#lets admit that every group has those but

[sorryimananti-romantic]

viviz's maniac's intrument sturcture is actually so unique n smart

idk the name of the instrument but they have only one beat stretching through the song until the first chorus, which is where a few more beats are added. then those beats continue until the second chorus, where even more beats are added. and the final chorus is like the result of the build-up ygm

also which group(s) do you think need more attention?

i say oneus and stayc. if those groups were under big4? you bet they'd be one of the biggest 4th gen groups. not to mention their songs, which are literal bops, and apart from one or two, their title tracks never miss. people fr be sleeping on amazing music!!

omg. i literally agree with all of this and it's like you've taken a peek inside my mind!

viviz maniac is such a good song, i cannot say this enough. the instrumental is so euphoric esp when it comes to the end with the amalgamation of all the beats. also doesn't help that the last chorus choreo hits the sweetest of spots hehe this song deserves all the recognition, it's so... gfriend. viviz. kpoppy. all good things.

i agree with you- oneus and stayc have so much potential, they've always done sth a bit different and unique and their sound is so pleasing to hear, they def would have had more recognition if they were from the big4 (or if ppl had taste bruh i know most of the ppl don't listen to groups that aren't from the big4 or close). and i don't think they've had a single miss-- they've always done their thing brilliantly and if we don't like a specific song, we should just accept that it's not our taste and move on instead of thinking that that cb was not it, yfeel? can't like every song from a group even when it's your fav 🤷‍♀️ and that's okay hehe. essay ahead:

i've been listening to oneus since debut, and they've always done that thing with their title tracks where all 3 chorus are different, with the first two being just one thing away from pure satisfaction- like they literally tease us throughout their entire song, and when the final chorus hits? utter relief, ascending to the clouds, 9999 levels of euphoric satisfactions achieved! not everyone can do that, and they do this incredibly well. their choruses always hit the spot! like in 'come back home' and 'lit' to name a few. i swear if ppl just listened to them, they literally have top tier discography

and stayc! i'm not familiar with their bsides, just the title tracks, but i bet their bsides are just as good. i think like everyone else my first song of them was asap and i started following their music soon after. i love how while trying different concepts and sounds, they're still so distinctively stayc. you just know it's a stayc song as soon as it plays. if i could have one word to describe their songs, it would be 'fun'. like even with their more sentimental song 'beautiful monster' (my underrated queen, literally my fav song from them) they have that fun element about them, bubbling with youth and it's so refreshing. i'm quite a fan of their recent cb too. they never miss, and i wish more ppl heard and appreciated them.

you can tell i'm serious about them LMAO i've written an essay. i do think kbands deserve a whole lot more too bc come on. they're just another level. however, for kpop groups... i must talk about weeekly.

weeekly literally have such amazing vocals and performances. i know prob everyone heard their song 'after school' but like, don't you think they have such a nostalgic sound about them? if you heard their recent cb 'vroom vroom', it's so... idk why it reminds me of sth and i can't quite put a finger on what. their songs do that to me. monday is amazing and has so much potential as a main vocalist, so does soeun. they're literally such a power vocal duo. i've been listening to them pre-debut so its sad to see they still don't get the recognition they deserve. idk if it's bc their company don't have the budget for them or they're not that popular that they don't have many comebacks but they always slay

dreamcatcher too. literally such an amazing group full of the best performers in the industry, dare i say. their presence, concepts, skills are on par with some of the greatest kpop groups and im glad they're finally getting some limelight. the fact that they have choreos like 'scream' and they're singing live blows me. they're like the ateez of girl groups.

there's so many more i could talk about- purple kiss, pixy -- both with unique concepts and amazing performances. i don't stan a lot of the 4th gen boy groups so i can't say for sure (i'm made for the girls i guess) but sf9 comes to mind.

[filmstarved]

i can fix him and fuck him.

18+ [logan x female!reader]

nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.

word count: 5,737

logan sulks. he’s so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. he’s confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him can’t even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesn’t have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and he’s fully pumping cold, hard metal).

logan is a man who answers to himself and doesn’t give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because he’s not in the fucking mood. he’s never in the mood…unless you put him in one. usually a good one.

you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you weren’t here, logan would have left a long time ago. they’re right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where he’d go, he’d just…go. but you didn’t dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.

deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frame…he wanted things to be right again. he’d find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.

“so we’re working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?” you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.

“so we’re catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!” you asked on a thursday.

“heeyyy, lo…do you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scott’s morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointment…,” you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scott’s jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)

but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, he’d always say yes…to you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two weren’t around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.

although as of late, you’ve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when you’re not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, you’re hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.

tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.

your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot. 

“hi lo,” you say. “y’scared me, heh.” you aren’t used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. he’s over 150 years old, of course he’s grumpy and an early bird. you’re usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. “logan, are you-“

“i think i’m gonna get out of here, bub.”

those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.

“wha-what do you mean?…you’re leaving?” you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.

“it’s too hard being here.”

with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. “c’mere,” you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesn’t budge and you pull “the look” that you know he can’t say no to. “come sit with me please, lo.”

he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.

you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to “read him” a few months ago, you told him you’d never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.

but right now you couldn’t help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else… a pressure…built up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didn’t feel bad though…it felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.

he wasn’t emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be — happy, whatever that was. but that couldn’t’ve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldn’t suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).

you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, he’d been crying.

“lo…,” you muttered. “why were you crying, wolv?” you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. “why do you want to leave?”

he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didn’t cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.

“logan,” you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.

“is this okay?” he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, you’re already looking down at him nodding. “say it’s okay for me to touch you like this, bub.”

“yes, keep going, logan,” you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadn’t been touched like this since jean’s christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.

his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.

“you don’t have permission to read me,” he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew that’s what you were doing he said, “you get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.”

“logan, what are we doing?” you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble. 

his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly. 

“what do you mean?” he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.

“i’m…not doing this with you…if you’re just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckin’ sun comes up. i’m not doing this,” you said, with your hands on your hips.

he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin. 

he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. “i give you permission,” he moaned in your mouth. “read me. feel how i feel about you…how i’ve always felt about you.”

he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling “mm, cold” into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him. 

your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in logan’s head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving it’s way lower…and lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.

a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a “well, say something” from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.

that…was the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.

there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of him…more of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.

“lay down,” he said into your kiss. it wasn’t really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.

he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.

logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times he’d touch himself wondering how it’d feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.

as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.

“you look so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles. 

he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.

logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.

kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck

he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. “i need these off of you, princess.” once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning. 

he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your “special occasion” panties left to wear.

“d’you know how pretty you are,” he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.

his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.

“need…to taste…you,” he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while he’s pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, he’s hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.

you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. he’s enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his face…his neck…his arm…the bed…the floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.

“logan…please, please,” you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he would’ve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in it’s enchanting aroma.

like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal — to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is — at the mansion and also all over you. 

logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. he’d suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasn’t playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.

your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing he’s the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozart’s symphony no. 25.

he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.

“look at how good you’re taking my fingers,” he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. “you can come for me, baby.” he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.

“lo…logan, i’m-“

“fuck my fingers, baby. use them…oh that’s it…that’s it…i feel that clenching, c’mon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.” his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.

logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.

“‘m not done with you, princess.” he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.

“fuuuck,” you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.

he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.

just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.

“you’re gonna stay,” you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. “tell me you’re going to stay for me,” you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.

“there’s no where else i want to be,” he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. “you’re mine, you know that?” he noticed your hand slow, “keep going,” he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. “your face…your mouth…,” his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. “your body…your cunt.” he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. “your laugh…your heart,” he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. “you’re all mine. is that okay with you, baby?”

you’re so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you can’t do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.

“use your words, honey.” his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.

“i’m yours, logan,” you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. “if you’ll stay with me, i’ll be yours forever,” you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.

“i’m not going anywhere…i promise,” he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. “i need to…fuck you…now,” he cursed in between swallowing moans. 

“do what you want…i’m yours,” you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it. 

logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully. 

“fuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,” he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one — one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. “oh, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock down your throat…you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”

he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.

“mm, baby i need to know how good you feel.” with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. “c’mere, baby.” you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.

“lay down,” he said.

“damn, yes sir,” you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.

“d’you know how long i’ve thought about this moment with you?” he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. “i want you to read me the whole time i’m inside…can you do that?”

“are you—“

“yes i’m sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i haven’t even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,” he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.

before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.

“oh…fuck,” he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. “are you okay? d’you want to stop?”

“no, baby,” you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. “just been a while…keep going, i’m okay.”

with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.

“you feel…fuck…like it was made for me,” he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. “are you okay?” his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.

“fuck me…please logan,” you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did. 

he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.

“oh my…fucking god,” you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasure…but the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.

“you know you feel so good, look at that fuckin’ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? don’t stop readin’ me, princess. it’s all for you,” he praised for you to hear every word.

“holy shit…mm fuckin’��ahh!” your hands couldn’t help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.

“here, baby, hold onto me.” logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top. 

logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. ‘oh this is so fun’, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it. 

as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.

he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely. 

“you’re my good girl, huh?”

‘mhmm’ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.

“use those words for me, baby. are…mm, fuck…you my good girl?”

“ye…sss, baby i’m your…good…oh my fucking…girl!!”

“open your mouth.” he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. “good…fuckin’ girl,” he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again. 

your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything. 

his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heart…everything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.

“oh you’re so pretty…that’s pretty, baby, keep…fuck…use me, it’s all for you.” his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like he’d fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.

he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he. 

“baby…you keep clenching around me like that…i’m gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.

“i want it, baby…fill your good girl up.” you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies. 

“fuuuuck…fuuuck,” he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you weren’t bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face. 

SNIKT!!

you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.

a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass. 

“…i love you, logan.”

“i think you know how much i love you, baby,” he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.

you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again. 

ease and silence…and love.

[castillon02]

Jason and Tim have similar competence standards and end up swapping employees sometimes.

---

"Boss, I'm outta the game with this hip---"

"You're outta the beating-up-traffickers game. I got a guy who can get you into the scaring-the-rich game just fine."

"You mean, like...?" A fist into an open palm, quirked eyebrows.

"Nah, verbal intimidation only unless someone steps up to the plate. Mostly you got good eyes and this Wayne kid values having people around who can observe things that aren't spreadsheets."

"Hey, you said I did pretty good at that Excel thing!"

A pointed look.

"Ohhhh. I'm gonna get to learn spreadsheets and threaten people? Oh, man. Thanks, boss!"

"They've got the same insurance, too, so that'll roll over automatically."

---

Meanwhile, on Tim's end of things:

"I noticed that you tend to get impatient with slow results, that you're happy to yell at people for safety violations, and that your plan to remediate the company's incompetence in these areas involves 'firing every single one of them who can't get their head out of their ass.'" Tim smiled.

His employee smiled back. "I mean, that's why you hired me as safety supervisor, right?"

"Of course; your proactive attitude is one of the reasons we chose you. However, I also noticed that a lot of your frustration stems from employees whose work is being impacted by personal issues, often ones stemming from attacks by prominent local criminals."

"Listen, I'm from Minnesota. I know from cold. And I also know that you can't let a little hypothermia from Mr. Freeze screw up your numbers, especially not when those calculations impact lives." Squared shoulders, hands on the hips---yeah, definitely more of a cultural fit with Jason's organization.

Tim nodded and continued his pitch. "And you're competent with a firearm, correct?"

"Hey, I'm not about to go postal just because---"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. You're a skilled employee. I'm just wondering if you might benefit from transferring to a work environment in which you can shoot some of the people who are actually causing these problems."

"I'm sorry?"

"You have a dartboard with Leeds's face on it because he screwed up so many times after that Ivy incident put his kid in the hospital."

"...Okay, I admit that's not my best look."

"The organization I'm recommending you to has a printer next to the firing range; it's sized specifically for target paper."

"Oh."

"It's also an organization that works specifically to keep kids from needing to be in the hospital."

"Oh. You mean---" There was really only one group it could be.

"They need someone with your eye for logistics. Hood's work isn't 'legit,'" Tim made careful air quotes because the dorkiness tended to put people at ease, "but your insurance would roll over to them automatically. And you can rest assured that they take safety very seriously."

