s still early.”

Oscar sat up properly now, brushing sand off his palms. He looked at her — really looked at her — and the air between them seemed to hold its breath. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck, before resting his gaze on her again. “Time to retire.”

Francesca’s heart stumbled. “Retire?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the sea breeze. “What do you mean?”

He let out a long breath, turning his attention back to their children. Their son let out a triumphant laugh, clutching an empty bucket in one hand, while their daughter patted the top of her castle with precise, serious little chubby fingers.

“Five world titles,” Oscar said. “I’ve done it. I’ve done more than I ever dreamed of. And I’m proud of that. But I think… I don’t need the next ten. I just want this.” His voice softened. “You. Them. No more risks. No more being away. I want to be here.”

Francesca’s chest ached. She’d thought about this moment before — hoped for it, in secret. But he was still so young, only thirty-two. He could have gone on for years. He could’ve shattered more records, chased more championships.

But he didn’t want that anymore.

He wanted to come home.

She smiled, even as her eyes stung. Her lips trembled slightly as she asked, “You’re sure?”

Oscar reached for her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her jaw with a kind of reverence that made her breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything, ‘Cesca.”

Her hand covered his, grounding herself in the moment, in him. “Okay,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “Okay.”

—

Laughter rang from the garden just beyond; a bright, bubbling sound that tugged a soft smile from Francesca as she stood on the back porch, watching.

Katie was kneeling in the grass, a crown of daisies crooked on her head, her arms raised in mock defeat as Francesca’s daughter tackled her around the middle with giggles. Her son cheered his sister on from the sidelines, face smudged with dirt, holding a water gun like a trophy.

“You little shits,” Katie cackled, falling onto her back with theatrical drama, arms splayed wide as the children climbed over her triumphantly.

Francesca laughed. She stepped out into the sun, barefoot on warm stone. “You’ve completely lost control of them,” she called out.

“Excuse me,” Katie said, sitting up with a toddler’s arms wrapped around her neck. “I am their queen, thank you very much. This is just… a temporary coup.”

Francesca sat beside them in the grass, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair as the little girl nestled into Katie’s lap.

“I hope you know,” Francesca said eventually, softly, “You’re their aunt, but you’re also my sister. The first real family I ever had.”

Katie looked over at her, blinking fast. “Christ, Fran, don’t go saying stuff like that, I’m trying to maintain my badass aunt image.”

Francesca smiled, eyes shimmering. “Too late. You’re a daisy-crowned queen now. Fully compromised.”

Katie laughed, leaning over to bump their shoulders together. “Love you too, dummy.”

—

Students bustled around them, dragging suitcases, clutching dorm keys, hugging parents goodbye. It was a flurry of new beginnings and tender goodbyes.

Francesca stood just off the main building, one hand loosely curled around her husband’s, the other pressed gently to her sternum, like she was trying to hold herself together from the inside out. Their daughter was walking away with her new roommate at her side, after their teary goodbye’s had drawn to an end.

Oscar watched her with quiet pride, his thumb brushing the back of Francesca’s hand when their daughter turned and waved — eyes bright, a little glassy, but shining with something solid and sure.

“She’ll be fine,” he said softly.

Francesca nodded, though her throat was tight. “I know.”

They lingered, neither of them ready to break the moment. It felt impossibly full — their daughter stepping into her future, their son already chasing his at breakneck speed, halfway across the world, poised to win the F2 title, just a year after securing the F3 championship.

Francesca exhaled a breath that trembled at the edges, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe all of this started in my tiny London flat.”

Oscar leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, and let his forehead rest against hers, warm and steady. “We built a whole life out of that flat.”

They stood together, quiet. Proud of everything they'd managed to create. Two lives made with care. A family grown with love.

“Ready to go?” Oscar asked his wife gently.

Francesca smiled, her heart full. “Yeah. Let’s go see our boy win his second championship.”

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kingkaisen · 1 year ago

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“𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐘𝐘 . . .”

Eren blinked slowly as he spoke, grinning like an idiot as his glassy eyes darted across his cracked phone screen. “I love you, baby . . . love you-love you so much, baby.”

“Eren,” you frowned, pulling your blanket across your shoulders as you watched him struggle to keep his phone steady. “Are you drunk?”

Relaxing on the couch with several blankets and a bucket of buttery popcorn, you were getting ready to watch a few episodes of your favorite Netflix show when suddenly, your phone rang from an incoming video chat from Eren.

Your boyfriend was at a party — one you didn’t feel well enough to attend — and while he offered to stay at home with you, you told him to go to the gathering and enjoy his Saturday night.

So, seeing his name appear across your phone screen was jarring, and you answered with the assumption that, perhaps, there was an emergency.

But there wasn’t. He was simply drunk, and stupidly in love.

“Baby? Baby, baby?” Eren held his camera so close to his face, you couldn’t see anything except for his eyes. “Miss you so much, okay? Okay, baby?”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” you said with an annoyed tone, but a soft grin appeared across your face. You couldn’t help it.

“Hey, hey, Armin, Armin, Armin, come look,” holding the camera at yet another weird angle for a moment — you could only see his hair, neck, shoulder, and the flashing blue lights in the background — Eren suddenly pulled his best friend beside him.

Armin appeared on your screen with a shy smile and a red solo cup in his hand. Based on the soft shade of red that graced his cheeks, you could tell that at the very least, the blonde-haired guy was tipsy.

“Look, Armin,” Eren slurred, bringing himself and his friend into the frame. “Y/N’s on the-on my screen. Technology’s so fucking cool, man. There goes my baby. That’s my baby right there. That’s my baby.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Armin waved. “Where are you? We miss you.”

“I’m at home. I wasn’t feeling too good, so I couldn’t make it.”

“What’d she say?” Armin blinked slowly, looking over at Eren. It was hard enough to hear you over the loud music, and the alcohol running through his veins certainly didn’t help either.

“Yeah,” Eren responded.

He was clearly out of it.

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Eren,” you paused. Your boyfriend brought the phone closer to his face when he heard you call his name. “Enjoy the party, okay? I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Noooo,” Eren frowned. “I wanna come home, come get me. I miss . . . I wanna come home, baby.”

“You’re so whiny,” rolling your eyes, you started to get off of the couch.

“Do something . . . ‘bout it when we get home,” with a smirk, Eren said, “come get me, I miss you.”

“I’m on the way,” you smiled down at your phone screen.

But, when you hung up — simply so you could throw on some clothes and focus on driving — your clingy, drunk boyfriend called you right back.

“Eren, I’m trying to get there. You gotta let me hang up, okay?”

“Why don’t you love me?”

“I do love you, but I gotta hang up so I can concentrate.”

“Okay, bye baby.”

The FaceTime call ended once again. But only for 38 seconds.

Eren called you again, and you answered while starting up your car.

“What is it, Eren?” tossing the phone down in the passenger seat, you started to drive. He absolutely wouldn’t let you off of FaceTime anytime soon.

“Nothin’,” Eren smiled cheekily. “Let’s watch a movie when we get home, baby. Are you on the way? I miss you.”

“I’m on the way, I promise.”

“Do you still love me?”

“Yes, Eren, I still love you.”

“Okay,” Eren slurred. “I love you too. Bye, baby.”

Once again, he hung up.

And, once again, he called you back half a minute later.

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the-oblivious-writer · 2 months ago

Text

I Will

Shauna Shipman x Reader

One-shot

Summary: You weren't sure when your crush on Shauna Shipman blossomed; maybe it was when she tripped Randy Walsh down a flight of stares because he kept stealing your glasses and calling you four-eyes, or maybe it was when she practically carried you off the field when you sprained your ankle during practice... it could have been a number of times. Either way, you never pursued your feelings towards Shauna, assuming they were one-sided. However, a cliché game of spin the bottle proves you otherwise.

Warning(s): Mild alcohol references (so underage drinking), kissing/making out (not explicit but certainly passionate), light sensuality, and no crash au.

Notes: watch episode six whenever you get the chance (idk how I'm gonna make it through another week without my girls 💔).

The Yellowjackets victory party was in full swing, the living room of Jackie's house transformed into a teenage playground of questionable decision-making. Music thumped through speakers, empty pizza boxes created precarious towers, and the distinct scent of whatever Misty had mixed into the punch lingered in the air.

You sat cross-legged in a circle of your teammates, acutely aware of Shauna Shipman's knee occasionally brushing against yours. The same knee that had impressed you earlier with its precision during that game-winning penalty kick.

"Alright, ladies!" Jackie's voice cut through the chatter as she placed an empty bottle in the center. "Time to elevate this championship celebration. Spin the bottle—with a twist."

Taissa groaned. "Please tell me the twist isn't something Misty concocted."

"Hey!" Misty protested from across the circle, adjusting her glasses indignantly.

"Seven minutes in heaven," Jackie announced with theatrical flair, gesturing toward the hallway closet. "Spin lands on someone, and you both disappear for seven glorious, uninterrupted minutes of... whatever."

Your eyes inadvertently flicked to Shauna, who was busy examining her fingernails with sudden, intense fascination.

The game progressed with typical teenage awkwardness. Van spun and landed on Taissa, their seven minutes returning them both with conspicuously mussed hair. Lottie and Laura Lee somehow spent their time discussing biblical interpretations of closet spaces, according to Lottie's cryptic explanation.

Then Shauna's turn arrived.

She spun with surprising force, the bottle rotating in hypnotic circles before gradually slowing. Your heart performed an impressive series of gymnastic maneuvers as the bottle neck inched past Jackie, past Misty, and landed—unmistakably—pointing at you.

"Well, well," Jackie smirked, "our midfield dynamic duo gets some quality time."

Shauna's eyes met yours, a complex blend of emotions swirling behind them. "Ready, teammate?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral despite the slight crack on the last syllable.

You managed a nod that you hoped appeared more casual than you felt.

The closet was smaller than it appeared from the outside. Coats pressed against your back, and the distinct smell of Jackie's family's fabric softener surrounded you. The door clicked shut, plunging you into darkness save for the thin strip of light beneath the door.

"So..." Shauna's voice came from somewhere very close. "Seven minutes."

"Approximately four hundred and twenty seconds," you replied, immediately regretting the nervous calculation.

A soft laugh escaped her. "I didn't realize we had a human stopwatch on the team."

"Sorry, I just—"

"Don't apologize," she interrupted. Your eyes had adjusted enough to see her outline, the curve of her profile as she leaned against the wall opposite you—all of twelve inches away. "It's cute. Your brain does this... thing... when you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," you lied automatically.

"Right," Shauna whispered. "And I didn't spend the entire second half watching you instead of focusing on defense."