[cbeargyu]

affection ✧.* c.soobin

summary: you weren’t looking for love. just… something. a hand to hold, a moment of quiet, a heart that didn’t feel so heavy. but chasing affection in the wrong places had left you emptier each time — until you met him. soobin. kind, gentle, patient soobin. you pushed him away when he tried to reach the parts of you you didn’t want anyone to see. but he stayed. he saw the broken pieces and didn’t flinch. and somehow, just standing next to him felt like coming home.

pairing: nerd!soobin x fem!reader

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, slow burn, mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, past trauma, soft smut, comfort sex, college au, emotional intimacy, fluff with heavy angst, crying during sex, heartbreak, toxic ex (jaehyun).

warnings: sexual content (soft smut, explicit but tender), emotional vulnerability, references to emotional manipulation/past toxic relationship, crying during intimacy, self-worth issues, mentions of emotional trauma, angst-heavy scenes, mild cursing, reader has intimacy and trust issues, soobin is the softest human alive and will make you cry (18+ only, minors DNI).

notes: i’m so happy and grateful for all the love the beomgyu fic has received — it truly means a lot to me 🥺🖤 just a reminder: English isn’t my first language, so thank you for your patience! This is also my first time writing smut, so I hope you enjoy it and feel the love I put into every word.

soobin never planned to go to that party. he had a project due on monday, a group report no one else was helping with, and a whole list of unread notifications in his coding forum. parties weren’t his scene. they were loud, chaotic, full of meaningless chatter and fake small talk.

but his roommate, choi beomgyu begged him to go — “come on, hyung, the girls from visual communication are joining this time. you can't code your youth away.”

so, reluctantly, soobin showed up, neat as always — white button-down shirt, black slacks, and his usual black-rimmed glasses that he adjusted every few minutes out of habit. while his classmates shouted over music and downed shots of soju like water, he sat at the far end of the table, sipping a soda, quietly observing.

that’s when you walked in.

he saw you before you noticed him. you wore confidence like perfume — not overwhelming, but impossible to ignore. your black crop top hugged your body perfectly, a short skirt revealing just enough, and those heeled boots clicked against the floor like a beat only you could walk to. your hair fell just right. your eyes scanned the room like you already owned it.

and then they landed on him.

you tilted your head curiously. he looked different from the others — formal, stiff, awkwardly seated like he was out of place. but there was something about him... maybe it was the way his lips twitched nervously whenever someone made a joke, or how his fingers tapped rhythmically on his glass, like his brain was always working on something unspoken.

you slid into the empty seat across from him.

“hi,” you said, voice clear and sweet, but assertive. “soobin, right?”

his eyes widened slightly. “y-yeah. How’d you—?”

“you’re the only one not yelling,” you smirked. “kinda refreshing.”

he chuckled nervously, pushing his glasses up. “i guess i don’t blend in much.”

“that’s a good thing,” you replied without hesitation. “wanna drink?”

he hesitated, eyes flickering to the soju bottle you were holding.

“i don’t really drink.”

you leaned closer, a playful smile on your lips. “i won’t let you overdo it. promise.”

something about the way you said it — lighthearted, but sincere — made him nod.

you poured the drinks. one. two. light sips. soft laughter. his walls started to come down, little by little. you asked about his major. he asked about yours. you joked about how communication students always had to look flawless for presentations, and he admitted he didn’t even own hair gel.

then, the conversation shifted.

“so, uh,” soobin began, scratching the back of his neck, “i’ve been playing around with some indie game engines. just as a hobby. i’m trying to create this… interactive narrative? like a retro pixel art game with moral choice-based paths. i know it sounds kinda nerdy—”

“nerdy?” you interrupted. “that sounds sick. wait—so, like, the player’s decisions affect the storyline?”

his eyes lit up. you weren’t mocking him — you were interested.

He nodded, and as he talked, he got more animated. His voice rose with excitement as he described the branching paths, the artwork, the emotional arcs. he didn’t notice the way you shifted closer, your hand now resting on the table near his. he didn’t notice the way your thigh gently brushed his leg under the table.

“so... moral choices, huh?” you say, chin propped on your hand as you watch soobin’s eyes light up with every word he speaks. “like what? save the princess or let her die?”

he laughs, warm and unguarded. “kind of. but more... morally gray. like: help your friend cheat on an exam and risk your own grade, or tell the professor and lose the friendship.”

you raise a brow, intrigued. “damn. that’s... deep. and very specific. did that happen to you?”

he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “no. maybe. it’s a hypothetical.”

“right,” you say with a smirk, reaching for the soju bottle to pour another round. “well, professor choi, i hope you gave your digital friend some slack.”

“i made two endings,��� he replies, then pauses. “wait, professor?”

you shrug, tilting your glass toward his. “you talk like one. all serious and nerdy.”

“i’m not that serious,” he protests, smiling now, more relaxed.

you lean in slightly, voice soft. “you kind of are. but I like it.”

he’s silent for a moment, blinking.

then, in a softer voice, he asks, “what about you? i’ve been rambling this whole time. what’s your major again?”

“media production,” you say casually. “i make pretty things look important.”

he smiles. “sounds fun.”

you nod. “it is. lots of editing, lots of late nights. but i like telling stories.” you pause, your gaze dipping to his lips for the briefest second before locking eyes again. “even the fake ones.”

he laughs at that. “maybe you could help with the cinematics for my game.”

“only if you give me creative control over the main character’s love story.”

he raises a brow. “that’s... oddly specific.”

you wink. “everything’s a love story, soobin.”

he swallows, hard.

but he noticed when you suddenly leaned into him to hear better — the bar had gotten louder, the music thumping. your shoulder touched his. your chest grazed his arm. and for the first time in his life, choi soobin forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t pull away.

neither did he.

you both sip your soju, and for a moment, neither speaks. the table around you has gotten louder. someone yells out a drinking chant. you glance sideways, then lean in just a little more so he can hear you.

“you know,” you murmur near his ear, your breath warm against his skin, “your friend beomgyu is wasted.”

soobin follows your gaze. beomgyu’s halfway off his seat, swaying dramatically while trying to sing along to a girl group song.

he huffs a laugh. “he’s always like that. gets drunk off three shots and starts performing like he’s on music bank.”

you turn your face toward soobin’s, still whispering. your lips are inches from his ear. “at least he’s not in the bathroom with a sunbae.”

soobin blinks. “what?”

you grin. “my friends went with a few. they’ve been gone for a while.” you pause for dramatic effect. “you do know what happens when girls go to the bathroom with sunbaes, right?”

soobin’s entire face flushes.

“i—uh—i mean—maybe they’re just—talking?” he stammers.

you burst into soft laughter, brushing his knee with yours under the table. “you’re so pure, soobin.”

“i’m not!” he protests, but he’s still red, ears pink and glowing.

“oh, really?” you tease, tilting your head. “then why are you blushing so hard?”

he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. he looks away, adjusting his glasses, trying to hide the way his eyes keep drifting back to your lips — still glossed and shining from the soju.

you lean closer, your voice barely above a whisper now. “you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

soobin freezes.

you smile.

and he realizes something, right then and there: you're not just beautiful. you're dangerous.

the music booms louder. someone starts chanting for shots again. but for you and Soobin, the world has narrowed into one tiny space: the few inches between your face and his.

he’s looking at you like he’s not sure if this is real — like you might vanish if he blinks too long.

but you don’t.

instead, you stay close. too close. your perfume has wrapped around him like a spell, and your knee is still brushing against his. the room is hot, but it’s nothing compared to the burn beneath his skin.

“soobin,” you whisper again, teasing, your voice honeyed, “are you really as pure as you look?”

“i—” he starts, voice dry, but you cut him off.

you tilt your head and, without warning, you press your lips to his.

it’s soft.

just a taste.

he freezes for a second — surprised, breath caught — and then, like something deep inside him snaps, he kisses you back.

harder.

with need.

his hand finds your waist, gripping tight, pulling you closer with a quiet desperation. you gasp slightly against his mouth, not expecting the sudden boldness. but you love it. you lean in more, wrapping your fingers around the collar of his button-up shirt, tugging him toward you.

he tastes like soju and mint gum and something that’s just… soobin.

his other hand fumbles before settling on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. there’s something both unsure and intense in his touch — like he’s scared he’ll mess it up, but even more scared to stop.

you pull back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen and your eyes glazed with heat.

“not so pure now, huh?” you murmur, teasing again.

he looks at you like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you or confess something bigger — but he chooses the first, crashing his mouth back onto yours with a groan that rumbles from his chest.

when you shift closer, almost climbing onto his lap, he holds you with more force than you expected. his fingers dig into your hips as if anchoring himself, as if he doesn’t want to let go.

your hand slips beneath his shirt, palm brushing his stomach, and he exhales sharply against your mouth. his lips move to your jaw, then your neck, uncertain at first… until he hears your soft gasp.

“let’s go,” you whisper in his ear, breathless, the suggestion hanging hot in the space between you.

he stiffens. “to… my place?”

you smirk. “too far.”

your hand slips into his, firm and electric.

“my apartment’s closer.”

you don’t wait for him to agree.

you just lead him out — past the pulsing music, past beomgyu still singing in his drunken stupor, past your friends who are nowhere to be seen — and into the cool night air, where soobin’s heart beats so loud he’s sure you can hear it.

he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

but he knows he’s not stopping you.

and that he wants this — you — more than anything he's ever wanted before.

your apartment was dimly lit — soft, warm, intimate. the moment the door clicked shut behind you, it was like the air changed. soobin stood there for a second, his eyes scanning your space like he’d just stepped into another realm. then you turned to him, a teasing smile curling at your lips, and tugged him gently by the hem of his shirt.

he followed like gravity.

the first kiss happened slowly — a hesitant brush of lips that turned into something deeper. desperate. heated. you tasted of soju and strawberry gloss, and he tasted like restraint finally snapping in half. his hands found your waist, clumsy at first, then firmer, as if he was trying to memorize the shape of you with his fingers.

clothes fell off in pieces — half-forgotten in the trail from the hallway to your bed.

soobin’s eyes never left yours, even when you pulled him over you, even when your nails raked softly down his back. he asked you quietly if this was okay. you answered with a kiss that made him groan against your mouth.

and when he finally moved inside you — shaky but tender — it wasn’t perfect.

it was better.

it was real. hot. messy. and achingly good.

you guided him, whispered to him, taught him what you liked — and he listened. god, he listened. every sound you made, every arch of your back, he responded like he was being graded on it.

and if he was, he passed with flying colors.

he was intuitive. curious. attentive.

no man had ever made you feel like that.

the climax hit you like a wave crashing too fast — unexpected and all-consuming. his name fell from your lips like a secret, like a confession. and when it was over, when you lay tangled together in the silence of your room, your heart was racing not just from the sex, but from him.

you should’ve felt satisfied.

instead, you felt… addicted.

the hum of the editing lab wrapped around you both like a low heartbeat. it was almost midnight, and the room had long emptied, save for the soft glow of the screen and the occasional sound of soobin typing, hesitant, as if even his fingers were overthinking.

you leaned back in your chair, eyes on the render but mind somewhere else — maybe still tangled in his sheets from last night.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, glancing sideways at you.

you nodded, absently. “just tired.”

"so..." he starts, voice low, not meeting your eyes. “last night. i didn’t mean to stay so long.”

you tilt your head, smirking. "you mean, you didn’t mean to keep me up 'til 3 am?"

his ears flush pink, but he chuckles. “well, you didn’t seem to mind.”

you lean in, your voice dropping an octave. “i didn’t.”

it was a half-truth.

you weren’t tired. you were numb.

not from exhaustion, but from the repetition — the cycle.

work. touch. release. silence.

he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, then stopped. instead, he scrolled through the code, pretending to focus, but his eyes kept drifting.

you noticed. of course you noticed.

you always did.

“you know,” you said, breaking the silence, “your animation loop still stutters at frame 27. i can help you clean it up later.”

he smiled — small, shy. “you don’t have to. I already owe you too much.”

you shrugged. “it’s your project, soobin. i’m just… happy to be part of it.”

another silence fell, but this one was heavier. His gaze lingered on you longer now. not the way he did when you were naked and under him. this was different. softer. wanting.

you hated that look.

so you stood up, stretching slightly, letting your shirt ride up just enough to tease.

“i should go,” you said.

he blinked, caught off guard. “already? it’s not that late—”

“you need rest,” you cut in, grabbing your bag. "big day tomorrow.”

he hesitated. “can i… can i come over?”

you turned to him slowly, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“do you want to?”

his ears flushed. he looked down at his hands. “you know i do.”

you stepped closer, just enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “then say it.”

soobin looked up, meeting your eyes. there was something fragile in his expression — hope, maybe. longing.

but you didn’t let it bloom.

you leaned in, brushing your lips against his, soft and fleeting. a kiss with no promise.

no future.

“i’ll text you,” you whispered. “if i feel like it.”

then you turned and left, the door clicking softly behind you.

it was past 1:30 a.m. when you heard the soft knock at your door.

three short taps. hesitant. familiar.

you were in bed, hair loose, wearing nothing but an old oversized tee and underwear, your laptop glowing softly with a paused movie. for a second, you thought you were imagining it. but then it came again — one more knock. you got up slowly, half-annoyed, half-curious.

when you opened the door, there he was.

choi soobin. hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his glasses fogged up. eyes wide, like he didn’t plan on actually doing this until he did.

you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “couldn’t sleep?”

he looked down, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted quietly. “i didn’t want to wait for a text.”

your lips curled slightly. “bold tonight, aren’t you?”

he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “can i come in?”

you stepped aside, not saying a word. he brushed past you, and you closed the door behind him with a click that sounded like permission.

as soon as he turned around, you pressed him against the wall, your hands sliding under his hoodie. he gasped softly, but his hands found your waist like instinct.

“i wasn’t sure you’d come,” you murmured against his jaw, lips ghosting over his skin.

“i told you i would if you asked,” he whispered, already breathless.

“i didn’t ask.”

“you didn’t have to.”

you kissed him then — no teasing, no buildup. just lips crashing, hungry, messy, desperate. he kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like he’d imagined this moment a hundred times, and now it was finally real. your fingers tangled in his hoodie, pulling it up, and he broke the kiss only to help you tug it off.

your hands roamed his chest, down to his abs — firm, warm. he wasn’t the scrawny nerd you first thought he’d be. He had strength, a body that surprised you. you tugged him down by the waistband of his sweats, eyes locked on his, voice a low whisper against his lips.

“sit back for me, soobin.”

he blinked, confused, aroused. “w–what?”

you pushed gently at his chest, guiding him to the edge of the bed. he obeyed without protest, legs parted, hands gripping the sheets.

“i want to taste you,” you said simply, dropping to your knees between his thighs.

his breath hitched. “y/n…”

you smiled up at him, slow and sinful. “relax.”

with one hand, you pulled his sweats and boxers down in a single motion, exposing him fully. He was already hard, flushed and twitching, and the sight of it made you ache.

“shit,” he whispered, covering his face with one hand. “i can’t believe this is happening.”

you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh, then up, up — teasing, warm, slow. he trembled under your mouth. when you finally took him in, inch by inch, his hand flew to your hair, not to push, just to hold. like he needed something to ground him.

“f–fuck, y/n—” his hips bucked slightly, but you pressed a hand to his stomach, holding him in place. your tongue swirled around him, dragging moans from his throat like music.

“you feel so good,” he groaned, head falling back. “i don’t think i’m gonna last…”

you pulled back just enough to say, “then don’t.”

then you took him deep again, your rhythm relentless, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on his. watching him fall apart under your touch. his thighs tightened, his moans got louder, breath ragged.

“y/n— i’m— i’m gonna—”

you didn’t stop.

you stayed right there, even when his hips jerked, when he spilled into your mouth with a broken, helpless cry of your name. you swallowed, slow and deliberate, then licked your lips as you sat back on your knees, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

he looked down at you, completely wrecked.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, eyes still glazed.

you just smirked. “not yet.”

then you pulled him down to the bed, climbed on top, and whispered against his lips:

“soobin,” you whispered, voice low, sultry. “you gonna just stay there, or are you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

his eyes widened, dark with desire. “i don’t wanna mess this up.”

you stepped closer, pressing his hand against the curve of your ass. “then don’t.”

That was all it took.

he grabbed your thighs and lifted you easily, like instinct, like he’d wanted to do this forever. you wrapped your legs around his waist, lips finding his again as he carried you, bumping into the walls, breathless laughter between kisses. when he laid you on the bed, his hands trembled — not from fear, but anticipation.

he knelt between your legs, pulling your panties down slowly. watching your expression. eyes flickering between your parted lips and the way you bit them.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “i’ve never seen anything like you.”

you smirked, “then show me how much you like what you see.”

and he did.

his mouth, warm and eager, exploring your skin, your thighs, your core. It wasn’t perfect, but it was passionate. raw. messy. and so damn real. you moaned his name, fingers tangling in his hair, and when he finally slid inside you — slow, deep — he gasped like it was the first breath he’d taken in hours.

“so tight,” he groaned into your neck. “fuck—i... i love this..."

you rocked your hips against his, matching his rhythm, breath against his ear. “feel me, baby. you’re inside me now. nothing to overthink.”

his pace quickened, your bodies moving in sync, sweat slicking your skin. his name spilled from your lips, breathy and broken. he looked down at you, jaw clenched, fighting to last.

“i’m close,” he warned.

you cupped his face, kissed him deep. “then don’t hold back. cum for me.”

he did — with a soft, choked moan against your neck, his whole body trembling. and you followed soon after, your climax crashing into you like a wave, sharp and sweet and overwhelming.

you lay there for a moment, tangled in sheets and each other, chests rising and falling in sync.

but then, the moment passed.

you pulled away first.

no words. no promises. you grabbed his hoodie from the floor and tossed it to him.

“It’s late,” you said, voice flat now.

he nodded, quietly getting dressed, still catching his breath. “right. i’ll… see you tomorrow? for the project?”

you smiled faintly, eyes unreadable. “of course.”

and just like that, he left — around 3 a.m., hoodie half on, hair messy, heart heavier than he’d admit.

you lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

he was addictive.

but this wasn’t love.

just affection.

the next day, you were already in the media lab by noon, hair up in a clip, sipping an iced coffee like nothing happened. like you hadn’t spent half the night moaning his name into your sheets. you were scrolling through some reference animations when you heard the door creak.

he walked in — soobin, hoodie slightly rumpled, eyes darker than usual, laptop tucked under one arm like a shield.

“hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

you didn’t look up right away.

“hey,” you replied casually, then shot him a glance. “you look like you slept five minutes.”

“three,” he muttered, sitting beside you. “thanks to you.”

you smirked. “you're welcome.”

he chuckled under his breath, but the way his eyes lingered on your collarbone, on the way your fingers tapped against your straw — it wasn’t casual for him. not anymore.

“so… did you get a chance to work on that npc dialogue system?” you asked, flipping the screen toward him.

he blinked. took a second too long to switch gears. “yeah, uh—yeah. i built the first tree structure. i’ll show you.”

you leaned closer, shoulder to shoulder, like nothing. like you hadn’t had him inside you hours ago.

he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his position, fingers suddenly awkward on the trackpad.

“you okay?” you asked, feigning innocence.

he nodded, then… hesitated. “do you… always do that?”

your brows lifted. “do what?”

he stared at the screen. “act like it didn’t happen.”

you tilted your head, biting back a grin. “did you want a commemorative plaque or something?”

soobin flushed immediately, lips pressing into a line. “no. just—forget it.”

silence stretched for a moment. you let it.

because you were fine. it was what it was.

friends. collaborators. occasional bodies tangled in bedsheets.

no promises.

no future.

just affection when the night hit hard and the skin craved warmth.

you leaned in again, voice low and playful, barely above a whisper. “i like you better when you’re coding instead of catching feelings.”

that made him laugh — small and bitter, but still soobin.

“yeah,” he murmured, “me too.”

you sat side by side, going over the storyboard edits for soobin’s game. but his knee kept brushing against yours. your fingers kept finding excuses to linger near his. every time you spoke, he looked at your lips instead of your eyes.

a laugh. a brush of fingers when you reached for the same pen. the hum of your breathing syncing unconsciously as you leaned over his sketchpad, discussing the new character render.

but the tension was undeniable — thick, like summer air before a storm.

you shifted in your seat. soobin’s gaze followed the curve of your mouth when you smiled at something dumb he said. his knee bumped yours under the table — once, twice — and this time he didn’t move away.

your eyes locked.

he licked his lips.

you tilted your head.

“are you going to kiss me,” you whispered, “or just keep pretending you’re focused?”

soobin blinked, startled — but only for a second. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a hunger he rarely let slip. his mouth found yours in a kiss that was wet, desperate, a little uncoordinated, but still made your body heat like a fever.

you straddled him in the lab chair, fingers digging into his shoulders as his lips mapped your throat. he groaned quietly when your hips rolled against his. you loved how sensitive he was, how new it still felt to him.

his fingers fumbled at your waistband, and yours slipped under his hoodie, nails grazing the skin of his stomach.

and then—

his voice broke through the haze.

“i think i love you...”

time paused.

the kiss didn’t end — not completely. but you stilled in his arms, lips barely touching.

he looked up at you, chest heaving. there was no mask, no hesitation in his gaze — only raw, trembling honesty.

you swallowed hard.

“someone could see us,” you murmured, pulling back slightly. your hand pressed flat against his chest. “we shouldn’t… not here.”

he nodded slowly. “right. sorry.”

but you saw the flicker in his eyes.

he knew you weren’t talking about getting caught.

and you knew… he meant every word.

soobin picked at his food, eyes blank, fingers tapping against the side of his glass.

beomgyu dropped into the seat across from him with the energy of a man who hadn’t just bombed an engineering quiz. “yo, you look like someone stepped on your graphics card.”

before soobin could reply, minah slid in beside beomgyu, planting a kiss on his cheek. “hey, babe.”

soobin blinked. “you guys are dating?”

minah giggled. “it’s recent. we met at that party a few weeks back. y/n introduced us.”

beomgyu grinned. “she’s basically the campus matchmaker.”

soobin tried to smile.

minah looked at him with a knowing softness. “she said you two are close. working together?”

“yeah,” he said, voice low. “the game project.”

“she always puts her heart into everything,” minah said, stirring her coffee. “she’s one of the kindest people i know. genuinely warm. i’ve never seen her turn anyone away.”

beomgyu smirked. “you sure that’s all it is, soobin? that game project?”

Soobin froze, caught.

minah’s smile wavered. “can i… tell you something?”

his throat tightened. “yeah.”

minah took a breath. “she dated someone last year. jung jaehyun. from the film department.”

beomgyu’s eyebrows rose. “that asshole?”

minah nodded. “he cheated on her. more than once. manipulated her too — made her feel like everything was her fault. she loved him so much, and he treated her like she was disposable. it took her almost a year to recover. she still isn’t fully herself.”

soobin felt the blood drain from his face.

“she stopped believing in love,” minah whispered. “she’s terrified of it now. of letting someone in. that’s why she pushes people away when it gets too real.”

suddenly everything made sense.

the kiss that ended too soon.

the soft panic in your eyes when he said those words.

the coldness in your voice that didn’t match your trembling fingers.

you were afraid.

not of him — but of what he made you feel.

the soft hum of the bustling street outside the café filled your ears as you stepped out into the cool evening air. you hadn’t expected to see soobin again so soon after that moment in the lab — after everything.

but there he was, standing a few feet away on the sidewalk, looking lost in thought, as if he had been waiting for something… or someone. the moment you saw him, your heart did something unexpected. It skipped, then raced. the last few hours replayed in your mind like a movie — the confession, the words you couldn’t quite process, and the tension that clung between you two.

it felt as if the air around you was thick, but in a way that made it harder to breathe, harder to stay composed. you didn’t know what to expect. but you couldn’t walk away now. not after what had happened. you hesitated, then took a step toward him, the streets buzzing around you as you made your way through the crowd. and when he turned to face you, his eyes met yours, searching. they held something — hope, maybe.

but beneath that, a vulnerability, something you’d never seen in him before. “soobin,” you said softly, just to break the silence that seemed to hang in the air. his lips parted as he spoke your name, but before he could say anything else, he took a step closer.

“i didn’t expect to see you here,” he said with a small smile, his voice a little breathless. you stood there, unsure of what to say next. the weight of your emotions was too much to voice. you’d been trying to keep your distance, but everything you’d told him in the lab — everything that had been left unspoken, was still so fresh. "y/n," he began, his tone softer than before, as if he was carefully choosing his words. "i heard something earlier... from minah. about you and jaehyun."

you froze for a moment, your heart dropping to your stomach. you hadn’t expected this, not now, not after everything. the mention of jaehyun's name immediately brought a rush of old memories — the good and the painful.

soobin noticed your reaction, his expression filled with concern. he continued, his voice quiet but sincere. “she... she told me about your past with him. how he hurt you. how you’ve been carrying that pain for a long time.”

the words hit you like a cold wave, and you immediately felt the familiar wall go up inside you. the one you had built after jaehyun shattered your trust. you tried to keep your composure, but it was hard to suppress the hurt that resurfaced in an instant.

"i didn’t mean for anyone to know," you said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

soobin stepped closer, his gaze steady but filled with empathy. "y/n, i... i didn’t know. but hearing that from her, i just want you to know that i’m not like him. i’m not going to hurt you. i care about you."

it was like everything about him had a magnetic pull on you, drawing you in. but what was it? you wanted to understand it, but you weren’t sure you were ready for that yet. you had never really thought about falling for someone again — not after what jaehyun did to you. but soobin? he was different.

from the moment you met him, something in you had clicked. his presence, his voice, the way he made everything seem lighter. it had been almost a shift in your routine. the days had become brighter, the moments when you found him beside you felt full of a warmth you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. and, just like that, your feelings for him had grown, but slowly. subtly. almost like an invisible thread that tied you to him.

and now, standing here, you realized that in the short time you’d known him, everything had changed. your world had shifted, in the best way possible. you couldn’t even remember what life was like before him anymore. the routine of school, the small annoyances that once felt like mountains, they didn’t matter anymore when you were around him. soobin made everything feel like it could be okay, like things could be light again. he made you smile without trying, made you laugh just with the way he looked at you, or the way he spoke to you. and as your heart raced now, looking at him, you realized it had been him all along, ever since that first encounter.

he took a slow step toward you, his eyes full of something sincere. “i never expected to meet someone like you,” he said. “you… you’ve made things so much better. i wasn’t sure how to say this before, but now, i have to tell you. i’m really glad i met you.” your heart skipped a beat. the words, his honesty, made your chest tighten.

"i am too," you whispered. "but i’m just... scared. you know?" he paused, looking at you with understanding.

“scared of what?” he asked gently.

"scared that i’m not ready for this," you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. "scared of... falling for someone again. what if i screw it up? what if i can’t do this? i don’t want to hurt you, soobin."

soobin stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. his voice was barely above a whisper.