The air between you seemed to compress, heavy with unspoken words.

"We don't have to do anything," you offered, though your racing heart betrayed a different preference. "We could just talk about the tournament or—"

"Is that what you want?" Shauna asked, suddenly closer. "To talk about soccer strategy in a closet?"

Your breath caught. "Not particularly."

You felt rather than saw her smile. "Good. Because I've been thinking about kissing you since that practice where you nutmegged Coach Martinez."

"That was three months ago," you managed.

"I'm aware of the timeline," Shauna replied dryly, her hand finding yours in the darkness. "I've been keeping track."

When her lips finally met yours, it wasn't the hesitant exploration you'd imagined. Shauna Shipman kissed with the same focused intensity she brought to the soccer field—purposeful, skilled, and utterly captivating. Your back pressed against hanging coats as her hands found your waist, steadying you both in the cramped space.

You responded with equal fervor, fingers tangling in her hair, drawing a soft sound from her that you immediately committed to memory. The kiss deepened, months of sidelong glances and lingering high-fives transforming into something electric and undeniable.

"I should have spun that bottle weeks ago," she murmured against your neck, her breath warm and sending shivers down your spine.

"Technically," you replied between kisses, "you could have just asked me out instead of waiting for party game divine intervention."

Shauna laughed against your lips. "Where's the drama in that?"

Your response was cut short by her mouth finding yours again, more insistent this time. Time became meaningless, measured only in heartbeats and shared breaths.

When Jackie's voice eventually called "Time's up!" from the other side of the door, you reluctantly separated, both breathing heavily.

Shauna reached up to gently fix your disheveled hair, a surprising tenderness in the gesture. "So," she whispered, "want to discuss strategy over coffee tomorrow?"

"Soccer strategy?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

Her smile was visible even in the dim light. "Among other things."

As you stepped back into the bright living room, met with knowing smirks from your teammates, you caught Shauna's eye across the circle. The look she gave you promised far more than seven minutes.

Jackie glanced between you two and rolled her eyes. "Well, that's one way to improve midfield communication."

Shauna's deadpan response—"Very efficient use of practice time"—sent the team into howls of laughter, while her fingers discreetly found yours behind the cover of Jackie's throw pillow.

Some victories, you decided, were even sweeter than championships.

#shauna shipman x you #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman #shauna yellowjackets #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellow jackets #yellowjackets

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softly-faye · 19 days ago

Text

Thinking of… ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Baby Daddy!Rafe letting Swan!reader have a nice girls night out and a break from being a full time mommy.

The house was quiet when you got home.

Too quiet.

You slipped your heels off by the marble entryway, your clutch still tucked under your arm, and tiptoed past the glowing chandelier light in the hallway. It was well past midnight, maybe close to 1am and you hadn’t meant to stay out that late. One drink turned into four. A rooftop dinner turned into club music and laughter with your girls. It had felt so good to let go — to not be “Mommy” for a night.

But now, as you padded barefoot through the massive, dimly lit living room in your mini dress and sparkly cardigan, your chest clenched.

What if D/n woke up and cried for me? What if she asked where I was? What if she thought I left?

You were halfway through the archway when you saw it.

And your heart shattered in the best way.

There in the middle of the living room, nestled inside a makeshift pillow fort built from $300 throw blankets and Restoration Hardware cushions was Rafe.

Shirtless, relaxed, completely passed out on the plush rug a little bit of sparkly toddler toy makeup on his eye lids.

And curled up right on top of his chest, dressed in a pair of pink butterfly pajamas, one hand tangled in his gold chain, was D/n.

She was fast asleep, mouth parted slightly, her cheek smooshed against his skin like she belonged there. One of her tiny plush unicorns lay beside her. Her other arm wrapped tightly around Rafe’s neck.

On the TV, the screen was paused on My Little Pony.

The table nearby still had half a bowl of popcorn, two sippy cups, some sour patch kids, and a baby bottle. Crayons and coloring books were scattered around the floor like confetti. You could smell the baby floral shampoo in her hair from where you stood.

And the fort — oh my God, the fort was ridiculously cute. Like something out of a magazine. Twinkly fairy lights looped around the top, pillows everywhere. They’d clearly been playing all day.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears instantly stinging your eyes.

It was just too much. Too perfect. Too soft.

Rafe — your Rafe, the boy who once broke shit for fun and drank too hard and cursed too loud was now this man. This dad. Protecting and loving your daughter with this fierce, quiet devotion.

You stepped closer, heart swelling in your chest.

He stirred.

Eyes cracked open, bleary and slow.

When he saw you, he gave you the tiniest, softest smile.

“Hey, pretty girl.” His voice was rough, low. “You have fun?”

You nodded, kneeling beside the fort, brushing D/N’s curls back from her face. “Yeah… I did. Thank you. So much.”

Rafe looked down at the tiny toddler wrapped around him and grinned sleepily.

“She missed you for like ten minutes. Then she made me watch six episodes of that sparkly pony show and told me I was Princess Daddy.”

You laughed — a quiet, wet laugh that cracked open your heart.

“You’re so good to her, Rafe.”

He shrugged, careful not to wake her as he brushed her hair with gentle fingers.

“She’s my girl. You both are.”

And God, that was it.

The guilt. The love. The joy. The ache of being loved like this — of coming home from champagne and city lights to find the man you love asleep in a glowing pillow fort with your daughter still wrapped around him like he was her entire world.

It hit all at once.

You crawled into the fort beside them, slipping into the space under Rafe’s arm, curling into his side and resting your head on his chest — right beside your daughter.

She stirred in her sleep, tiny hand patting blindly at Rafe’s chest.

He caught it and held it gently.

“We got along fine without you,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. “But we’re better with you home.”

You smiled, eyes finally closing.

“Yeah. We are.”

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

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Ok I know your reqs are closed and I don't ask you to write a fic but can we just take a moment and think if woozi's partner dressed up as a very slutty musa from winx club and when I say slutty I mean underboob showing top and booty showing skirt with the slit and red boots. And maybe that's his birthday gift. I have a hunch that woozi has secretly seen all seasons of winx club including the movie franchise. And then you show up as MUSA???? FAIRY OF MUSIC????? WHEN HE IS THE GOD OF MUSIC????? ON HIS BIRTHDAY???? ahem. Open that for discussion as you may

dressing as winx—musa for jihoon's birthday

a/n: anon, this discussion was so good that i made this drabble, and a small fic inspired on it! i hope you like it!

WARNINGS: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering + oral (f. receiving)

check the story here

it’s a dumb idea. like, so dumb. you almost talked yourself out of it five times before even ordering the boots. because, like…woozi?? the man whos 24/7 hunched over a keyboard like it personally owes him royalties. not the kinda guy you’d peg as a secret fan of sparkly-ass fairy shows. but then you saw it—the tiniest slip of a reference in one of his texts. some offhand comment about “fighting the darkness with the power of music” or some shit. and you were like no fucking way.

so obviously, you had to test the waters. subtle shit at first. humming the theme song when you’re in his studio. saying “magic winx!” when you stretch, just to see if he flinches. and he does. he fucking flinches. it’s like catching a cat with its paw in the cookie jar. he’s so bad at hiding it, too, gets all awkward and mumbly, trying to pass it off like you’re imagining things.

so naturally, the only logical next step is to dress up like musa for his birthday.

“what the fuck,” woozi says when you walk into his studio. and by say, you mean choke out, because dude’s sitting there with his jaw hanging open like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

you do a little twirl because why not? the skirt’s barely there, all slitted up the sides, and the boots are so red they look illegal. the top it’s doing the most. cropped high enough to flash underboob every time you so much as blink. you catch his gaze dipping, like he’s trying to decide where to look without combusting on the spot.

“happy birthday!” you sing, grinning like the menace you are. “do you like it?”

“you—you’re—” he stammers, eyes darting between you and the door like he’s expecting someone to bust in and arrest him for horny crimes. “why the hell are you dressed like that?”

you plop down onto his lap because subtlety’s for cowards. “like who? musa? fairy of music? your soulmate?”

“oh my god.” he presses his hands to his face, but it’s useless; the tips of his ears are already neon red. “you’re insane.”

“insane for you,” you say, leaning in close enough to watch his eyes widen. you trail a finger down the side of his neck, all slow and teasing. “c’mon, jihoon. you can admit it. you’ve seen every episode, haven’t you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles, which is the worst lie you’ve ever heard. the way his voice cracks halfway through? chef’s fucking kiss.

“oh yeah? then why’d you flinch when i said ‘magic winx’ last week?”

“...fuck you.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

you don’t give him a chance to retort, crashing your lips onto his. he freezes for, like, half a second, then he’s all in, hands gripping your hips like you’ll disappear if he lets go. the kiss is messy, teeth and tongue, and you can feel him hardening under your skirt—if you can even call that a skirt.

“you’re the worst!” he groans against your lips, but the way he’s pulling you closer says otherwise.

“and you’re a winx club stan,” you shoot back, grinding down on him just to hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“shut up,” he mutters, before flipping you onto the couch. you’re so fucked.

you’re grinning, smug and shameless, sprawled out on his studio couch like a gift he’s just unwrapped. he doesn’t know whether he wants to worship you or ruin you.

now you realize that, maybe you underestimated just how feral this man could get.

he’s still dressed, but barely tho; his shirt’s pulled halfway up his chest, showing off just enough skin to make you the feral one instead. you hook your legs around his waist, tugging him down until you’re pressed flush against each other. he’s hard—so fucking hard—and you can feel it, the thick length of him pressing against your core through the flimsy fabric of your skirt.

he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “you show up dressed like that, looking like—like that—”

“like your dream girl?” you tease, running your hands through his hair. it’s soft, messy from all his pacing earlier, and you tug just enough to make him groan. “admit it, jihoon. you’ve been thinking about this.”

“youre my dream girl, babe,” he hisses, grinding against you like he’s losing the battle with himself.

“show me,” you challenge, lifting your hips to meet his, you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. “c’mon, birthday boy. don’t you wanna blow out your candle?”

he pauses, pulling back just enough to give you that look—the one that says you’re about to regret being a little shit. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“oh, we’re doing this?” you say, breathless but still grinning. “kinky.”

“shut up,” he growls. his lips find yours again, rougher this time, his teeth catching on your bottom lip as he kisses you. his free hand slides down your side, slipping under your top to cup your breast, and the feel of his calloused fingers against your skin makes you arch into him.

you gasp, as he tugs your top up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. he pauses for a second, just staring at you—at the way your chest rises and falls, the way your skirt’s ridden up to reveal more skin than it covers. you can see the way his throat bobs, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“you’re perfect,” he says, and it’s so soft, so genuine, it makes your chest tighten.