"y/n... i'm not going anywhere. i’m here for you. whatever this is… i’ll be here, for as long as you’ll have me." you felt like you were losing control of everything inside of you. his words, his sincerity, the feeling of being cared for in a way you hadn’t felt in so long, it made your heart ache in the best possible way.

you looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. but then the fear crept back in. the fear that maybe you weren’t ready to trust again, that maybe you weren’t worthy of someone’s love, especially not someone as kind as soobin.

"why does it have to be so hard?" you whispered, almost to yourself.

soobin squeezed your hand, his voice steady and calm. "because it’s worth it. if we give it a chance. if you give me a chance."

you didn’t know what to say. the vulnerability that you felt in this moment was overwhelming, but you also realized something. soobin wasn’t asking for perfection from you. he was asking for honesty, for a chance to show you that he wasn’t like jaehyun.

and despite all the fear, despite the scars left by the past, you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

soobin and you walk into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you like sealing a secret. neither of you speaks—there’s no need. the electricity between you crackles in the silence, heavy with all the things you’ve both wanted to say but instead chose to show.

soobin shrugs off his hoodie in one smooth motion, and underneath, the fitted polo clings to his arms, hugging every inch of muscle you’ve fantasized about. your eyes drag over him, slow and hungry, and he catches your gaze, a smirk twitching on his lips.

“come here,” he murmurs, voice thick with intent.

you don’t even make it to the bedroom before his hands are on your waist, his mouth crushing into yours with a hunger that steals the breath right out of you. you melt into him, fingers gripping the fabric over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart pounding like it wants to break free.

the kiss deepens, lips sliding, teeth nipping, tongues meeting with desperation. he backs you into the wall, grinding his hips into yours just enough to make you gasp. one of his hands travels under your shirt, grazing the soft skin of your waist, while the other cups your jaw to tilt your face and devour your mouth deeper. you moan into the kiss, your knees going weak, and he catches you like he was waiting for it.

“you feel so good,” he breathes into your neck, licking and sucking at the skin there, leaving you marked—claimed. “you drive me fucking insane.”

by the time you reach the bed, your shirt is gone, your bra unclasped, and soobin's hands are everywhere—greedy, but still careful. he kisses down your chest, slow and savoring, like he’s worshipping you with his mouth. then his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, finding you already soaked.

“fuck,” he groans, voice rough, eyes hooded as he pulls them down. “look at you. so wet for me already. you want this?”

“god, yes,” you whisper, breath trembling.

he slides a finger inside you, slow at first—testing. then a second joins, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes you whimper and arch into him. he watches you like you’re his favorite sin, completely mesmerized by how you fall apart under his touch.

your moans get louder, higher, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his thumb circling your clit with expert pressure. he kisses your thigh, murmuring praises between each stroke—how beautiful you look, how tight and perfect you feel, how he could stay between your legs forever.

when your climax crashes into you, it’s sudden and overwhelming. Your walls clench around his fingers as you cry out, your hips jerking and your thighs trembling. he doesn’t stop until he’s milked every last spasm from your body, until you’re panting and spent and completely undone beneath him.

“shit… that was so hot,” he says, his voice low, lips brushing against your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers. you catch his gaze and, feeling bold, you take his hand and pull his glistening fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean while holding eye contact.

soobin lets out a broken sound—half-moan, half-growl—as he crashes his lips to yours again, desperate, messy. he pulls you into his lap, settling you on top of him, both of you half-naked and feverish with want.

your body is still humming, trembling in the aftershocks of your climax when soobin kisses you again—hungry, desperate, like he’s chasing something deeper. his hands don’t leave your body, fingers tracing over your hips, up your stomach, down between your thighs again.

you whimper when he strokes you, still sensitive, but the way he looks at you—so enamored, so lost in you—makes the overstimulation morph into pleasure all over again.

“you can take it,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “you’re so fucking perfect like this… i need to feel you again.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. his fingers glide between your folds, spreading the wetness he’s already coaxed from you. he groans low, almost a growl, as he guides himself to your entrance, teasing you just enough to make you whine.

then he pushes in, slow but deep, stretching you inch by inch.

a gasp leaves your lips as he bottoms out, your body molding to fit him. he shudders against you, his arms wrapping around you tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“fuck—” his breath stutters. “you feel so good, baby… so fucking good.”

he starts moving, slow at first—rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, savoring the way your body clenches around him. His forehead rests against yours, and when you open your eyes, you find him staring at you like you’re something sacred.

that’s when his voice breaks.

“i love you,” he confesses, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline. “god, i love you so much it hurts.”

tears spill from his eyes, slipping down his cheeks before he can stop them. the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability in his touch—it makes your chest ache.

you don’t answer with words. instead, you hold his face, kissing his tears away, soothing him with soft whispers, with the warmth of your body moving in time with his.

then you shift, pushing gently on his shoulders, guiding him onto his back. he lets you take control, his lips parted in awe as you settle on top of him, sinking down onto him so slowly that he swears under his breath.

“fuck—” he gasps, head tipping back against the pillow.

you start moving, rolling your hips, riding him at your own pace, watching the way his brows knit together, how his hands grip your thighs, his lips falling open in pleasure. he looks wrecked beneath you, completely at your mercy.

“you’re such a good man, soobin,” you whisper, leaning down to press kisses along his damp cheeks. “you don’t have to hide from me. i see you… and i want you. just as you are.”

a broken sound leaves him—half-whimper, half-sob—as his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. you keep moving, slow and deep, letting him feel everything.

his hips stutter under you, his breathing turning erratic.

“baby, i—” he cuts off with a strangled moan, his body tensing beneath you. “i can’t— i’m gonna—”

“cum with me” you whisper, kissing him deep as his release overtakes him.

soobin lets out a wrecked, breathless moan, his whole body shaking as he spills inside you. sis hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he rides out his high. his chest rises and falls in heavy gasps, eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed and undone.

even as the tremors subside, the tears don’t stop. you brush them away with gentle fingers, pressing soft kisses over his damp cheeks, his forehead, his lips.

“you’re okay,” you murmur. “i’ve got you.”

he exhales shakily, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you against his chest, still buried inside you, still trembling. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you—like you’re his anchor, his salvation.

and you let him.

because even though you didn’t say it back, he knows.

he feels it in the way you kiss him. in the way you hold him. in the way you don’t let go.

and for now, that’s enough.

he stops, just for a second, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky and shallow.

“i love you,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, but it hits like thunder.

you freeze, just for a moment. your heart skips, your lips part—but you don’t say it back. not yet. instead, you kiss him. slow, deep, tender. you pour everything into that kiss—every spark, every silent yes, every beat of your heart screaming me too.

he exhales like it’s all he needed. you hold his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, and whisper, “you’re everything right now.”

he nods, tears brimming in his eyes.

and for the rest of the night, you show him. again and again, in every touch, every breath, every moan—you show him exactly what he means to you.

it’s more than just affection.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

There Comes a Breaking Point

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, smut (p in v sex, handjobs, face sitting), light angst, light fluff too, humor, love confession, truth serum.

Summary/Warnings: Sam drinks a truth potion, and you and Dean have to deal with the consequences, and very painful and beautiful revelations.

Author's Note: Request from @youdontknowe! Tormented Sam so bad last time I had people advocating for his release.

Word Count: 6.1k

This is going to be a problem. You don’t have to look at Dean’s tensed body and scowl to know that this is going to be a problem.

“Run it over one more time, Sammy, and explain why the hell you thought this was a good idea.”

Sam sighs, and he’s spent the past hour looking a little bit like a child that just got caught eating sharpies to see if the different colors had different flavors.

This isn’t that.

It’s worse.

“It was thirsty,” he mutters. “And it doesn’t hurt. It’s kind of tingly on my brain, but it actually feels pretty good, dude. Like an orgasm-“

“Sam.” You mutter. “We talked about this. Don’t poke the bear.”

“But the bear was asking to be poked, and you poke the bear all the time-“

You shake your head. “That’s different-“

“Right, cause he loves you-“

You flush, right as Dean lets out a cough that could rival thunder.

“I- I’m not- Shut your fucking face, Sam, and get the hell back on topic-“

“I’m sorry, but I can’t not say it.” Sam looks back to you with a desperate plea of your name. “You know I can’t, I’m trying but it’s literally impossible-“

“Then try fucking harder-“

“Dean.” You place your hand over his—gripping the chair in the war room like he’s struggling not to throw it at the wall, and knowing him, he might be—until he looks at you.

Sam had said earlier that Dean goes gooey when he looks at you. You’d told him you didn’t know what that means, and he’d tried to make a mimicking face of it, but mostly just ended up looking like an idiot.

And you hadn’t believed him. Sam may have been right in his brutal you always know what Dean needs before he asks for it observation, but that was because you’d trained yourself to do that. To take care of him, when nobody else does, or ever has. It had become your silent purpose, because Dean may stitch you up after every hunt and make sure you eat every night, but you’re the one who takes all the harsher blows on purpose, and who does his laundry—and Sam’s, but they both seem to think a shirt is wearable right up until you get blood on it, and that simply cannot be the bar—and puts water on his nightstand after a worse day, because you know he’s going to drink and you don’t want him to get a headache. 

Apparently, Sam’s noticed all of that. And you’d been alright with it—you didn’t really try to hide how you do that—right up until he added that he knows you bake those pies instead of buying them at the store, and that you hate old movies but watch them because Dean likes them, and that that shampoo and conditioner in the Dean’s showers hasn’t just been magically replacing itself like he thinks.

“How the fuck do you know that one?” You’d muttered, and Sam had just shrugged.

“Because I use my own shampoo and conditioner, duh. And it’s expensive, so if there was a secret shampoo wizard in the bunker, I wouldn’t have to order new stuff online every month.” Sam had paused for a few seconds, making an almost adorable, puppy-like face of shock at the air. “Huh. That feels good to admit. I can finally stop hiding my orders.”

You’d stared at him. “You order stuff to the bunker?”

“No, I have a secret P.O box. Separate from our group one.”

“You what-“

“I don’t want to grab another one of your dildos on accident.” He’d wrinkled his nose at the air. “That was traumatizing, by the way. But not as bad as getting Dean’s porn magazines, I- There was one whole edition that was just photos of girls that looked like you, I think he had it custom made-“

“Sam.” You’d whispered, a little worried that—if he kept going—you’d burn yourself alive. “Please shut up.”

“I can’t. I’m trying, but it just keeps coming out.”He’d pouted at you. “What the hell was in that thing? I mean, I feel great, but wow it’s strong. I think I’m gonna go call Eileen and tell her I love her-“

You’d used the full weight of your body to slam him back down into his chair. “Do not do that, Sam-“

“Why, I thought you guys loved her too-“

“Because,” you’d sighed, rubbing at your eyes as you spoke. “If you call Eileen, you’re probably going to tell her you’re proposing next month. And I don’t think you want to do that.”

“Oh. Good call.” Sam had stayed seated, but frowned at you all the same. “Is Dean headed back?”

You’d glanced down to your phone. “Yeah, he should be. Said he would, but I didn’t explain what was happening, so maybe he got distracted-“

Sam had snorted. “If you asked him to come back, he’s not getting distracted by anything.”

“What does that mean-“

“He’s obsessed with you,” Sam had rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, you’re like a sister to me, and-“

“I’m like a sister to Dean, too.” You’d muttered, your tone a lot more bitter than you’d wanted, and Sam had only scoffed.

“No. He loves you. Actually, I love you, but Dean’s in love with you.”

You’d shaken your head, and tried to work out how you could literally sink into the earth.  ““Sam-“

“It’s annoying,” he’d half-whined your name, like this was somehow actually your problem to fix. “All the time he’s just looking at you, and talking about you, and moping about how you flirt with other men at bars-“

You’d frowned at him. “I don’t flirt at bars. At all.”

“I know, cause you love him, and I’ve tried to tell him that but suddenly the asshole’s all good with a life of celibacy.” Sam had let out a loud, dramatic sigh, and you’d snorted.

“Dean is not celibate.”

“He is now. Why’d you think he’s been so grumpy all the time.”

“Cause he’s Dean-“

“Nah, this is worse than usual. You just don’t notice cause he’s still all mushy and sweet with you.” 

“Fucking- Sam-“

“It was a little better when he was still masturbating.” Sam had hummed. “But then I walked in on him shouting your name, and now he doesn’t. I’m kind worried it’s gonna kill him.”

You’d just stared at Sam, unable to find words that weren’t pleas to either be shot or woken up from this half-nightmare, half-daydream, and Sam had just kept fucking talking.

“And he makes this face!” Sam had shouted, and you’d considered finding a very firm book in the library to beat your own head in with.

Even now, as you and Sam explained the situation to Dean, the brain bashing was very much still on the table. Because if you looked really close, you could see something shift in Dean’s expression when he met your eyes.

But that might just be the exhaustion. It’s been a pretty average day, but a long fucking three hours.

“He can’t help it.” You mutter, nodding your head to Sam. “We just have to ride it out until Rowena picks up the phone.”

Dean’s jaw ticks, and Sam clears his throat, his voice soft and careful.