“yeah?” you say, your voice shaky. “then stop staring and fuck me.”

he’s on you in a second, lips trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, to your chest. his tongue flicks over your nipple, and you let out a sound you didn’t even know you could make, your hands twisting he sucks, bites, licks, like he’s determined to leave his mark.

his hand slips between your legs, pushing aside your skirt and finding the damp patch on your panties. “fuck,” he groans, pressing his thumb against you through the fabric. “you’re so wet already.”

“wonder why,” you manage to say, though it comes out more like a whimper as he slides your panties down and off. his fingers are on you immediately, spreading you open, and itmakes you feel like you’re melting.

he teases you, running his fingers up and down your slit, barely grazing your clit just to watch you squirm. “you talk a big game,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “but look at you now. all needy.”

“ngh—babe please!” you say, even though you’re very much proving his point. “stop teasing.”

he smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “patience, fairy of music.”

he licks stripe up your slit before circling your clit. your hips jerk, but he holds you down, his hands gripping your thighs as he works you over that’s honestly unfair. it’s too much and you’re a mess, moaning his name and tugging at his hair.

“jihoon!” you gasp, your voice breaking as he slides a finger inside you, curling it just right.

he sucks your clit harder, adding another finger and sucking on your clit until you’re seeing stars. your orgasm hits you, taking you by surprise, your whole body tensing as you cry out, and he doesn’t stop until you’re begging him to.

when he finally pulls back, he looks so fucking smug. “happy birthday to me,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“get your pants off.”

he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, standing up and shucking his jeans and boxers in record time. your mouth goes dry at the sight of the cock that you loved and craved, the flush on his cheeks only makes him hotter.

“what’s the matter?” he says, climbing back over you. “cat got your tongue?”

you shush him, pulling him down for another kiss.

“as you wish, fairy girl.” and then he’s pushing into you, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping at the stretch. you love the way he feels inside you, the way he groans against your neck as he bottoms out.

“you okay?” he asks, knowing the time you need to adjust.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer. “move.”

you meet him thrust for thrust, your nails raking down his back as he picks up the pace. “fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his breath hot against your ear. “so fucking perfect.”

“i’m close.” so so fucking close—shit!

“me too,” he says, his thrusts turning frantic as he chases his orgasm. “come for me, baby.”

you do, cumming around him with a cry of his name, he looks at you. your head thrown back, your pussy desperately clamping around him—pushes him over the edge. he comes whiny groan, his hips stuttering as he spills into you.

he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, and you can feel his heart pounding against yours. “best birthday ever, thank you babe.” he mumbles, his voice muffled but sincere.

you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “told you you’d like it.”

“you’re never living this down,” he says, lifting his head to look at you. “next time, i’m dressing as bloom.”

“deal,” you say, grinning, and pull him down for another kiss.

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candykissd · 3 months ago

Text

jealousy, jealousy

pairings : harry lewis x female reader

summary : there'd always been some tension between the two, a flirtationship, if you will. and so, when someone shows interest in y/n at a friends party, harry's jealous side comes out to play.

warnings : fluff, alcohol consumption

beths notes : sorry i havent posted in a while!! i know this is only short, but here you go lovies!!! 💘

the hill-clarke-dixon residence was full of half drunk adults, and they weren't even halfway into the night. the music thumped through the walls of the apartment, in a way that was sure to result in the boys getting a kindly written note from their neighbours on their doorstep in the morning.

you'd hung around multiple different people throughout the night, having an array of conversations. going from talking about the gavin and stacey christmas episode with liv, to politics with arthur tv.

over time you'd slowly drifted towards the one person you hadn't recognised, not sure whether it was the alcohol affecting your memory, or you just genuinely didn't know who this man was.

you had thought that he could be one of george's old school friends, but even still, you couldn't be sure. he was one of the guys you could talk to easily, as if you'd been friends for years.

a 'five minute' chat with him had turned into twenty, as you leant against the countertop beside the two of you, you couldn't help but notice his eyes drifting over your body.

not that you were objecting - he was an attractive man himself, and he was nice to talk to... but it was when your eyes flickered across the room to harry.

who was staring the man down, head to toe, inch by inch, inspecting him as if he were a dead body on a crime scene.

yours and harry's eyes locked, and he sent a look your way, as if he was warning you of him.

you let out a laugh, accompanied by an eye roll as you went back to your conversation, though, you could see harry's jaw clench out of the corner of your eye.

you think it was the trailing of his fingers down your arm that really pushed harry of the edge, as he approached you, and the guy, with a sickly sweet smile on his face. which was clearly sarcastic.

"y/n! lovely to see you here, isn't it?" he beamed, being oddly formal as he grabbed your wrist. "mind if i borrow her for a second?" he smiled at the guy you'd been talking to as he dragged you away and down the corridor of the apartment.

"harry! what is up with you?-" you laughed out as he stopped halfway down the hallway, just out of sight from everyone else.

"him. he was laughing too hard at your jokes, and touching you, and-" "so you're jealous?" you smirked, the alcohol in your system giving you a newfound confidence that you wouldn't have had otherwise.

"i- y- me? jealous? pfft... no!" he scoffed, putting up a confident front as if he hadn't just stumbled over his words, making it very clear to you, and anyone else who could've possibly heard him, that he was very much so jealous.

"don't worry, haz, your secrets safe with me." you smiled as you leant up on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, waiting just a moment to see the blush start to creep up on his face before walking back off into the crowd of people.

#harry lewis #oneshot #sidemen #wroetoshaw #youtube #harry w2s #w2s #w2s x reader #writing

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writingbuckets · 7 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢

paige bueckers x influencer!reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

a/n: here's part 1 to my influencer!reader fic based on the poll i posted a few days ago. i took a few days to write out the first few parts to this storyline, so i shall see yall in a few days <3

Sitting in the studio, you shuffle through the day's notes as you wait for Taylor, your partner and co-host, to get ready. You glance around at the familiar setup: soundproof walls, the big red “ON AIR” sign, and Taylor’s mic with her distinctive bright blue pop filter across from you. The Hot Take has come a long way since you and Taylor first started recording episodes in a makeshift studio in your apartment.

Finally, Taylor takes her seat, grinning like she’s got a secret. You recognize that glint in her eye; it’s the same look she gives you right before she drops a bombshell on air. You chuckle, half expecting her to share some wild celebrity tidbit or throw in an off-the-cuff comment that’ll leave fans buzzing.

“All right, ready to kick things off?” she asks, sliding her headphones on. You nod, pressing record, and the familiar flow of the episode begins.

The conversation starts with your typical lineup of the week’s big pop culture and sports events. You trade opinions on a recent basketball draft, discuss an unexpected celebrity breakup, and riff on a few new album releases. Fans love the way you and Taylor can pivot from debating sports stats to analyzing the latest music trends—all with a laid-back vibe that feels like a natural conversation between friends.

As you move toward wrapping up, Taylor flashes you a mischievous smile, one that promises she’s about to shake things up. Before you can question her, she clears her throat, leaning close to the mic with a conspiratorial whisper.

“So, Y/N, we always promise full transparency on this show, right?”

You nod, slightly suspicious but playing along. “Right...”

She grins, eyes sparkling. “Well, I feel like it’s time I share something personal—a bit of a confession, if you will.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Oh, really? Do tell.”

“It’s about my celebrity crush,” she declares, and you feel your eyebrows shoot up. Celebrity crush? That’s…random. But Taylor’s got that devilish glint, so you know she’s leading somewhere.

“Oh, please, Taylor,” you say, laughing. “Are you seriously bringing up your celebrity crush right now?”

“Of course! It’s relevant to sports, I promise.” She laughs, her voice dipping into an almost-reverent tone. “Because it’s Paige Bueckers.”

There’s a beat where you try to process that. Paige Bueckers—a name practically synonymous with college basketball greatness, a player with such raw talent and drive that her highlight reels are legend. Of course, Paige has the kind of skill and flair on the court that would make her anyone’s “celebrity crush.”

Without thinking, you roll your eyes and let out a laugh. “Oh, Paige Bueckers? Come on, Tay. Isn’t she a bit…overrated?”

The words escape before you have time to reconsider, and you catch Taylor’s jaw dropping in mock horror, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, as if you’ve just blasphemed on live radio.

“Overrated?” she exclaims, her voice full of exaggerated shock. “Y/N, you’ve officially crossed into hot-take territory. Are you serious?”

You shrug, leaning back in your chair as you play it off. “I mean, yeah, she’s good. She’s really good. But let’s be real—people act like she’s already the GOAT, and she’s, what, twenty-three? I think she’s talented, sure, but maybe the hype’s a little…excessive?”

Taylor shakes her head, laughing as she turns back to the camera, knowing your listeners will eat this up. “Listeners, you heard it here first—Y/N thinks Paige Bueckers is overrated. Prepare for the inevitable Twitter meltdown!”

You chuckle, figuring it’s all in good fun. You and Taylor are known for your candid takes; it’s what fans love most about the show. This will be just another talking point, something people can debate online. You wrap up the episode, signing off with your usual mix of humor and playful barbs, and end the recording.

**********

A few hours later, you’re back at home, scrolling through Twitter out of habit. Normally, after an episode drops, fans will post funny clips or start discussions around your and Taylor’s latest takes. You expect some buzz, but this? The reaction is way bigger than usual.

Your notifications are packed with tags, mentions, and—oh. There it is. A clip of your “overrated” comment has already gone viral. One account with a sizable following has posted it, captioning, “Did Y/N just call Paige Bueckers overrated?!” The clip has already racked up thousands of likes and retweets, with fans both defending and attacking your opinion.

Curious, you start scrolling through the replies. A lot of fans are indignant, passionately defending Paige’s talent and listing her stats, achievements, and highlights as if you’ve personally insulted them.

“Overrated? Y/N clearly hasn’t seen a game.” “She’s one of the best of her generation—how can you not see that?” “Bet Y/N wouldn’t last five minutes trying to guard her.”

But there’s also a crowd that’s rallying behind your comment. Some fans are laughing, glad to hear someone finally say what they’d been thinking. “Finally, someone not drinking the Kool-Aid,” one user writes. Another adds, “She’s great, but let’s not pretend like there aren’t other amazing players out there.”

The debate is heated, and the takes are piling up faster than you can read them all. A quick glance at Twitter’s trending page reveals that your name and Paige Bueckers are both climbing the ranks.