“If it helps,” he mumbles your name, giving you an apologetic look. “She’s the one who put the potion there.”

“Sam.” You hiss. “Why would that help-“

“He doesn’t get mad at you!” Sam’s whining voice was back, and you’re a little worried the potion has done something to his general brain functions as well. “And who the hell leaves something like that in the fridge-“

“Me! I leave it there, because Rowena said it needs to be refrigerated Dean knows not to drink it, and you always ask for a nutrition breakdown!”

“But I was thirsty-“

“Sammy.” Dean grumbles, running a hand over his face. “Don’t yell at her.”

“I- She yelled at me-“

“I know, Sammy. Still don’t yell at her. And,” Dean mutters your name, a slight amusement on his face. That’s a good sign. Dean doesn’t really do amused when he’s really angry. “Take a page from your own book. He can’t help it.”

You roll your eyes. “Shove up your ass, Winchester.”

“That’s not nice, sweetheart-“

“It’s nicer than the other place I’d tell you to shove it.” You mumble, and Dean stares at you for a long second, the cutest confusion you’ve ever seen written all over his face.

“Uh,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Unless you’re planning to like, cut me open, I don’t really have any other holes-“

“You’ve got one other hole.” 

You can see the moment it hits him, and you don’t bother to hide your giggle at the slack shock in his face.

“Son of a- Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he says your name, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove the idea and moving a hand to cover his crotch. “I should let you take the lead on the interrogations some time, you’re-“

"Amazing?” You hum, smiling at him in a slightly manic way you’ve long forgotten how to fight in Dean’s presence. “Perfect? A miracle and blessing on the universe-“

“Terrifying.” Dean cuts you off with a grin. “Little Dean’s gonna have a heart attack-“

“Yeah, cause you have a boner, man.” Sam groans, and you whip to see him making a face of disgust at you and Dean. “Shit, could she like, wade through cow shit and you’d still get hard?”

“Sam.” Dean grunts, and Sam just rolls his eyes.

“No, don’t Sam me, you guys were just eye-banging, right in front of me. It’s so gross-“

“Sam-“

Dean’s warnings continue to be ignored, and the brain bashing become more and more of a viable option.

“Dean, I’ve seen you get hard cause she threatened to punch you, and I mean like, fine, but you were sitting next to me in the booth, man. I couldn’t get up, or the whole diner would see. And you,” he waves a loose hand in your direction. “Are just as bad! I’ve see the drool when he takes off his shirt, and you laugh way too much at his jokes. I love you, dude, I do, but you are not half as funny as you think you are.”

Dean’s scowl doesn’t waver. “Sammy, I’m gonna knock your lights out if you keep talking.”

“Sure, whatever, just go have sex after. I can’t fucking take this anymore, you keep making heart eyes at each other while I’m eating. It’s exhausting.”

You’re going to sink into the earth. Or turn into sheer air, or run and never stop until you drop dead, and you’re reborn as a bug all the way across the world. 

Dean’s walking away. He might want to hear this even less than you do, because at least for you it’s a little true. For Dean, it’s just Sam losing his mind.

It has to just be Sam losing his mind.

You’ve spent too many years telling yourself that Dean simply doesn’t love you back, and that’s okay, for it not to be Sam losing his mind-

“You should follow him.” Sam says, and you sigh, shaking your head.

“He needs space, Sam-“

“No, he needs you.”

You swallow. It’s just Sam losing his mind.

Sam says your name carefully. “I know-“

“I’m going to bed.” The words aren’t really for Sam. They’re not really for anybody. It’s mostly just an order for your legs to start moving.

You’ll work on this in the morning, or your phone will ring in the dead of night with an answer from Rowena. Until then, you’ll wallow. Sit in the fact that things are going to be weird now, and they’ll get better, but God, the middle part is going to suck.

It’s not like you’ve never tried to do something about your feelings. There have been points where you’d had too much to drink, or the hunt had been really good, or Dean had been touching you a lot, all day, for almost no reason. And you’d smiled at him extra, and fluttered your lashes, and looked nowhere but his grin and handsome features, but he’s never done anything. You’ve even had cases where you’ve had to pretend to be a couple, and Dean has looked at you with dark eyes and a teasing smirk, but then things would get weird, and you’d be struck with the knowledge once more that it was nothing.

The touches were nothing, and the days he’d only ever look at you were nothing, and no matter how bad you wanted it to be something, it wasn’t. 

You can’t sleep. You can’t manage to banish the image of Dean laying in his bed, with his hand stroking his cock as he shouts your name, and it’s making the sheets stick to your skin and you thighs squeeze together, but it’s just an image in your head. 

Hours pass, and the image gets sharper and you can only grind into the sheets and beg to nothing for the night to move quickly, but it doesn’t. If anything you’re more awake, and now you’ve shifted to being on the table in the war room, and instead of Dean storming out when Sam tells you that you love each other, he agrees and grabs your face between big, rough hands. Kissing you until your knees are weak and you’re clinging to his shirt, before bending you over the table and fucking you stupid.

But it’s just a fantasy. Based in nothing at all.

No matter what Sam says, it’s nothing.

Even though Sam does know Dean better than anyone. And he’s only saying what he thinks is the truth, which is—allegedly and unlikely—that Dean masturbates and shouts your name, and the magazine thing, and that you eye fuck each other, and you know you eye fuck Dean, but never once has Dean ever looked at you different from the first day he met you-

Sam cuts through your thoughts, shouting of your name from down the hall, and you bolt out of bed without thought.

“I need help- Shit-“

It’s coming from Dean’s room, and if Sam went to try and smooth things out Dean might be strangling him, and he wouldn’t actually hurt Sam but you’re still so worried the air feels wired-

You skid into Dean’s room with wide eyes, Dean jolts up from his bed—very much alone—and before either of you can speak, the door slams closed.

“Son of a-“ Dean pushes up off the mattress, his eyes narrowed at the door. “Sammy? What the hell do you think you’re doing-“

“A plan.” Sam’s voice is muffled from behind the door, and when you try to shake the handle, it doesn’t budge.

“Dean.” You mutter, look back over your shoulder. “It’s locked. Why the fuck does it lock from the outside-“

“Old Mark of Cain precaution,” he grunts, moving to your side with short steps. “Sam, open the goddamn door now.”

There’s a second of silence, then Sam’s firm. “No.”

“Sam-“

“No! I’m not doing this for another three years!” Sam’s voice is almost desperate, and you and Dean both freeze. “You know you love each other now! Work it out! And I’m sorry I spilled your secrets, that wasn’t cool, but c’mon guys, this was getting insane.”

“Sam.” You wrap your arms around your body, and he better feel the venom in your voice. “You said you needed help. This is not help. You lied, so-“

“Potion wore off. Guess I can lie again.” There’s a pause. “But I wasn’t lying when I said you guys need to get this together. Remember the vamp hunt last month?”

You frown at the door. “Yeah?”

“One of the vamps was shocked you weren’t together!” Sam groans, sounding almost pained by the memory. “You guys were out double checking the nest location after we interrogated her, and she made a joke about how my mom and dad were probably fucking in the car or something, and I told her that you guys weren’t together, and she said, and I quote, really.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is growl. It’s not helping the situation. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Cool. Do it after you guys are done.”

“Done?” You glance over at Dean, and he’s refusing to meet your gaze. Just glowering at the door. “Sam, what do we have to be done with.”

“Working it out.”

You sigh. “That’s not-“

“Fine. Fucking. You’re not coming out until you fuck.”

Your mouth falls open, and Dean looks like—if he really tried—he could break down the door and strangle Sam with his bare hands.

“I swear to Mother Mary and Christ, Sam, you’re fuckin’ dead-“

“Sure. After you fuck.”

Dean slams a fist on the door, and it almost drowns out the sound of Sam’s footsteps.

Walking away.

Leaving you locked with Dean.

You swallow on the air, and Dean still won’t look at you. Won’t speak to you, or do anything but glare at the door as if he can free himself with his mind. You must have done something wrong to make Sam hate you, because this is torture. Dean obviously doesn’t want to be in here with you, let alone fuck you or love you. Even when you move to sit on the bed he remains tall and rigid and frozen, and you can see the muscles of his back flexing, and that’s really not important to think about right now-

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and when Dean responds, his words sound pushed through his teeth.

“No. You’re- This isn’t your problem. He’ll come back later, and we can lie to him about doing it, and then I’ll fucking kill him.”

The last words are roared for Sam to hear wherever he’s retreated off to, and you let out a long, slow sigh.

“I don’t think shouting is going to convince him to come back and free you.”

He finally looks at you. A quick glance over his shoulder with a drawn brow, still igniting a fire over your skin. Always igniting a fire over your skin. 

“I don’t give a shit if he frees me.” He grunts. “He shouldn’t be doing this to you. Doesn’t matter what he thinks he knows.”

You blink at that, and it’s like you’re missing something. Dean’s words make sense, but there’s something so slightly off about them, and you can’t place it. 

“Truth potion.” You shrug, watching Dean carefully. “Not his fault.”

Dean scoffs. “This is his fault, sweetheart. And that thing wasn’t a truth potion, it was a big-mouthed potion.”

“I think that’s just a mean way of saying truth potion.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve earned the right to be mean. My brother’s a fucking traitor-“

“Dean.”

“Yeah. I know.” 

“Right.” You mumble. “Sorry.”

He glances back to you with a firm expression that-

Softens. It softens. There’s not eye fucking, but you can see it happen. His jaw unclenches, and his nostrils flare with a long exhale, and his eyes turn gooey.

The lack of sleep might be catching up to you.

Or Sam is right.

You really hope Sam is right.

“Don’t be.” Dean mutters, crossing the room and dropping at your side. “Not your fault Sammy’s a little shit who only see what he wants.”

“What he wants?”

Dean nods, and that all you get.

You just need a little more.

“Sam told me you haven’t been sleeping with other people.” You whisper. “Was that just- Sam being a shit?”

Dean sighs, shooting you an unreadable look. “No. I haven’t been.”

You swallow. “Why?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle, and you can taste the air. Feel the heat from his body, right next to yours, and smell him all over the room. Whiskey and gunpowder and something salty that’s just Dean.

And he chuckles—his voice impossibly low—and looks at you the same as he always has. 

And you see it again. What Sam was talking about

The hunger, in his hooded gaze, that’s lighting a fire in your gut. 

All it takes to turn it to a wildfire is his voice, deep and rough as he holds your gaze, God, you might be the one losing their mind, but if it’s for this, you’re happy to let it go.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, scanning carefully over your already open, slack features. “I’m betting Sam told you why, too.”

For a second, you’re only staring at each other as Dean’s words hang in the air.

And Sam had been telling the truth. You can see it all over Dean’s face, and you’re sure he can see it on yours—and if he can’t, he can hear it, pounding in your heartbeat—and something in you snaps.

You must be the one who moves first. Just a fraction of a second faster than Dean, because you end up straddling him as he holds you by the waist, and this is what you’ve waited for.

Years of sleepless nights and watching Dean move without grabbing him by the shirt and smashing your lips to his with a scream of I love you. So much time spent daydreaming and getting lost in your own head to thoughts of this moment, and you’re here, and there’s nothing else in the world.

It’s only Dean. His hands pulling and kneading at the skin of your hips and ass, and his mouth desperate and sloppy against yours as you both try to devour the other first. All teeth and spit and need, you need Dean and he needs you, and you can feel his need pressing right into your inner thigh, and exploding is back on the table but it might be into fireworks-

You’re separating only for breath. Just enough for Dean to pull your shirt over your head and drop his head to your neck as you unbutton his flannel—why was he sleeping in flannel, that’s so fucking weird, he’s perfect—and leaning back once more to let you drag his undershirt off and toss it to the side. There’s too much time lost to wait. You push your hand between your bodies—pressed right against each other, your hips already rolling down as your own desperation grows—and it’s only right as your fingers lands on the rim of Dean’s sweatpants that he picks up on what’s happening. 

“Wait-“ He grunts your name, pulling away as he grabs your hand, but keeping his hold on your body steady. “You don’t need to-“

“But I want to.” You whisper, giving him your best, softest doe-eyes. “Please.”

“Son of a- Sweetheart, you really don’t-“

“Please.” You grind down onto him, and he grunts in your ear. “I promise I want to Dean, I- I mean only if you want to-“

Dean’s hand wraps around the back of your hand so carefully as he slams his lips up to yours, and your words die in a long, happy moan as he ruts up into your thighs. 

“I love you,” he mutters, and you giggle against his lips.

“I love you, too. Is that a yes-“

He chuckles. “You can have a little, sweetheart.” He starts to press short kisses over your collarbone before nipping at your shoulder, his words rolling through your body until you’re squirming against him. “But then I wanna taste you, and come inside of you, alright. I-“ He pauses, glancing up with a small frown. “If you’re good with that. I know I’m clean, and if you are too, and wanna do that, I’m all in, so-“

It’s your turn to shut him up. He groans down your throat as you pull his lower lip between your teeth, squeezing right over his bulge until he’s making more of those sounds, and they might be all you need to survive for a million years.

And the hiss and moan he lets out when you lean back and pull his sweats and boxers down, taking his hard cock in your hand and giving it a long slow stroke, might send you right to heaven.

You don’t think you’ll want it. Nowhere could be better than here. Pumping Dean in your hands carefully, feeling the ache between your legs grow as you start to imagine him—thick and big and throbbing—seated between your thighs. Watching him drop his brow to your chest with a low groan, quickly making himself busy by kissing and sucking over your breasts.

“Dean.” Your hand shoots into his hair, and he moans again. Right against your nipple, as his hips jerk up into your hand, and you squeeze right at the base of his dick. “That’s- Oh, that’s good-“

He only groans, a hand gripping so hard on your waist it’s going to leave a bruise. 

You really hope it does.

“Baby,” Dean mutters, and that alone almost sends you right up to the edge. “Gotta slow down, getting- son of a bitch-“

It’s impossible not to speed it up. To not began to pick up your pace until Dean’s biting your shoulder, making more of those sounds-

“Alright. That’s enough.“ Dean pulls you off with a grunt, eyes blown out, and hair messy from your fingers, and his voice is gruff and low and you want to keep touching him-

“Dean.” Your voice is almost a whine as he fully removes his bottoms, and you crawl over to prop your chin on his shoulder. “We can have sex later-“

That gets a loud, barking laugh. “There’s no damn way we’re having sex later, sweetheart. I told you, I’m gonna taste you, then I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk.”

Suddenly, the plan sounds good again. You nod frantically as Dean grins at you and presses a quick, affectionate kiss to your brow, but when you start to lie back for the tasting part, Dean stops you.

“Not like that, baby girl.” He mutters, pulling you back into a longer, slower kiss, and you give him a slightly dazed blink as when he pulls away.

“But you said-“

“I know. Gimme a sec.” He crawls back on the mattress, settling his head between the pillows. “C’mere.”

You blink at him. “Dean, I don’t-“

Your words cut off with a squeak as he grabs your leg, dragging you forwards and positioning until you’re sitting right on his chest.

When all you do is stare at him, combing your fingers thoughtlessly through his hair as you wait for him to explain, Dean pauses.

“You ever done this?”

“I don’t know what this is-“

“Face-sitting.” 

Your mouth falls open, and he chuckles.

“Guess not. You’re gonna love it, baby, I promise. C’mon.” 

His hands find your ass, and your senses finally rush back into your body.

“Dean, wait-“

He stops before the word is even fully out of your mouth, a small frown on his pretty face. “What’s wrong, do you not wanna-“

“No, I do-“

“Cause if you don’t, I’ll survive sweetheart, you just gotta tell me-“

“Dean!” You squeak, grabbing his face between your hands. “I want to, I do, I promise, but I- I only just got you, I don’t want to kill you night one.”

Dean stares at you for a second, and his face breaks out in a wide, bright grin. “Night one? You already planning more nights?”

“I- yes, and I’d like you be alive for them.”

He shrugs. “Well if that’s your problem, I can promise I’ll make it. Sit on my fucking face, sweetheart. Now.”

His voice is deep and firm with the command, and it’s almost enough to make you forget about the crushing him fears. 

You only just manage to push through.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Dean-“

“You won’t-“

“But-“

Dean says your name carefully, squeezing his hands on your ass. “I can tell you right now, I’m going to enjoy this. I’ve been waiting for it for years.” 

“Oh.” You whisper. “Okay.”

He nods. “I’m more than game if you are. But if you’re not-“

“I am.” 

Your answer is too quick, and Dean doesn’t miss it. “Alright then. Hold on.”

A quick wink is all your get before he’s pulling you forward, right onto his face, and-

“Fuck.”

Dean chuckles, licking another long, teasing stripe up your pussy, and your hand shoots out to grab his headboard. Any doubt from your head is gone is second, replaced only by good. This feels so good, with Dean’s hands squeezing and lightly slapping on your ass with every moan, and his grunts as you grip at his hair vibrating right into you cunt, and his mouth-

His mouth needs to come with a warning. Some kind of biohazard, because all he’d need to do now is ask you to move a mountain, and you would. 

Nobody should be this good at eating pussy. It shouldn’t be legal. But Dean does it like it’s nothing, keeping you slammed firm over his face and licking and tongue fucking you into a high, dizzy oblivion, his nose rubbing right over your clit and stubble burning your thighs, and whenever you scream his name he just goes faster, his mouth moving to your clit to suck and bite as you grind down on his chin, and you’ve never been this close this fast. Right on the edge as Dean swirling his tongue around your clit before plunging it back into your cunt, keeping you right on the edge of bliss without falling over.

“Dean-“ You gasp, your voice barely a breath. “Dean, please, wanna cum-“

He squeezes your ass again, pulling your clit between his lips and flicking his tongue in almost a frenzy, and that’s it.

You scream as your orgasm hits, your thighs clamping around Dean’s head as you struggle to stay upright, and it’s only when you’re shaking and whimpering above him that Dean slows his ministrations.

Warm hands squeeze your hips and roll you off Dean’s face, holding you carefully until you’re flat on your back, and Dean’s above you with an open, adoring face.

“Good?”

You nod weakly, spreading your legs without thought at his deep voice. 

Dean laughs. “Awesome. Wait, I gotta-“

Two broad fingers run between the lips of your pussy, and you let out a shaky moan as Dean’s words hang gathers your release on his fingers.

“You’re better than I imagined, baby girl.” He mutters. “So wet. Responsive.” Just to prove his point, Dean pinches and rolls your clit, and your back arches off the bed as you whine. “I know, sweetheart, just- here.”

You blink up at him as those two fingers move to rest right to your lips, and Dean raises his brows.

“Open for me.” He presses the fingers down on your lower lip, and a grin splits his face as you obey. “Good girl. Just want you to taste how delicious you are, sweetheart, make sure you know.”

Your tongue swirling over your fingers as you suck off your arousal, and that alone is enough to make you ready for him all over again, but the way Dean watches you drags you right up to the edge.

Like you’re holy. And perfect. And there’s really never been another place for him but right here, at your side.

Dean pulls out his fingers with a pop, his voice hoarse as he holds your gaze. “More?”

You nod without a thought. “More.”

Dean give you a small, almost nervous grin, and moves himself until he’s hovering over you, only a breath away, and his cock is sliding between your pussy lips, hitching right at your entrance.

“You-“

“Yes.” Your answer is quick and breathy, and Dean grins down at you without any form of restraint on his face.

“I love you, you know.”

“I’ve got it.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck. “And I love you too.”

“Good. Just making sure.”

“Dean-“

He angles his lips over yours for a long, slow kiss. Deep and heavy and almost gentle, going until you’re moaning below him.

Then he slams his cock into you, and you're gone.

This is where Dean belongs. He bottoms out in one stroke, and you barely need time to adjust before you’re clawing at his back in a silent plea to fucking move, and when he does it’s perfect. He’s hitting so deep inside of you, and filling you up better than anything else ever could, and every moan and breathless plea of his name only makes Dean go faster. Harder. Until he’s properly fucking you, the bed creaking as he splits you open and mutters low filth in your ear, but you’re high to really hear it.

And everything that breaks through just manages to light you on fire more.

“Taking me so good.” He grunts in your ear, and you roll your hips up, trying to match his every thrust. “God, you feel like fuckin’ paradise, baby girl. All tight and wet, I never- Shit-“

Dean cuts himself off with a wet, open-mouthed kiss, and you start to writhe below him. 

“Dean- I’m close again-“

“I know.” He mutters, pressing a slightly softer kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Want you to come with me, sweetheart. Can you-“

You squeeze around him, and Dean groans right down your throat.

“Son of a- Alright-“ His thumb snakes between your bodies, rubbing quick, furious circles around your clit. “Let’s go, baby, c’mon-“

“Dean, please.”

He moans as you start to squirm, his movements growing desperate and uneven. “I know, I’ve got you, you’re being so good-“

You start to arch off the bed again, and Dean holds you firm against him, all as his fingers keep moving.

“Good girl, so fucking tight, just need you to come for me-“

It’s someone bigger than the last one. Longer and crashing over you in a beautiful, starlit wave that drowns out everything but the sight of Dean’s face as he cums, the sound of him groaning your name, and the feeling of him between your legs. Heavy and big, his release spilling into your pussy as he gives a few last, lazy strokes.

Dean rolls off you with a gentle kiss to your brow, and the bed is too big and cold until he returns.

A warm cloth is pressed along your inner thighs as he cleans you up, and a gentle kiss lands on your abdomen right before he leaves once more.

There’s a thud as he discards the cloth, and then he’s back. Scooting in bed beside you and pulling you right up to his chest, holding you so carefully it would be impossible to know that, only minutes ago, he’d been fucking you so hard you can still feel him.

“Sam’s never gonna let us live this down.” Dean mutters, and you let out a soft laugh.

“No. I think we deserve that, though. If we’ve been even half as bad as he said.”

Dean scoffs. “I’m a saint, sweetheart, I’ve never done anything wrong in my life-“

“Sam told me about how you have a porn magazine of women who look like me.”

“I- Yeah.” He sighs, and you smile into his chest. “But he told me that you’ve stealing all my shirts to wear them while you fuck yourself with a dildo.”

“Jesus.” You flush, but still squeeze your arms around Dean’s body a little tighter. “We really are that bad, huh.”

“Yeah, but if it helps, I think that dildo thing is hot-“

“Of course your do.”

Dean laughs, his thumb tracing circles on your arm. “How should we get him back for this?”

“I think,” You hum, propping your chin up on his chest. “That you should let this one go.”

“But-“

“Dean Winchester.” You snap, narrowing your eyes and pushing up on your palms. “Don’t lie to me and say that you were planning on doing this yourself. Sam got you laid, and a girlfriend who loves you.”

Dean raises his brows. “Girlfriend?”

You swallow, but don’t waver. You’ve come this far. “Yes.”

He grins, grabbing one of your hands to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Awesome. About Sam-“

“No.”

“I’m thinking we drink all his stupid smoothies-“

“Dean.” You lower yourself down, until your nose to nose with Dean’s pretty, stupid grin. “Go buy your brother a big salad and stupid smoothie as a thank you, then get your ass back in bed.”

Dean closes the final distance with a long, easy kiss, not bothering to pull away when he speaks.

“Yes ma’am.”

End Note: Rare day where it's beautiful to be Sam Winchester. And those two perverts are meant for each other. Good for them.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[cressidagrey]

She Wasn’t a Secret

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary:  When Oscar casually mentions his wife during a fan Q&A, Lando Norris combusts on stage, the internet loses its mind, Nicole Piastri wonders why her son can’t tell people basic facts about his life—like the fact he’s been married for five years and Mark Webber is quietly regretting his life choices. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

It started with a ping.

Nicole Piastri was elbow-deep in a tray of Lamingtons when her phone buzzed across the counter. Then again. Then again. Then seven more times.

She wiped her hands, checked the screen, and frowned.

17 notifications. 5 mentions. 2 DMs. One group chat blowing up.

And all of them pointed to the same thing: A tagged video. Captioned: “Lando Norris finding out Oscar Piastri has been married for five years. In real-time. On stage. Live. Absolute scenes.”

Nicole clicked the video, already sighing.

It was exactly what she expected—and somehow so much worse.

Oscar, calm and collected, casually admitting he was married. Lando Norris having an actual breakdown beside him. The interviewer making it her life’s mission to extract every crumb of intel. And Oscar? Completely unbothered. Like he was discussing a weather forecast.

Nicole watched Lando choke, scream, stand up, flail, and nearly combust.

And Oscar? “I thought you knew.” Nicole actually laughed out loud. It was either that or cry.

From the kitchen doorway, Edie poked his head in. “Why do I hear cackling?”

Nicole turned the volume up and played the “I thought you knew” line again.

Edie winced. “Oh. That’s going viral, isn’t it.”

Oscar. Her darling, chronically-understated son. Calm as ever. Dry as toast. Casually dropping “Well, I already did one of those things,” in response to a marriage or tattoo question. Watching poor Lando Norris implode on stage like a wet firework.

Nicole paused the video on Lando’s face in real-time breakdown.

Then sighed.

Deeply.

Because this? This wasn’t even surprising.

The real kicker wasn’t that the media didn’t know.

It was that Lando didn’t know.

Nicole had assumed at the very least Lando was in the loop. He and Oscar were joined at the hip during race weeks. Surely a small, minor detail like, say, being legally wed for half a decade would’ve come up between sim sessions.

But no.

Apparently not.

Because her son, in his infinite, baffling wisdom, had once again forgotten to share anything important about his personal life with anyone outside of a 20-meter radius of his home and maybe Mark Webber.

She muttered to herself as she scrolled through replies.

“Didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend… Didn’t tell me they got married… Didn’t tell me they were having a baby until she was three months pregnant and then only on accident…”

Now the whole world was catching up five years late.

She set her tea down. Reached for her reading glasses. Opened Twitter.

And, with the calm authority of a woman who had lived through every one of her son’s emotional plot twists, typed:

@nicolepiastri: I see the internet is discovering my son is married. Welcome to the club. I, too, found out after the fact 5 years ago. 👍

She hit “post.”