You sigh, amused but slightly annoyed. It’s one thing to have fans debating, but Twitter is practically ablaze, turning what you thought was a lighthearted comment into a viral controversy.

By the next morning, things have escalated even further. As you sip your coffee, you notice that your notifications have doubled overnight. And this time, it’s not just random fans. Paige’s teammates are chiming in too.

Azzi Fudd has posted a clip of Paige landing a flawless three-pointer, captioned, “@Y/N, this looks overrated to you?” Jana’s added her two cents with a subtweet: “We all have opinions, I guess. Can’t wait for the next episode.” And KK has dropped a classic response: “Hot takes are like free throws—not everyone hits.”

Each comment comes with thousands of likes and retweets, adding fuel to an already blazing fire. You find yourself chuckling, impressed despite yourself. They’re all coming to Paige’s defense with such witty precision that it’s hard not to admire the loyalty.

Yet, you also feel a prickle of defensiveness. Sure, Paige is good—great, even—but does that mean everyone has to agree that she’s the best thing in sports right now? You pride yourself on being honest and not falling for the hype, but as you scroll through the seemingly endless tweets, part of you wonders if you went too far.

Taylor texts you with a stream of laughing emojis. “Looks like you got the basketball world up in arms. Congratulations!”

You text her back, trying to stay cool. “All in a day’s work, right? Who knew Paige Bueckers had such a dedicated fanbase?”

“Did you really think people would let you get away with that one?” she teases, sending a gif of a player shrugging. “I think you just made Twitter history.”

You laugh, trying to play it off, but as the morning wears on, you can’t stop refreshing the timeline. More comments flood in from basketball fans, analysts, and even a few pro athletes. It’s spiraled into something you never intended—an opinion piece turned viral moment.

That night, you’re lying in bed, scrolling through the remnants of the day’s chaos when a new notification catches your eye. It’s a message request, from someone with a verified blue check. Your heart skips a beat as you read the name.

Paige Bueckers.

You hesitate, not sure what to expect. You’ve been in the public eye long enough to know that some people thrive off the chance to “clap back,” and you half expect Paige to lay into you.

You click to open the message, bracing yourself, but what you read is the last thing you anticipated. The message is short, her tone direct but surprisingly playful: “Overrated, huh? Bold opinion. Care to explain?”

For a moment, you just stare, processing the fact that Paige Bueckers herself has taken notice of your podcast—and your opinion. There’s something oddly thrilling about the attention, and you can’t help but wonder what this conversation might lead to.

With a smirk, you hover over the reply button. You know that a response could pull you further into this whole debate, maybe even turn the interaction into something bigger than a passing Twitter controversy. But there’s a thrill in it—this was Paige Bueckers, after all. The fact that she’d reached out, even playfully, meant you’d gotten her attention. For someone so used to being idolized and hyped up, maybe your perspective had struck a nerve.

Do I play it cool? Double down?

A few clever responses run through your mind, each one more sarcastic than the last, but you decide to keep it simple and direct. After all, Paige’s message had a vibe—she wasn’t attacking you. She was…what? Curious? Challenging you? Either way, it felt like an invitation, and you weren’t about to back down.

“Guess I’m just not a fan of hype,” you type, keeping it short but loaded. You hit send before you can second-guess it.

Not even a minute later, a new notification pops up.

“Fair enough,” she replies. “But if you think it’s all hype, maybe you’ve been watching the wrong games.”

You stare at her reply, feeling a flicker of competitiveness spark to life. She was biting back, not with hostility but with confidence—clearly ready to defend herself without missing a beat. Part of you is annoyed, but a bigger part admires the quick comeback.

So you respond again, more playful this time. “Guess I’ll have to tune in to one of your good games, then.”

A couple of seconds pass, then another message from Paige appears, this one laced with a challenge: “Tell you what—how about courtside seats to the next game? See if you still think I’m overrated.”

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. Was she…inviting you? To her game? This was turning into something more than just a Twitter exchange. The idea of seeing her play up close, watching her skill in real-time, fills you with a mix of intrigue and resistance.

You sit with her offer, fingers poised above the keyboard. Every instinct is telling you to throw a snarky response back, but curiosity gets the better of you. Before you realize it, you’re typing, accepting her offer with a short, “I’ll be there.”

#paige buckets #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wlw fanfic #wlw post

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chososcamgirl · 7 months ago

Text

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER CHAPTER TWELVE: sweet dreams, tn

masterlist

“So where’s your lover boy?” Panda asks, his voice cutting through the cacophony of laughter and music as he trails you through the crowded corridors, dodging the sea of bodies like a seasoned sailor.

Pit pit pit pit—the sound of eight pairs of feet creates a chaotic rhythm that echoes off the walls, blending with the chatter, screams from fangirls, and the distant sound of music. The air is thick with anticipation, a pre-show buzz that somehow amplifies your frustration.

You stop suddenly, squinting against the bright lights overhead, still disoriented in this maze of unfamiliar hallways. You were reread Megumi’s text for the hundredth time.

“It’s simple, just walk straight, take the second left, and then the first right.”

“Simple my ass,” you mutter, irritation creeping into your voice. You can feel the fabric of your outfit constricting slightly as your heart races—not just from the crowd, but from the thought of him, wherever he might be.

“Yn, do you even know where you’re going?” Nobara interjects, arms crossed and feet tapping impatiently. “I didn’t put on my red bottoms just to wander around like a lost kid in target.”

Her tone is playful, but there’s an edge of seriousness. You can picture her frustration—she's here to make an impression, and you can’t let her down. She mumbles something under her breath, probably a jab about you and megumi, which she blames on you ovulating. You roll your eyes, mentally flipping her off.

“Yn, maybe you should use your third eye to find him,” Panda suggests, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Third eye?” you ask, bewildered.

“Your vagina” he raises an eyebrow, teasingly dragging out the moment.

Maki snickers.

“Maki, why are you laughing? Shouldn’t you be helping?” Panda shoots back, exasperated, though his tone is more playful than annoyed.

Maki rolls her eyes but doesn’t miss a beat. She raises her fist, mock-threatening to punch Panda, but they both stumble back, narrowly avoiding a group of crew members wrestling with a mountain of band equipment. One of them shoots you a bemused glance, clearly accustomed to the chaotic energy that follows your group.

“Shit, sorry, everyone,” you murmur, barely looking up from your phone. Your thumbs fly over the screen, sending a heated text to that infuriatingly charming guitarist.

Your frustration simmers just below the surface, not just from his latest blunder but from the way your emotions twist like a tangled cord—half excitement, half anxiety.

You can’t help but think of how he always manages to distract you, his grin igniting a flutter in your chest. The irony of searching for him while being completely consumed by thoughts of him doesn’t escape you.

“Yn?” A voice echoes through the dimly lit corridor, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up to find Megumi standing there, his expression softening as he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice a gentle murmur, but he hears you easily.

The surrounding group begins to disperse, each member pairing off into their conversations—Maki and Yuta engaged about their next date, Panda and Toge animatedly debriefing about the latest talk gush episode, and Nobara mocking Yuji about his latest blunder on Twitter, laughter spilling out like a warm embrace.

“Sooo, how’s it going?” you ask slyly, trying to mask the sudden flutter of nerves that stir within you.

Why does this feel different tonight? You’ve shared countless moments, yet there’s an undeniable weight in the air that makes your heart race.

A smirk curls at the corners of Megumi’s lips, amusement dancing in his eyes. He finds your nervousness both cute and entertaining.

“You know my fans would kill you if they found out the mystery girl I’ve been seeing is at the show tonight.”

You arch an eyebrow, a playful glint in your gaze. Your fingers find their way to his chest, lightly tracing the fabric of his shirt before hovering near his lips, an invitation and a tease. His breath hitches, hanging in the air like an unspoken promise, thick with unacknowledged tension.

“Guess we’ll just have to keep it a secret then, huh?” you reply, leaning in slightly, enjoying the way his pulse quickens under your touch.

“Oi, come on, lovebirds! We perform in twenty!” a voice calls from behind you, interrupting the moment. It’s the white-haired boy, his tone both teasing and urgent.

You glance back at him, rolling your eyes playfully as you stick out your tongue.

“Can’t a girl have a moment?” you shoot back, a lightness in your voice that contrasts with the intensity of the moment you just shared.

“Seems like you have to go,” you say, brushing imaginary nerves off his shoulders with a teasing gesture, your fingertips lingering a moment too long.

Megumi gazes at you in silence, as if he’s trying to memorise every detail—the way your hair falls around your shoulders, the sparkle in your eyes that seems to illuminate the dim corridor.

Were you always this beautiful, or is it just the shoddy lighting casting a warm glow around you?

“Good luck,” you say, rising onto your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your lips against his skin sends a thrill through you, a jolt of something unspoken.

With that, you turn and dash off to catch up with your friends, laughter bubbling up as you leave him behind, your heart still racing.

You glance back to find Megumi standing there, visibly starstruck, watching you with a mix of admiration and disbelief. There’s a new softness in his gaze, one that makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree, as you turn away.

God, he was down bad.

extras!

• COME BACK SEUNGHAN 🙏🙏

• yn lowkey gafs about megumi now chat…

• is this the enemjes to lovers we were all longing for? lol just wait until next chapter

• yn was ON that ledge like fully over the barricade SOMEONE HELP THE POOR GIRL

• ynmegumi interaction again hiiiii

• are they… falling in love with eachother???

• oh there’s sukuna hi boyfie

• he got another number… just for us? awww😍😍

• if he wanted to he would

a/n: FINALLY UP TO DATE WITH THE CHAPTERS EVERYBODY CHEER!!! this was lowkey a filler chapter but next chapter is going to be so GOOD. like i said we’re just getting started? you thought this was going to be a fluffy fic? LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @laughingfcx @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @pastriepuppy @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

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luvacookie · 1 year ago

Text

mr steal ur girl.

eren notices an unfamiliar face at one of his frat parties…

❥ warnings : reiner bein a dick, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), nicknames, squirting, porn w a plot, intended use of lower case, mildly proof read, shy-ish reader, black fem coded.

❥ cookie for ur thoughts ? : my first post, my first aot idea >~< ! idk how people will respond to this. i need to write a lil sum sum for con, i will work on it…

“pleaseee ! you never come out with me! plus you get to be around reiner.”

pieck stared at you through the floor length mirror, adjusting her black skin tight dress as you ignored her and continued to scroll through your phone. as per usual, she was going to one of her parties hosted by her friends and as per usual she was asking you to join her.

normally you declined, opting to stay wrapped up in bed, catching up on one of your hour long k-dramas episodes or looking over work you did in a lecture.

parties were not your scene and they never had been.