The post went instantly viral.

***

Group Chat: Piastri Fam ❤️

Nicole: Oscar. Darling. You forgot to mention you had a WIFE?

Chris: Bold strategy, son. Just casually let the global media find out you’ve been married for five years via a “would you rather get married or get a tattoo?” question. Stunning PR planning.

Edie: To be fair, he also forgot to mention it to Lando. Who he is teammates with. Who he shares planes with. Who he trains with. Who he considers a “close friend.” So. Not just the media.

Oscar: I didn’t forget. I just didn’t think it was news???

Hattie: YOU’RE A CELEBRITY. EVERYTHING IS NEWS. My friends thought I was lying when I said you were married. They thought I made it up. I had to show them our family group chat as proof.

Edie: You’re lucky Felicity’s cool. If I was married to you and you never told the world, I would’ve changed the locks 💅 AND I would’ve posted a dramatic black-and-white photo with a Taylor Swift lyric as the caption.

Mae: Can I be flower girl for your next wedding? (Only if it’s to Felicity again. Otherwise I’m not coming.)

Oscar: …I’m not having another wedding, Mae. Still married to the same wife. Still in love with her. Still feeding her sourdough obsession.

Nicole: Honestly, this is so you. I shouldn’t even be surprised. You didn’t even tell us you had a girlfriend. 

Chris: Let’s not forget the registry office call:  “Hey, we got married.”  So romantic. Really moved me to tears.

Nicole: YEAH, let’s not forget that you got MARRIED WITHOUT TELLING YOUR FAMILY!

Oscar: Everyone’s being very dramatic about this.

Hattie: BRO. YOU’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE. YEARS. AND LANDO JUST FOUND OUT. LIVE. IN FRONT OF CAMERAS. HE SPIT WATER.

Edie: I’ve watched the video 19 times now. It lives in my brain like a Shakespearean tragedy. The betrayal. The disbelief. The squeaky voice crack. Art.

Mae: He screamed so loud a kid in the front row CRIED.

Nicole: Also… since we’re all here… When are you going to mention the other secret? 😏

Oscar: …What secret?

Nicole: Oscar.

Chris: We mean the tiny human one, son.

Mae: BEE!!!! 🐝💛

Oscar: Bee is not a secret.

Hattie: She’s not a secret, no. But she’s also not in your driver bio, not on your Instagram, and not in any single interview you’ve ever done.

Edie: You talk about tire degradation more than your own child. Let that sink in.

Oscar: She’s our daughter. Not a marketing tool.

Nicole: We love that you’re private, sweetheart. But maybe next time you could… I don’t know… mention that you have a wife and daughter?

Chris: Not asking for a billboard, Oscar. Just a family Christmas card. Or, I don’t know, ONE social post that doesn’t feature suspension settings or protein shakes.

Hattie: Just wait till Lando finds out about Bee. You are going to have to physically restrain him.

Edie: His brain barely survived the “I’m married” part. He’s going to go into full reboot mode.

Nicole: He’s going to walk around muttering “He has a wife AND a child?!” for days.

Mae: We should film it. Make a documentary. “Lando Finds Out: The Sequel.”

Oscar: I would like to go one day without a Norris-induced disaster, please.

Chris:

Can’t wait for the Netflix edit. Drive to Survive, Season 7, Episode 3: The Secret Wife (and Daughter???) of Oscar Piastri

Oscar: …Traitors. All of you.

Nicole: No, darling. Just a family who loves you enough to roast you mercilessly.

Hattie: And maybe gently suggest that your entire online presence looks like a robot who eats chicken breast and drives fast.

Edie: We just want the world to know you’re more than carbon fiber and rehydration tablets. You have chickens. A wife. A kid. And still somehow come across as the most emotionally neutral man on the grid.

Mae: You’re like a secret cinnamon roll. With downforce.

Hattie: Oscar Piastri: Calm. Composed. Married with poultry.

Nicole: We love you, darling. But maybe consider letting people in a little next time?

Oscar: …Noted.

***

Mark Webber’s phone buzzed once. Then again. Then five more times in the span of a minute.

He looked at the screen, saw the names of three journalists he hadn’t spoken to in months, and immediately thought: What did Oscar do.

He hadn’t crashed. There hadn’t been any mid-race scandals. No random DNS. No sudden tire blowouts.

So Mark did the rational thing.

He ignored the calls and opened Twitter.

The first thing he saw was a video clip with the caption: “OSCAR PIASTRI DROPS MARRIAGE BOMBSHELL. LANDO NORRIS DIES LIVE ON STAGE.”

Mark blinked. Pressed play.

Thirty seconds in, he was already groaning.

By the time Oscar casually said, “We got married when I was eighteen,” Mark had his face in his hands.

And by the time Lando screamed “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” in what could only be described as an operatic shriek, Mark was laughing. Because of course.

Of course Oscar had managed to soft-launch a five-year marriage via fan Q&A and thought that was completely normal.

He hadn’t even texted Mark to give him a heads-up. Typical.

Mark took a long sip of his coffee and shook his head with fond exasperation. Then his phone rang again. Another journalist. This one he had to answer.

“Yeah?” Mark said, not bothering with a hello.

“Did you know Oscar was married?” came the breathless voice on the other end. “Like—legally? For five years? Who is she?”

Mark rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I knew.”

A beat of stunned silence.

“You did?!”

Mark leaned back in his chair. “Her name’s Felicity. She’s smarter than all of us combined and makes a lemon slice that could end wars, and rebuilt an engine while eight months pregnant. What else do you want to know?”

“Wait—rebuilt an engine?!”

Mark grinned. “Yeah.”

“But she’s not on his social media! She’s not even in interviews!”

“She doesn’t want to be,” Mark said simply. “She’s his wife, not his brand.”

The journalist let out a choked laugh. “God. She’s going to be a nightmare to research.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Mark said. 

***

Text Messages – Mark Webber & Oscar Piastri

Mark: Mate. You broke the internet.

Mark: Also. You made Lando scream on stage. Twice.

Mark: I’ve had three different journalists call me asking if I “always knew.”

Oscar: I didn’t think it would be a big deal??

Mark: You are insanely lucky that Felicity is brilliant and terrifying and the entire internet is now in love with her. Otherwise, PR would’ve had you doing apology interviews until Abu Dhabi.

Oscar:  She is brilliant. And terrifying. In the best way.

Also, I didn’t hide her.

Mark:  No, you just forgot to mention her to your employer, your teammate, the media, and most of the paddock. Tiny oversight.

Oscar:  I thought it was obvious.

Mark:  She hasn’t been on your socials once. You don’t even post photos of her shoes in the background like a normal soft-launching F1 driver.

Oscar:  Didn’t realize I needed to soft launch my marriage.

Mark:  I’ve also had three different journalists lose their minds when I told them I’ve met your wife. 

I told them that she’s smarter than all of us combined and makes a mean lemon slice.

You married up.

Oscar: I know.

Mark:  You really are whipped, huh?

Oscar:  Didn’t you know that already?

Mark: Yes, but it’s nice to see it confirmed in front of millions.

Oscar: I’m still not sure how Zak knew though.

Mark: Because I told him. After you signed your contract. He wanted to poach your lawyer. I told him that your “lawyer” was your very smart, very spite driven wife. You should probably tell people things yourself from now on.

Oscar: Noted.

Mark: Anyway. Tell Felicity we owe her a thank-you for soft-launching you into public affection. You’re officially not just “the calm one.” You’re “the poetic husband who tucks love notes into his racing gloves and married his high school sweetheart.”

Oscar: …That’s better than “emotionless robot,” I guess.

Mark: Way better. And hey— Proud of you, kid. Even if you forgot to tell the entire grid you had a wife. 

Oscar: Thanks, Mark. Means a lot.

Mark: …you should probably tell people about Bee one of these days though. 

Oscar: Will do.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridinvestigator:   🚨 THREAD: What we (the internet) know about the elusive, brilliant, chaotic Felicity Piastri , aka the Mysterious Mrs. Piastri, aka Oscar Piastri’s wife, aka the woman who accidentally became a legend overnight. 🧵👇

@/gridinvestigator: 1. First of all, yes—Oscar Piastri has been married for FIVE YEARS. No one knew. Not Lando. Not McLaren. Not us. He dropped it during a “Would you rather get married or get a tattoo?” question. He said: “Well, I already did one of those.”

Cue the meltdown.

@/gridinvestigator: 2. We then found out he married his high school sweetheart three weeks after graduation. Her name is Felicity. They met when they were 14. She let him borrow her pen. He never recovered. A literal Wattpad story.

@/gridinvestigator: 3. Oscar described her as “his best friend,” and “10/10, would always marry her again.” Meanwhile, Felicity said, “We were inevitable.” Honestly? Nicholas Sparks is shaking.

@/gridinvestigator: 4. Felicity Piastri didn’t soft-launch herself. She hard-launched via complete internet domination. Her Instagram is a mix of: 🧠 Academic papers 🛠️ Vintage car rebuilds 🍞 Artisan bread 🐔 Chickens in tiny sweaters 🔧 Engine grease 📐 Chaos

@/gridinvestigator: 5. Now. Here’s where things get ✨interesting✨ You know that quote Oscar made about “meeting her in school”? I FOUND THE YEARBOOK. Yep. Their boarding school published the 2019 edition online.

Sidenote: I think they both graduated a year early in 2019 and not 2020?!

@/gridinvestigator: 6. I clearly have too much time, because I went through both the 2020 and the 2019 Year Books until I found a girl named Felicity:  Felicity Leong - Dance, Science Club President, Mandarin Club,  Technology Club and concertmaster aka first violin in the orchestra. 

@/gridinvestigator: 7. Oh and if that aren’t enough extra curriculars activities: Guess who took 17 GCSEs (10 +/- are considered “normal”) and cleared them all with a 9, which is the highest grade you can get? Felicity. She also had the highest A- Level grades of the whole school in the maximum of 5 subjects you are allowed to take one year later. 

@/gridinvestigator: 8. The yearbook also mentions her getting a perfect math score and  winning a physics prize

@/gridinvestigator: 9. She graduated 2 (?!) years later in 2021 with a Master in Mechanical Engineering from Imperial College London. Don’t ask me how in the world she did that. 

@/gridinvestigator:  10. Felicity is basically the anti-WAG. No brand deals. No champagne yacht pics. Just her, an angle grinder, a loaf of bread, and a whiteboard full of math.

And somehow Oscar managed to keep this whole goddess-level woman a secret for five YEARS. 

@/gridinvestigator: 12. TLDR: – Her name is Felicity Leong – She was Oscar’s classmate

 – She’s terrifyingly smart – They eloped at 18 and told no one – She is now the internet’s most beloved mystery wife – Oscar is obsessed with her

 – she restores vintage cars, bakes like a god and solves equations for fun

***

The chickens were louder than usual this morning.

Felicity didn’t blame them. She felt a little off-kilter herself—though not because the global internet had decided to collectively lose its mind over the fact that she was married to a Formula 1 driver.

(Okay. Fine. That was probably part of it.)

She stepped into the coop in gumboots and a hoodie stolen from Oscar, hair still in a haphazard braid Bee had done the night before. She was met with indignant clucks and flapping wings.

“Alright, alright,” she muttered, scattering feed like a benevolent rural god. “You’re dramatic. We get it.”

Rosie, the scraggly rescue hen who thought she was a rooster, pecked at her ankle with all the fury of someone deeply offended by late breakfast.

“Take it up with the PR team,” Felicity muttered.

She dropped Bee off at kindergarten wearing old jeans with a patch on the knee and a t-shirt that said Math is not a spectator sport. One of the other mums stared a little too long at her before whispering something to a friend.

Felicity smiled and waved.

Felicity wasn’t surprised by the chaos. She had told Oscar it would happen eventually. Told him people would find out. That one day, he’d make some offhanded comment and the fandom would explode like Mentos in Coke.

What she hadn’t expected was for it to be over a “Would you rather” question. Or for it to involve Lando Norris nearly choking on his own spit on stage.

She’d watched the clip exactly once. With toast. And coffee.

Then she opened the garage.

Her current project sat like a sleeping beast under the suspended work lights: a 1969 Alfa Romeo Spider, stripped down to its bones. Half-sanded, one door missing, the kind of restoration that most people would call madness.

She called it Monday.

She put on her gloves, tied her hair back, and picked up the angle grinder.

Around noon, she stopped for coffee and opened Instagram. Her notifications were, unsurprisingly, a mess.

There was a fan edit of her baking sourdough while wielding a torque wrench. Someone had made a Twitter thread comparing her to various Marvel characters (Shuri with a sourdough starter was trending). Another post showed a blurry screenshot of her academic transcript with the caption “Oscar Piastri’s wife could do your homework, restore your car, out-bake your grandma and defeat you in hand-to-hand combat”.

She took a sip of coffee and muttered, “Dramatic.”

At 2:30 p.m., she washed the grease off her hands, swapped the engine oil scent for something vaguely lavender, and went to pick up Bee.

Bee ran out clutching a glittery rock and a half-drawn picture of Oscar holding a steering wheel and a loaf of bread. Felicity accepted both like priceless relics.