“pieck… i don’t know…” you responded sceptically, curling the end of your braid around your finger.

“i can set you up with reiner, he talks about you all the time you know,” pieck said walking over to your bed.

you sighed, you knew she was just using your delusional crush on reiner to lure you in and unfortunately it was working.

you pushed your glasses up, exhaling defeatedly. pieck smiled and clapped her hands together, jumping up from the bed.

“we have to make sure you look cute as fuck so shower, skincare, makeup, whatever you need to do and by time you get out i’ll have a cute fit for you!” she said happily, digging through your clothes.

you hauled yourself out of bed, grabbing your towel and headed to the shower. you cleaned up nicely, freshening yourself up for the party. you put your braids into a half-up half-down with a side parting, laying your edges with a decorative heart.

pieck had picked out a two piece pink set for you with white string heels, you matched your accessories accordingly with pink hair clips and white glasses.

she smiled at you in awe. “you look so fuckin’ good right now! you seriously need to get out more.”

you looked down shyly, “are you sure pie’? this is so out of my zone.”

“oh my god, of course i’m sure, now come on. reiner won’t wait all night,” she giggled.

she grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to her convertible, making sure to let the top down so the warm night air hit your faces. the ride there was filled with vibes and giggles, your nerves slowly disappearing.

soon enough you arrived at the frat house, the musics blaring through all the open doors and windows. people were dancing on the lawn, cars pulled up in every direction. pieck dragged you through the crowd, stopping for a couple seconds at a time to say hi to her mutuals.

soon enough you found your way into the kitchen with her where the rest of your friend group was.

“hey guys!” pieck called out over the music and they all greeted her back.

“no fuckin’ way you brought y/n,” connie said, licking his paper and putting the blunt behind his ear.

you waved at him, smiling lightly.

“well damn, who woulda thought,” annie said from beside him, holding a red solo cup.

“she finally managed to convince me soooo…” you trailed off leaning against the counter.

“you look hot though,” sasha commented, a lazy smile on her face as if she was already high.

“mmm, cheers to that,” reiner said from behind you.

you turned around, looking him up and down. he had a simple white tee on that hugged his arms perfectly, a pair of black cargo’s with a silver chain. he handed you a cup and knocked it with yours, tipping the contents of it back.

you stared at him briefly, watching his throat move as he swallowed. you followed shortly after, pulling a face as the liquor burned your throat.

everyone spoke amongst themselves, pieck catching up on all the lost drinks, leaving you and reiner to have a sweet conversation.

“why don’t i see you out enough?” he asked, looking down at you.

you turned your head to the side, the eye contact making your stomach flip, “not really my thing.”

“they should be,” he followed up quickly, “you’re too pretty to be kept hostage in your dorm.”

you looked at him, smiling. “thanks.”

“no problem sweetheart,” he poured himself another drink, refilling yours too.

“you drink a lot?” he asked, sipping on his mix.

“not really, only when i come to these things, which is basically never,” you chuckled lightly, tasting your drink.

“i’m gonna have to force pieck to bring you out more, you’re too fuckin’ pretty darling.”

“rei, stop you’re making me feel shy,” you sighed, looking at him with obvious heart eyes.

he made a noise in his throat, a cocky smirk on his face. “dance with me?”

you stared, your brain slowly registering before you nodded. you turned to pieck, gesturing that you were going with reiner and she gave you a massive thumbs up in encouragement.

reiner took your hand in his and lead you to where the music was the loudest, putting your hands around his neck as his met your waist. he stayed with you like that for the majority of the song, his eyes holding yours.

your acrylics danced at the nape of his neck, as the grip on your waist slowly became tighter. he pulled you close enough for your chests to be touching, forcing you to look up at his height.

“are you even listening ? hellooo?”

“yeah..yeah, who’s that?” eren asked, ignoring whatever armin was saying.

armin looked around, “who?”

“her,” eren said, nodding in your direction.

“oh, y/n l/n. she’s in my english major,” armin said dismissively.

eren nodded, watching how you were slowly grinding on reiner, or realistically how your tits were moving in your dress. he had never seen you before, so how did you know reiner of all people?

as the song ended you pulled reiner down to your height, muttering something to him in which he nodded. you left the room, leaving reiner to join one of his other group of friends, though he didn’t see where you left to as porco joined him and armin.

you returned to the kitchen where connie was left on his own, tapping the ash off his blunt into the sink.

“you and reiner?” he asked, his words slightly slowed.

you poured a shot, smiling to yourself. “maybe. i don’t know.”

you tipped it back as he continued talking to you. “he likes you, you know that right?”

you reapplied your lipgloss, “does he?”

“for real, he talks about you all the time,” he inhaled slowly.

“that’s cute. i like him too,” you smiled at connie.

he exhaled and turned the roll to you, “you smoke?”

“no… i’ve only hit once before,” you admitted, staring at it.

“you don’t wanna hit that shit, probably laced,” came a deep voice from behind you.

you turned to see eren leaning on the door frame, staring at you. he was wearing simple grey sweats and a white tee, his hair pulled back into a messy bun.

“fuck off yaeger,” connie muttered, rolling his eyes, smoke exhaling his mouth with a string of cusses following.

he ignored connie, focusing his attention on you. “you’ve never been to one of these before have you?”

“do i stand out that bad?” you shook your head, the sound of your acrylic tapping the glass following.

eren walked round the counter, pouring himself straight whiskey. “oh you stand out… would’ve remembered your face.”

you tip your head to the side and glance back at connie who stares at you blankly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“means your cute, your boyfriend is lucky,” he comments swiftly.

“my boyfriend ?” you question, toying with the curly end of your braid.

“reiner. i would think so anyways after the way you were dancing with him,” he responds, a glint in his eye as if he was digging for information.

you look up and make eye contact with him. “he’s not my boyfriend—”

“not yet anyways,” connie interrupts.

you felt your face flush, unsure if you had turned a shade of red or not. you shook your head and had another shaky shot, the alcohol seeping it’s way into your bloodstream.

“what’s your name ?” eren asks, sipping vodka straight from the bottle that was left on the counter.

“y/n,” you responded. “don’t worry, i know who you are eren.”

he tipped his head to the side slightly, he liked the way you said his name.

he hummed, continuing his drink when his friend armin entered the room.

“are reiner and annie fucking or something ?” he asks, a twinge of annoyance in his tone.

you turned to look at armin, your heart slightly dropping. “what do you mean ?”

armin looks at you as if he hadn’t registered you were in the room, “n-nothing. just the way they were talkin’ and dancing and shit..”

you were sure you felt your heart drop this time. annie and reiner ? they had never gave an indication that they liked each other.

you looked off to the side, your throat slowly going dry.

connie noticed and sighed. “they like siblings, don’t stress it.”

you nodded, “y-yeah of course, i just need some air or something.”

you used that as your cue to leave, eren’s eyes following your figure as you walked past him towards the back garden.

you were slightly embarrassed, choking up in front of three boys, two of them you barley knew. you sat on a chair in the corner, taking a shallow breath and texting pieck.

y/n : i think i’m ready to cut pie

pie 🙇🏾‍♀️💓 : y ? e oksy?

you looked at her message and knew she was drunk, yet she still tried her best to check in on you.

y/n : yh dw abt me imma jus take an uber or smthin

pie 🙇🏾‍♀️💓 : olay

pie 🙇🏾‍♀️💓 : grt home sfe iky <3333

you sighed and turned your phone off, looking at the people in the garden. you heard giggling and saw reiner and annie trip over one another, clearly having a good time with themselves.

you turned your phone on and scrolled through your missed texts when you felt a person stood behind you. you looked up and saw eren’s green eyes looking at annie and reiner.

“what a prick,” eren sighed, looking down to meet your eyes.

“it’s cool. annie’s better than me by like tenfold so i’m not really shocked,” you responded, dropping your phone in your lap.

“don’t be fuckin’ dumb, reiner’s a blind asshole. he always has been,” he comforted you. “here.”

he handed you his lit joint and you took a hesitant hit, careful not to get lipgloss all over the paper.

eren watched you as you exhaled into the air, swallowing nothing. “you good?”

you nodded, “ ‘m good.”

you guys stayed like that for a while, exchanging useless comments and smoking. eren was glad that your mood had been lifted. at some point you had ended up back in the kitchen with your group of friends, high and definitely drunk.

pieck had everyone do body shots off of her stomach and made you dance round the counter like an idiot, something you were too drunk to question.

“where’d you go?” reiner’s voice said from behind you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders.

you tensed uncomfortably, though reiner was far too gone to notice. you wriggled out of his grasp, turning around to look at him. “s-sorry, i ended up getting distracted by eren and connie.”

eren nodded at whatever words mikasa was saying, his eyes focusing on the way reiner was forcing a conversation after abandoning you to fuck around with annie.

“yaeger? what were you doing with that bastard ?” reiner said, ignoring the way you rubbed your arm rather nervously.

“n-nothing, we was jus’ talking and shi—”

“fuck that, don’t hang around with that kid,” reiner cut you off, staring at you rather annoyed.

“reiner, i’m sorry he just—”

“why shouldn’t she hang around with me ? i’d say i’m a pretty fun time,” eren said lazily, sitting on the counter beside you.

reiner glared at him, “don’t start your bullshit with me yaeger.”

“i’d say you’re starting problems with me braun, tellin’ pretty girls they should steer clear,” he responded.

eren looked unbothered whereas reiner had become rather agitated.

he ignored reiner, turning to you, “wanna go some where else ?”

you looked at reiner then at eren before nodding, following his lead and taking his hand as he lead you somewhere else.

“fuckin’ hell. rei just got his bitch stolen by yaeger,” porco muttered, reiner still heard it.

“you good princess?” eren mumbled, the sound of his door clicking shut.

“mhm, thank you,” you responded from his desk, untying your heels as he pushed himself up on his bed.

“for what?” he asked pointedly, his eyes locking with yours.

“the reiner thing—”

“anybody with working brain cells could see that you were uncomfortable, i was just helping out,” he dismissed, his hands resting behind his head.

you nodded, holding eye contact with him. the room went silent, the only sound being the tapping of your acrylics against the wood of his desk.

eren sighed, patting the cover of his bedsheets. “c’mere, you too far away.”

you let out a little laugh, hopping off his desk and standing in front of him. he grabbed you by your hands and pulled you on top of him, settling yourself on his hips. he was less than bother by the sudden added weight of your own body, his hands meeting the side of your thighs.

“you really are mad pretty,” he mumbled, squeezing the fat of your thighs that was closer to your ass.

you exhaled, turning your head to try and hide your smile. he grabbed your face and turned it back to him, his eyes hooded with lust.

you stared at him and your eyes dropped to his lips and unfortunately for you, he didn’t miss it. you took a deep breath and leaned forward, encasing eren’s lips in yours.

his hands instantly moved to your ass, squeezing roughly. he kissed you back hard, pushing his hips upwards.

your hands travelled to the back of his hair, your acrylics burying themselves in the nape of his neck. he sat up properly so he could flip you over, a shear display of his strength.

he bit at the bottom of your lip, taking advantage of the whine you let out to slip his tongue into your mouth. his hands wondered down the front of your top, though he pulled away, inspecting your face.

“why’d you stop ?” you mumbled, your eyes darting towards his swollen lips.

“nothin’, just checking to see if you’re actually sober. you alright with this though ?” he asked and you nodded eagerly, tugging at his hoodie.

he laughed. “you’re a desperate thing aren’t you.”

“eren, please,” you mumbled, pulling him forwards with more force.

“fuck. whatever you want princess,” he groaned, grabbing you by the neck and pulling you into a deeper kiss than before.

you moaned quietly as he untied the front of your shirt, revealing your lacy white bra.

“please tell me you weren’t wearing this for reiner,” he begged, rubbing on your tits.

you shook your head. “thank fuck for that.”

he pulled your skirt off, revealing your matching set, throwing the skirt somewhere in his room.

“fuck sake, y/n,” he muttered, eyes trailing the whole of your body.

you tugged at his zipper, “off, i want it off.”

he unzipped his hoodie with a chuckle, removing his shirt too, revealing his muscles. “makin’ demands now ?”

you rolled your eyes and pulled him back in for another heated kiss, your hands trailing down his body and palming his dick through his grey bottoms. he groaned, kissing you harder as you continued to stroke his growing hard-on through the material.

he pulled away and began kissing down your neck, leaving deep hickies as he went down, kissing all the way down your stomach till he got to the top of your lace thong.

he made eye contact with you as he placed a light kiss on your cover clit, watching as your mouth slightly dropped open. he pulled your panties down, stuffing them in his pocket whilst he rubbed on your clit with slow circles.

“you’re so fuckin’ wet for me right now angel. did you know that?” he asked, continuing with his agonisingly slow circles.

“mm fuck, eren, please—” you whined, your hands gripping his sheets.

“please what princess?” he teased, watching your body squirm under his touch.

you whined even louder. “fuck, i want more—” you cut yourself off with a shallow moan as he dipped his middle finger inside of you briefly before pulling it out.

“more what?” he teased.

you looked at him with round glossy eyes, “please eat me out.”

“that’s all you had to say princess,” he laughed, finally giving you what you wanted.

his tongue made contact with your clit and he licked eagerly, making his middle and ring finger stretch you out nicely.

“gotta make sure this pretty pussy is ready for my dick hm,” he mumbled on your clit, sucking on it roughly.

you babbled incoherent sentences, scratching as far as your hands could reach down his shoulders. your moans gradually increased in volume as his slender fingers worked your insides deliciously, finding that soft spot your own couldn’t reach with ease.

“f-fuck eren— feels so fuckin’ good,” you moaned gripping on his sheets harder.

just as you could feel your orgasm approaching, you could feel your phone vibrate beside you.

pieck was calling you, your thighs began to close but eren forced them back open. “answer it.”

“b-but—”

“i said answer it and be quiet.”

you looked at him before doing as he said, his fingers working harder than before.

“y/nnnn! where did you gooooo?” pieck shouted down the phone.

“i-i went with— mm-fuck, eren—” you struggled, pulling at eren’s hand.

“to do whatttt? you guys are missing the party” she yelled, giggling shortly after.

you struggled to hold back a moan as eren sucked more feverishly on your clit, “ ‘m s-sorry pie’, w-we’ll be — fuckfuck— we’ll be b-back soon.”

pieck stayed silent on the other side for a moment. “ohmygodyouanderenarefucking?!”

eren laughed, the vibrations on your clit causing you to let a loud whine slip past your mouth, one pieck definitely heard.

“OHMYGOD YOU ARE! GUYSGUYS EREN AND Y/N ARE—”

you hung up on her and threw your phone on the floor some where, focusing back on eren. “that is y-your fault.”

he pulled up and looked at you, the lower half of his face covered in your slick. “i told you to be quiet princess.”

you rolled your eyes as he continued finger fucking you, his tongue slipping to your hole every now and again.

a strange feeling built up in your stomach, making you push him away by his shoulders. “mm— eren wait, f-feels like ‘m gonna—”

his dick twitched at the thought of you squirting from him eating your pussy, so he pushed your hands away. “stop, let me finish.”

“no— eren—”

he grabbed your arms with his free hand and held them to your side, licking at your clit more needly as he could feel your cunt clenching around his fingers. “i got you princess.”

you moaned loudly and the clear liquid drenched your thighs and his sheets, eren’s fingers still working you through your orgasm.

“f-fuck, eren— please—” you moaned desperately, tears sliding down the side of your face as you tried to squeeze your thighs shut.

“give me one more, i know you can y/n,” he mumbled, pulling your thighs open as his fingers working faster, grazing your soft spot every time.

you shook your head, feeling your second orgasm approaching harder than the first one.

“fuckfuckfuck, eren please—” you came around his fingers a second time, moaning loudly.

“there you fucking go,” eren smirked, feeling your cunt squeeze him. he slipped his fingers out and kissed your clit gently before coming back up to kiss you.

“you okay princess?” he asked quietly, looking you in your eyes.

you nodded lazily, fucked out from the two orgasms he gave you. “ ‘m good.”

“good cause i’m not done with you yet,” he exhaled, kissing you again.

he pulled his bottoms down, revealing his white calvin klein boxers that hugged his straining dick.

“this is your fault,” he said mimicking the words you said to him earlier.

you ignored him and palmed at his dick, feeling it twitch under the contact. you pulled his boxers down and let it free, continuing to rub it bare.

“fuckk—” he groaned, “shit, let me get a condom—”

“i’m clean,” you interjected, “and on birth control.”

eren looked slightly taken back. “are you sure ?”

you nodded desperately, “i need you please—”

“well shit. i’m clean too don’t worry,” he reassured you.

you nodded and continued rubbing his dick.

he moaned lowly before grabbing your face, “open.”

you opened your mouth and he stuck his fingers down your throat, the same ones that had been inside you.

he pulled them out and rubbed them on his dick, mixing your spit and his pre-cum.

next time i’ll have to get head, he thinks to himself before lining his dick up with your cunt. you moan loudly as the tip slowly pushed past your pillowy walls, hugging eren tightly.

“shit—” eren cussed as he felt your nails dig into his bicep, “you’re never fuckin’ getting rid of me princess.”

he bottomed out, making you whimper. he stilled, allowing you to adjust to his length. he watched your face for any signs of discomfort before slowly moving in and out of your cunt.

“fuck eren— you feel- so good—” you babbled incoherently, clawing deep marks down his back.

he nodded, lifting your leg to put it over his shoulder to get a better angle. he increased his speed, rubbing at your clit, making you squeeze his cock.

his hips stuttered. “stop doing that, gonna make me cum.”

“i want you to cum in me though,” you said, looking at him through your lashes.

eren scoffed and went deeper, thanks to the angle his tip kept assaulting your sweet spot.

you whimpered, “fuck eren— gonna cum—”

“no you’re not. hold it,” he grunted, gripping your hips and pulling you down to meet his base.

“eren,” you whined.

his pacing slowed down, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he neared his high.

“fuck— princess, i’m gonna cum—” he muttered into your ankle, nibbling slightly.

you squeezed around him at the sensations. he let out a deep moan, his cum painting the insides of your pussy white.

you came as you felt him empty inside of you, digging a crescent shape into his back.

“f-fuck,” you mumbled, watching him pull his dick out.

you whined at the empty feeling, though eren chose to ignore it. “imma be back.”

he picked his boxers up from the floor and pulled them on, walking to his bathroom. he walked out with a warm cloth, gently wiping the insides of your thigh.

“is your back okay? i noticed all the scratches and some were kinda bleeding…” you said sympathetically.

“don’t worry about me, i’ve had worse,” he smiled.

when he finished he put it on his desk and walked back over to you, kissing you gently.

“you good princess?”

you nodded dazed, causing eren to chuckle. he pulled you up and helped you get dressed, allowing you to fix your makeup and hair.

when you left his bedroom the party was still full swing, people dancing and drinking.

“ayeee ! there they are,” porco called out, clapping eren on the back when he sat next to him.

you were about to walk off to sit with pieck and sasha when eren grabbed your hand and pulled you into his lap.

you looked at him confused when he muttered in your ear. “didn’t i tell you you’re never getting rid of me ?”

you were sure this time you were blushing, especially when he kissed the dark hickey on your neck.

“alright, we get it, you fucked, get a room,” sasha fake gagged, giggling after.

eren made eye contact with reiner. “she won’t be able to walk next time we get a room.”

#💌: alexies letters.#connie x reader #eren aot #eren yaeger x reader #black y/n #aot smut #smut #aot #aot x reader #aot x black reader #eren smut

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sermalatenightsnack · 25 days ago

Text

You vs. Hawks: Who’s Japan’s Sweetheart, Really?

Episode 1

SUMMARY: What if there was another pro hero on the rise—just as fast, flirty, and fan-favorite as Hawks? You didn’t ask for the spotlight war, but now you’re in it. From a chance meeting behind a restaurant dumpster to joint missions and viral interviews, the world can’t stop watching Japan’s “favorite rivalry.” Too bad you’re starting to enjoy the game. TAGLINE: Fem!reader. Mentions of sexiual tension. Slow burn. Two rising stars. One too many cameras. And absolutely no rivalry feelings whatsoever.

Based on this blurb

A small drabble before you met him here

Unfinished series!

A/N first time writing a series. And editing on tumbler is a pain.

An overly televised disaster waiting to happen.

You never meant to become a household name. Not really. Not in the way that came with hashtags, interviews, or limited-edition soda cans with your face on them.

But somewhere between that rescue in Shibuya and the time you called Hawks “Featherboy” live on national television, you became the headline.

And unfortunately for you, so did he.

The Pro Hero scene was never quiet, but ever since you showed up, it’s been chaos. Not villain-related chaos---PR chaos. Tabloids live for it. Paparazzi stalk rooftops just to catch one of your now-famous aerial tag matches. The internet has been divided into two camps:

#Team(Hero Name) — “They’re hot, unbothered, and can do a perfect barrel roll in three-inch platform boots.”

#TeamHawks — “He’s iconic, strategic, and literally saved Japan. Let’s not forget the wings, people.”

#(Hero Name)hawksTruthers — “Just kiss already.”

Your agency says you’re good for each other’s image. You call it “brand beef.” Hawks calls it “free entertainment.”

And today, like clockwork, you land next to him on top of a burning building with a sigh.

“Don’t tell me you were waiting for me,” you say, brushing soot off your sleeve.

He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of stealing your spotlight.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

“Oh? Then what do you call this?” He gestures to the hovering drones, all centered on the two of you like it’s a red carpet and not, you know, a potential hostage situation.

You smirk. “I call it Tuesday.”

[SMASH CUT TO: A neon-lit studio set with a spinning title card]

“WHO’S WINNING THE (HERO NAME) VS HAWKS RIVALRY?”

~~~An Exclusive HeroWatch! Segment (Now in 4K UltraDrama)

[Cue dramatic music: overproduced strings and fake wind FX]

[Clips play rapid-fire: you diving off a skyscraper mid-rescue, Hawks laughing on a late-night show, the two of you shoulder-bumping post-mission like it was nothing.]

[Cut to: a host with aggressively styled hair and too much eyeliner.]

HOST (grinning at the camera):

“Two top pros. One public stage. Endless sexual tension---I mean rivalry. We asked you, the people, whose side you're on!”

[Insert “Street Interviews” section. Microphone, shaky camera, chaos.]

INTERVIEWEE 1 (teen with glitter stickers on their cheeks):

“(Hero Name)’s literally my role model. They once did a double corkscrew flip just to grab a kitten off a ledge. Hawks could never.”

INTERVIEWEE 2 (older man in a hawks hoodie):

“Hawks is practical. Sharp. Efficient. (Hero Name)’s cool, sure, but they do too much sometimes. Gotta reel it in.”

INTERVIEWEE 3 (couple sharing one hawks/skyline-themed umbrella):

“We love them both, but let’s be real---those two are flirting. Right? Like, it’s not just us, right???”

[Cut back to studio. Dramatic spin on the host’s chair.]

HOST (leaning forward like this is serious journalism):

“HeroWatch polls show a 50/50 split---nationwide. The tension’s high. The fans are louder than ever. And with another joint mission scheduled next week...”

[Cue ominous thunder sound effect]

HOST (grinning wide):

“...someone’s feathers are gonna get ruffled.”

[Roll credits. Blurry freeze-frame of you and Hawks dodging debris, mid-sassy banter.]

...

You were in your apartment. Dim lighting. A half-empty takeout box that sat on your lap as the TV plays a little too loud in the background.

You didn’t mean to watch it.

In fact, you were planning to ignore it entirely. Just like you ignored the trending hashtags, the fan art, the shipping threads, the conspiracy theories about your “lingering stares,” and the video essay titled “Why Hawks and (Hero Name) Are the Next Great Rivalry/Enemies-to-Lovers Arc” that had over 2 million views.

But the second your name dropped in the ad break--“Next up: Why Japan can’t choose between (Hero Name) and Hawks!”--you froze mid-bite and instinctively hit the volume.

And now you're here. Slumped on your couch, squinting at your TV in exhausted disbelief as glittery-eyed teenagers argue over your combat flips and some dude in a Hawks hoodie says you're "too much."

What the hell is this.

You cover your face with one hand, fingers dragging down over your mouth, and exhale a slow, bone-deep sigh.

How did it get this far?

Seriously. How.

Your mind flickers back---past the screaming headlines, the fanbase wars, the constant speculation---to the moment this entire circus began. Not in a battlefield. Not in a press conference. But behind a dumpy soba restaurant with a broken neon sign.

You remember it too clearly.

One year ago. Night. Rain. You’re walking home after patrol, minding your business.

It was supposed to be a quiet detour. Just you, your umbrella, and the sound of wet gravel under your boots.

And then you heard it. Rustling. Cursing. Muffled grunts.

You paused, narrowed your eyes down the alleyway beside the soba shop. A pair of wings---red, twitching midair. “Whoever” they belonged to was halfway into a garbage bin, legs kicking wildly like an overturned turtle.

You tilted your head.

“…Hey,” you called, cautious. “You alright?”

No answer.

“Do you need help?” you tried again. “Or are you... trading drugs in there?”

The person froze.

Then---WHUMP.

A head popped out. Feathered blond hair, ruffled and speckled with rice grains. Wide amber eyes blinking at you. A noodle stuck to his cheek.

You blinked back.

“…You’re not homeless, are you?” you asked.

He grinned, upside-down. “Nah. Just forgot my phone.”

You stared at him. Then at the bin. Then at him again.

“Your phone,” you repeated slowly. “In the trash.”

“Yep. Dropped it in while tossing leftovers. Pretty dumb, huh?”

That was the first time you saw him in person. Pro Hero #2. Elbow-deep in soup-stained napkins and laughing like this wasn’t the most ridiculous introduction imaginable.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it for days.

But in the moment you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little thrown.

Not because it was Hawks---though yeah, Hawks. Pro Hero #2. The walking, talking soundbite machine with feathers and fame on his side.

No, what got you was how you met him.

Not at a press event. Not during some high-octane hero team-up. No slow-mo action sequence, no cameras, no scripted “Hey, aren’t you---?” moment.

Just you. And him. And a dumpster.

And the second that spiky mop of blonde hair popped out of the trash, you had a choice to make.

Drop the act---or double down.

You picked the latter, obviously.

Because your public image? The easy smiles, unbothered, cool-in-every-storm type? That had taken work. You had fans who’d never seen you sweat, who praised your every witty comeback and gravity-defying save. You couldn’t just stutter in front of the nation’s golden boy because he happened to be rummaging for his phone behind a soba shop.

So you leaned a hip against the wall, arms crossed, gave him a half-lidded stare like he wasn’t half-covered in pickled ginger.

“…You usually go dumpster diving on your nights off?” you asked, tone smooth like you'd planned the question three days in advance.

He looked up at you, eyes glinting, mouth curved. “Only on Mondays. Tuesdays are for alley yoga.”

You snorted. Couldn’t help it.

“So you are Hawks.”

He hopped out like it was nothing, brushed some seaweed off his jacket, and gave you that exact smirk you'd seen a hundred times in interviews. “Guilty. And you’re (Hero Name), right? The fans think we’d look good together.”

That---that---he just went straight to the point... Huh.

You barely managed a shrug. “Haven’t even bought me dinner.”

His eyes crinkled, amused. “Soba counts, if you don’t mind it reheated.”

You played it off with a scoff and a casual look away, pretending like you're not just now realising how much he wasn't just just like you...He was just like you---too much like you. The jokes was like meeting a mirror you weren’t sure you wanted to look into.

But that was the game, right? Keep the mask on. Keep it smooth. Never let them see you break.

Even when they catch you off guard behind a restaurant and toss your whole online persona into the trash with a wink and a noodle on their face.

You stayed leaning on the wall, playing around with what words to say next in your head‚ though your mind was already backtracking to what he just said---“The fans think we’d look good together.” Did he just open with that? No hello? No preamble?

You glanced him up and down, from the noodle on his shoulder to the way his wings rustled behind him like they had their own amused rhythm.

“Didn’t think you were the type to check your QRTs,” you said, arching a brow.

“I’m not,” he replied, flashing a grin that was just a little too satisfied. “But my agency is. They keep a whole folder. HeroWatch calls it ‘The Flirt Wars.’ You’ve got good numbers.”

You exhaled sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious. You’ve got better reaction stats than I do. Stronger pull with the 18–24 crowd.”

He said it like he was proud of you. Like this was some kind of twisted influencer competition and you’d just unlocked a new tier.

You tilted your head. “So what, you track me down behind a soba place to... what? Compare analytics?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry. You were here. Felt like fate.”

“Right,” you muttered. “Fate with a side of trash juice.”

Hawks snorted and finally started fixing himself up, flicking rice grains off his gloves and straightening the straps of his jacket like he hadn’t just been neck-deep in restaurant garbage. “You’re shorter than I thought.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He gestured lazily with one wing. “You come off taller online. More... towering menace with killer cheekbones. Reality’s got softer edges.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That your way of flirting, or just a weird insult?”

“Why not both?”

And there he flashed a grin---that grin. The kind that made it feel like you were the one being toyed with, like you were a punchline he already knew the end to.

But two could play that game.

You pushed off the wall and took a slow step forward, letting your eyes trail over him with deliberate cool. “You’re louder in person,” you said. “Thought you’d be more mysterious. Y’know, brooding. Aloof. Not... elbow-deep in someone’s leftover lunch.”

He laughed---really laughed this time, head tipping back. “Guess we both break expectations, huh?”

You paused, lips twitching despite yourself.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “Guess we do.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. The hum of a nearby streetlamp buzzed overhead. A cat knocked over a can in the distance. Hawks was still watching you, eyes sharp behind that easy smile, wings settling in a little closer like he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

You crossed your arms again, fighting back the urge to actually consider this interaction as anything meaningful.

“So,” you said slowly, “you stalking me now, or is this just a trashy coincidence?”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dang.

Ahem.

You rolled your eyes---just enough to let him see it, but not enough to give him full satisfaction.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you muttered, brushing past him, casual, as if this whole encounter hadn’t gotten under your skin.

You half-expected him to let you walk off with the last word. But no.

Of course not.

“Hey,” he called behind you.

You stopped, only slightly.

“What.”

There was a pause---just long enough for the silence to bite a little.

Then:

“You’ve got a leaf in your hair. And uh… soy sauce on your elbow.”

You turned fully, ready to argue---deny it, ignore it, anything---but the he just looked at you like he’d already memorized your microexpressions and was ready to catalog every single one‚ made you rethink.

Your eyes slid his way, neutral.

“Alright. Thanks.”

Flat-toned acknowledgment.

You didn’t reach for your hair. Didn’t check your elbow. Just stood there, steady.

His eyes narrowed slightly---curious, amused---but you caught it. That tiny twitch in his mouth, like he hadn’t expected that response.

“I get people pointing things out all the time,” you added, flicking a hand lazily. “Stains, threads, food on my face---y’know, the classics. So now I just say thanks.”

You glanced at him, letting it land.

“And don’t fix it?”

“Nope.”

That got him. A low chuckle rumbled out of his chest, and he nodded slowly like he’d just found another reason to be entertained by you.

“Well, (Hero Name), this was fun.”

And then---with the gall of someone who knew exactly what they were doing---he gave you a two-finger salute‚ turned on his heel with the kind of careless grace that only came from annoying amounts of self-confidence. Wings stretching, streetlight catching on the edges, and he was gone---vanishing around the corner like you’d imagined him.

Disappeared like this had been just another Tuesday night errand.

Like he hadn’t just tossed your night into a blender and strutted off with the lid.

You stood there a moment longer.

Still not brushing the leaf out of your hair.

What the hell just happened?

At first, you hadn’t even planned on it being a rivalry.

You’d just wanted to one-up him.

Maybe the next time you ran into Hawks, you’d be the cool one. Unflinching. Dismissive. You’d say something smart---subtle but scathing---and he’d finally be the one left blinking, stuck with a leaf in his hair.

But then he started showing up.

Everywhere.

You brushed it off the first time. The second, you gave it a little side-eye. But by the fourth unexpected run-in---at a charity event, a late patrol, a live-streamed PSA---it was getting suspicious.

And before you knew it, Hawks had become something of an occupational hazard.

There he was: in the corner of your interviews, hovering at joint patrols, clipped into your comms like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t invite him---PR did, apparently. “Shared air time” and “opposing charm points” and other buzzwords that meant ratings.

You didn’t mind the spotlight. You’d just rather not share it with someone who had the audacity to leave you standing with a leaf in your hair and soy sauce on your elbow.

So when he swooped into formation beside you mid-air and mid-mission---smug, composed, like he belonged---you didn’t flinch.

You turned just enough to meet his gaze, flashing him the same easygoing grin you wore on livestreams and magazine covers.

“Well,” you said, voice smooth, “look who’s following my lead.”

He gave you that two-beat laugh, head tilting like he was delighted you were playing back.

“Figured you’d want backup,” he said, as if you hadn’t handled six solo ops this month without blinking.

“Oh, how thoughtful.” You glanced down toward the van below, then back at him. “You bring backup for everyone, or am I just lucky?”

“You,” Hawks said, effortlessly, “are many things. But no one’s ever called you lucky.”

“Not to my face,” you shot back.

His grin widened. A challenge. You let the wind ruffle through your hair as you banked slightly ahead of him---just a bit---like you were carving out the lead.

“Keep up, Feathers. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

He chuckled behind you. “And here I thought I was the cocky one.”

You smirked, not bothering to look back.

But unfortunately (not)‚ that wasn't the end of it.

Back to present:

You're on your couch. TV now playing a slowed-down clip of you and Hawks laughing mid-mission with sparkles added in post.

You sink deeper into the cushions, biting the inside of your cheek. You knew the media would twist things, but this? This was peak nonsense. (But kinda funny too)

You and Hawks weren’t even rivals at first. You were just trying to mind your own business while he kept showing up at your patrol zones like some cryptid in aviators. Then the missions started. Then the banter. Then the banter during missions. Then the one time you both tried to stop a jewel thief and ended up accidentally crashing a wedding.

You didn’t ask for a public rivalry. You were just trying to do your job.

But now? Now it’s you vs. him in the public eye. Fans drawing you like lovers. Kids calling you the “Birdbrain Duo.” HeroWatch running full-length segments debating your aerial dynamics and emotional chemistry.

You grab the remote, mute the TV, and stare at your own frozen image on screen---smirking at Hawks in the middle of a burning hallway, like you're having the time of your life.

And, okay... maybe you kind of were.

But that’s not the point.

“…This is getting out of hand,” you mutter into the silence.

And somewhere---inevitably---your phone buzzes.

It’s from Hawks.

[Hawks:] U watching HeroWatch? They gave you my jawline. Kinda rude tbh.

You stare at his message.

Your lips tug upward, slow.

You move to type with one hand, casual.

[You:] Must’ve been the lighting. Or maybe they just think I wear it better.

The typing bubble pops up almost immediately. Predictable.

[Hawks:] Oof. A hit to the jawline and the ego? Cold.

You let the silence hang for a beat too long before replying. Let him stew. Then:

[You:] I thought you liked cold. Isn’t that why you keep flying next to me lately?

Pause. Beat.

[Hawks:] …Touché.

[You:] Don’t get soft on me now, angel.

You swear you can feel him stopping in the air wherever he is.

[Hawks:] Angel??

You pop another bite of your cold takeout.

[You:] Too much? Thought we were both fanservice now.

Silence.

Still nothing.

You smirk wider, toss your phone on the table, and lean back into the couch. You don’t need the last word. You already won this round.

And besides---he’ll come flying back for more. They always do.

Especially the pretty ones with too many feathers and too much airtime.

Your phone hasn't buzzed again. Not yet.

You glance at it---just once---out of the corner of your eye like it might buzz the moment you look away. But it doesn’t. Just your own reflection in the black screen, faint and smirking a little too wide.

God, this is fun.

You stretch, slow and satisfied, kicking your legs up over the arm of the couch and letting your takeout box tip just slightly. The scent of lukewarm curry clings to the room, the volume from the muted TV flickering across your face in flashes of fan-edited chaos. The screen is still frozen on that frame---your face tilted toward Hawks mid-mission, expression amused, his own caught in that half-laugh, half-glare thing he does when he knows he’s been baited.

They captured it so well, you almost want to applaud.

Almost.

Instead, you scroll. The ship tags are exploding. Your name paired with his in increasingly unhinged combinations, fan cams stitched together like a love story. There's even a slowed-down audio clip of your last mission---your voice layered over his, syncopated like a duet.

You shake your head. It’s not that you don’t get it. You just never asked for it.

No, he started this.

Well---okay. That’s not fair. Technically, he was just being his usual breezy, too-charming self, and you… may have fed into it. Just a little. Just to see what he’d do.

And now?

Now he's texting you like this is a game you both agreed to. Like there are rules.

You roll your neck back against the couch cushion and stare at the ceiling.

It wasn’t personal before. Just a weird coincidence. A few overlapping patrols. A trash bin. Some chemistry, maybe. But now? Now he’s on your turf. Casually leaning into your airspace. Cracking jokes like the two of you are synced-up sidekicks.

You narrow your eyes at nothing in particular.

He’s in your missions, your mentions, your hashtags. Your spotlight. And what’s worse? You don’t hate it.

Though you kinda wanna mess with the script. Have him flustered mid-flight. Or have him making the headlines about your “undeniable chemistry.” have every viewer pausing the playback wondering how Hawks got played so smoothly by someone who never even raised their voice.

Yeah, you'll totally do that.

Your phone buzzes again.

[Hawks:] U free tomorrow? Got a joint mission briefing. Thought we could “sync our energies” or whatever PR likes to say.

You pick up the phone, type:

[You:] Only if you’re ready to get out-charmed.

Send.

You’re still staring at your phone.

The screen lights up again, and you catch it just in time---the typing bubble flickers to life, disappears, then reappears like it’s debating with itself. You squint, thumb already twitching toward the screen.

Then the message lands.

[Hawks:] btw, after the mission---u wanna grab food or something? Like, real food. No more trash dives. I'm evolving.

You stare.

Your brain---bless its tired, overworked circuits---lags for a second.

Huh?

You read it again. And again. And… yeah, it’s still there.

Dinner. He asked you to dinner.

HAWKS asked you to dinner.

You blink slowly, then narrow your eyes like the message might morph into something else if you glare hard enough.

This has to be a trap.

You never---never---thought he’d be the one to ask first. Not because you thought he wasn’t bold enough (he’s too bold, actually), but because he’s too proud. Too annoyingly smug. Always toeing the line of flirtation like it’s a performance, always acting like he’s got it handled. That man practically oozes control over every situation.

So why… this?

Why now?

Your brain launches into damage assessment mode.

Is this a PR stunt? Did his managers tell him to do this for engagement? Is this for some HeroWatch segment called “Rivals Try Pasta”?

You imagine sitting across from him under suspiciously perfect lighting, camera flashes going off, and some blogger captioning it ‘Rivals. Lovers? We Investigate.’

You grimace. What if there will be paparazzi?

Or maybe he’s just being nice. Or... professional. This could be a hero thing, right? Just two coworkers grabbing a bite. Totally neutral. Totally platonic. Totally not--

No, who are you kidding. You saw the way he typed that.

“I’m evolving”?

Is this supposed to be flirtatious? Ironic? Genuine?

You sit there in dead silence, phone glowing in your hand, jaw faintly slack.

You never imagined in a million years that he’d be the first to flinch.

And that’s what this feels like. A flinch. A crack in the game. A move not designed to win, but to be seen.

Your thumb hovers over your keyboard.

Alright, Birdbrain. What’s your angle?

Because if this really isn’t a trap…

Well. Then you might actually be in trouble.

You let your thumb hover for another beat before finally typing back:

[You:] suspiciously specific evolution

are your PR managers involved in this? Will there be cameras? a “Top Ten Heroes Try Soup” livestream?

You pause, then add:

[You:] …but if it’s actually just food

and not some weird press stunt,

I’ll bite.

A second later:

[You:] but if there are cameras I’m ordering the messiest dish on the menu. And i’m not wiping my mouth.

Then you hit send.

You stare at the message.

Your phone buzzes again.

[Hawks:] lmao

nah, no cameras

unless you’re bringing them

which honestly would be kinda flattering

Another buzz.

[Hawks:] swear it’s just food

no PR managers, no press, no schemes

just me

evolving

in your general direction

You blink at that last part, reading it twice.

Then he sends:

[Hawks:] bring your messiest dish game tho

I’ll match you bite for bite

consider it... team-building

And finally:

[Hawks:] mission first

dinner after

don’t be late. i might take it personally.

You stare at the string of messages, thumb hovering but unmoving.

No press. No PR. Just him. Just food.

Just Hawks, allegedly evolving in your general direction---whatever the hell that means. You’re not sure if you want to snort or roll your eyes… or smile.

You reread the last message:

don’t be late. i might take it personally.

Tch.

He’s got jokes now. Team-building? He’s really trying to make this sound like a professional bonding exercise when he knows it’s not. Or maybe that’s the trap. Maybe it is professional to him, and you’re the one overthinking it.

Or maybe---maybe he’s serious. No schemes. No handlers in the shadows. Just him showing up… and hoping you will too.

But… do you trust him?

You glance at your closet without meaning to. Then back at your phone. Then the closet again.

If he's telling the truth, great. If he's not? Well.

You’re not showing up underdressed.

You’ve played the background long enough. So if this turns out to be a PR stunt?

You’ll make sure the cameras get your good side.

#mha #y/n #bnha #hawks #mha hawks #hawks x you #hawks x reader #slow burn #my hero academia #mha keigo takami #keigo takami #pro hero #@d4rlinxs

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