“Mama, can we bake today?” Bee asked as they walked to the car.

“Only if you promise not to eat half the cookie dough before we’re done.”

Bee grinned. “No promises.”

By 5 p.m., the kitchen smelled like vanilla and warm sugar. Bee was elbow-deep in flour. Senna had wandered inside again. Felicity didn’t bother kicking her out.

She kneaded the dough slowly, rhythmically. Felt the tension leave her shoulders.

Fame was fine. Chaos was familiar.

But this—flour under her nails, Bee humming beside her, a project waiting in the garage and a husband texting her to say he loved her between media obligations—this was the life she chose.

That night, after Bee was asleep—cuddled up with Button the frog and a bedtime story half-finished—Felicity sat on the back porch with a cup of tea and looked up at the sky.

So, the internet knew now. Fine.

She hadn’t done any of it for them.

She had fallen in love with a boy who drove like silence and calm, and kissed like he already knew how the future would feel. They’d built a life in soft corners and early mornings, in engine grease and sourdough, in whispered bedtime promises and braids and “Every lap”.

Let the world look.

This part wasn’t theirs anyway.

It was hers.

***

Transcript: Post-Race Media Pen – Chinese Grand Prix

Journalist: Oscar, first of all—great drive today. P8 in tricky conditions, well done.

Oscar: Thanks. Yeah, it was a bit chaotic out there, but we managed it well. Happy with the result.

Journalist: Okay, we have to ask—your name has been trending non-stop since last weekend. Not because of your race… but because of your wife. The internet’s gone absolutely feral.

Oscar: (blinks slowly)  Right.

Journalist #2: Felicity. Married five years. High school sweetheart. Literally no one knew. You didn’t mention her until a fan Q&A. Everyone’s calling it “the soft launch of the century.” Any comment?

Oscar: (shrugs slightly) She wasn’t a secret.

Journalist: (incredulous) But you never posted about her! Never talked about her! Lando said he didn’t know!

Oscar: I mean… I didn’t realize it was something I had to announce. We’ve been married for five years. It’s not new.

Journalist: So why didn’t you ever bring her up?

Oscar: My wife’s just… mine. She’s been there since before Formula 1, before most of this. We weren’t hiding anything. We just didn’t post about it. That’s all.

Journalist: So no regrets about how it came out?

Oscar:  Not really. People know now. That doesn’t change anything. She’s still my best friend. Still the smartest person I’ve ever met. Still the reason I’m able to do what I do and come home happy. 

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/formulafemmes “My wife’s just… mine.” Oscar Piastri said that with his whole chest. Softly. Calmly. Casually. And now I’m lying face down on the kitchen floor.

@/gridgossip the way oscar said “she’s still my best friend” with zero hesitation??? sir. we’re just trying to survive here. you didn’t have to be poetic at a media pen.

@/wifeloversanonymous “we weren’t hiding anything. we just didn’t post about it.” that’s the most mature, emotionally grounded response I’ve ever heard. I am so sorry for calling you a robot for three seasons.

@/felicitynation the way he said “she’s been there since before Formula 1” like she’s his origin story and not just his spouse. I’m not crying, you’re crying.

@/lan_doughnut Lando finding out Oscar has a wife: 😱😱😱 Oscar, two days later, sipping water like it’s no big deal: “she wasn’t a secret.” this man is unshakable.

@/piastrirealupdates “Still the reason I’m able to do what I do and come home happy.” Oscar Piastri you have exactly 2 seconds to stop or I will start writing poetry about you and your wife and your chickens.

@/drive_to_thirst oscar: “she’s mine. not mclaren’s. not the internet’s.” me: 💍🥺🥖🛐🧪🧡📐 (this is now the official felicity piastri emoji combo, don’t @ me)

@/chaoticwagtracker imagine being felicity piastri. you’re just out here baking bread, rebuilding carburetors, feeding chickens, and your husband is on global TV being like “she’s mine. she makes me happy. she’s my best friend.” like WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THAT???

@/softpitstops someone check on every F1 PR manager. because oscar just made 90% of the grid look emotionally underdeveloped in 20 seconds.

@/felicityfanaccount it’s the shrug. it’s the “she wasn’t a secret” shrug. like he genuinely didn’t think we’d care. like he genuinely thought this was normal. the bar is now in another galaxy.

@/oscarupdates “my wife’s just… mine.” Sir?? You can’t just say that and walk off like you didn’t emotionally rupture 2 million people??

@/felicitybrainrot oscar calling felicity “his best friend” and “the reason he comes home happy” after casually revealing she’s smarter than him??? i am lying face down on the floor. do not disturb.

@/gridchaosadmin “we weren’t hiding anything, we just didn’t post about it” is SO MUCH more romantic than any soft-launch story I’ve ever heard. he didn’t even try to curate it. he just lived it.

@/burners4felicity oscar: she’s mine. me: i am normal. i am rational. i am going feral in the parking lot. i am

@/lan_doughnut lando: “he never even mentioned her!” oscar: “she’s still the reason i’m able to do what i do and come home happy.” we are living through a modern shakespearean drama and its name is “The Piastri Marriage Reveal”

@/formula1romance he said “she’s still my best friend” and i felt that in my bloodstream. like. she’s not his aesthetic. she’s not his PR move. she’s his person. i’m crying and baking bread in her honor.

@/piastriwifeupdates “my wife’s just mine” is the kind of phrase that gets etched into a wedding ring or tattooed in tiny script on someone's ribs. you don’t recover from that.

@/felicitypiastrifanclub “we didn’t post about it, that’s all.” you’re telling me these two eloped at 18, never once posted each other, built a life with chickens and vintage cars, and just EXISTED while being soulmates?????@/drivetosurvivepls Netflix watching Oscar Piastri go viral for being emotionally devastating in 8 words or less and frantically rewriting their entire season outline

[katnipp]

stop looking at me like that— sophia laforteza

genre: FLUFFF🐼

synopsis: sophia tries to act annoyed, but y/n’s loud, goofy ways keep stealing her hoodies — and maybe her heart, too

—

the first time sophia hears y/n speak, it’s because she’s yelling across the hallway at 8:12 in the morning.

“IS THAT A PANDA ON YOUR SWEATER OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?”

the girl she’s yelling at shrieks in laughter. sophia blinks. blinks again. looks down at her own hoodie — oversized, black, with a little reaper embroidered on the sleeve — and adjusts her headphones.

she doesn’t do mornings. she especially doesn’t do mornings with people like that.

and then y/n sees her.

sophia’s mistake is making eye contact.

y/n lights up like a human firework. “you! you’re in my bio class!”

“unfortunately,” sophia mutters, trying to walk faster.

“you always wear those headphones,” y/n says, suddenly matching her pace. “what are you listening to? something depressing? let me guess—cigarettes after sex?”

sophia gives her a long, blank stare. “god, you’re annoying.”

y/n beams like it’s the best compliment she’s ever received. “you are listening to them!”

⸻

by the time it’s october, y/n has made it her life’s mission to make sophia flinch. or smile. or maybe fall in love with her, if things go really well.

every day is some new form of ridiculousness: dramatic love letters slipped into sophia’s locker, shouting “hi girlfriend!” across the cafeteria, drawing hearts around sophia’s name on the group project sheet. sophia never responds—just rolls her eyes and goes back to sipping black coffee like it’s laced with apathy.

and yet.

she never moves away when y/n sits next to her in class.

never tells her to leave when she plops into the seat across from her in the library, swinging her legs and humming off-key.

she pretends she hates it. she pretends so hard.

but her hoodie sleeves always get tugged over her hands when y/n gets too close. her cheeks always turn a little pinker when y/n winks at her during lab. and every now and then��when she thinks no one’s looking—she smiles.

just a little.

just for herself.

⸻

it’s after school on a thursday when it finally happens.

sophia’s in the classroom alone, headphones in, phone forgotten somewhere on the floor. she’s not studying—just lying on her back in the center of the room, staring at the ceiling. hoodie up. mascara smudged. thinking about nothing and everything.

then the door creaks.

“hey emo girl.”

sophia groans. “oh my god.”

“you left your notebook,” y/n says, walking in like she owns the place. “i mean, unless you meant to doodle your little goth poetry all over the periodic table again.”

“leave.”

“you love me.”

“i hate you.”

“you love me so much,” y/n grins, dropping the notebook beside her and then—without hesitation—lying down right next to her on the hardwood floor. “see? this is nice. we’re bonding.”

sophia sighs loudly. “what do you want?”

y/n hums. “your hoodie. your number. your heart.”

“get. out.”

“you didn’t say no.”

sophia turns her head, finally looking at her. “you’re unbelievable.”

y/n’s eyes are bright. she’s lying with her hands behind her head, a smug little smile on her face like she’s just won something. “you like unbelievable.”

“i really don’t.”

“you let me follow you around school like a lost puppy. admit it. you’d miss me if i stopped.”

sophia’s lips twitch. just barely. “i’d throw a party.”

“a party where you cry because your favorite nuisance stopped flirting with you,” y/n says sweetly.

she shifts closer. their arms touch. sophia tenses, but doesn’t pull away.

“i’m going to kill you,” she mutters.

“but you’d cry at my funeral,” y/n replies.

silence.

and then, softly:

“…maybe.”

y/n grins. it’s not obnoxious this time—it’s soft. quiet. something that makes sophia’s chest feel weird.

“can i stay here with you?” y/n asks.

sophia doesn’t answer.

she just closes her eyes.

and doesn’t move away.

⸻

the next week, y/n shows up at school wearing a black hoodie two sizes too big. the sleeves are too long. the fabric is familiar.

sophia sees it and nearly walks into a locker.

“you left it in the classroom,” y/n says casually, spinning in front of her. “finders keepers.”

sophia doesn’t say anything.

y/n takes a step closer. “unless you wanna trade. this for your number?”

“…you’re the worst,” sophia breathes, but her voice cracks halfway through.

“say you love me,” y/n teases.

“never.”

“say it.”

“fine,” sophia huffs. “i loathe you. with every fiber of my black soul.”

y/n laughs. “close enough.”

and sophia watches her walk away in her hoodie—with that stupid bounce in her step, and her fingers tucked into the sleeves—and thinks, for the first time ever:

she might be completely screwed.

because she doesn’t hate her.

not even close.

—

a/n: sorry for the mass posting😭😭 i just need to clear some space in my drafts

[crdteezv]

His #1 Fan - Haechan

Pairing:  !idol! Haechan x perv loser fangirl! gf! reader

Genre: idol! au, smut

Synopsis: You told him you were just a fan. But behind closed doors? You were obsessed—saving every fancam, moaning his name into your pillow, and running a secret fan account filled with god knows what. Haechan never suspected a thing… until he came home early and found it all. And now that he knows what you really are?

A pervert.

 Warnings: smut. !mean/hard dom! haechan, loser/perv sub!reader, reader has an unhealthy obsession with him and is lowkey creepy at times… mutual masturbation, phone sex?, size kink,  oral (giving), fingering (receiving), sex toy use, pillow humping, HEAVY humiliation and degradation, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 5.4k words

A/N: Fair warning—this fic is pretty disturbing, and if you’re not comfortable with any of the tags above, please refrain from reading. This one’s way more intense than most of what I’ve written before.

Also, sorry for disappearing for months… I had zero motivation to write until now!!

AND I did not forget about the NCT prompt requests!! A bunch of them are still in the works, so keep an eye out

You were a fan first. Always.

You’d been following Haechan for years. Not casually. Not like one of those girls who watches a few stages and thinks she’s obsessed because she knows his birthday and blood type. No. You were deep into it. Sick with it. You're the kind of fan people make callout threads about.

You studied him.

Every stage outfit—categorized by tour, color scheme, and accessory. Every fancam—even the shaky, blurry 360p ones where the mic check overshadowed his voice—downloaded, backed up, renamed, and stored in folders sorted by era, hair color, etc. You had tags for expressions like his smirks or lip bites. Livestreams were recorded the second they went up, even the ones that got deleted halfway through. You had them saved forever.

You had clips titled things like "his moan???" and “rude ass stare.mp4.” You watched them on loop. 

You came to them.

At first, you told yourself it wasn’t that bad. You weren’t trying to date him. You didn’t want to be his girlfriend. You wanted to be fucked. Used.

You wanted to be some stupid little fan he could bend over the edge of a hotel bed and ruin—nothing but a warm hole to fuck until your throat was raw from moaning and your legs were too weak to stand. 

Your private account—@haebrainrot606—was the place where you said all the shit you’d never admit aloud.

he laughs like he knows i’d let him use my throat if he asked

i just know he gives the craziest head i want his face shoved in between my legs

i want to make a mess on his thigh and ride it till i cry

The tweet that went viral wasn’t even your worst one.

i want him to ignore me while he jerks off. just use my mouth. don’t even look at me

15k likes.. People were going crazy in the replies. No one knew who you were. You never posted your face. But your followers? They knew. They understood. They were sick just like you. 

You weren’t a fan.

You were a pervert.

And you were fine with that.

Until it stopped being a fantasy.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You were working some nothing backstage job at a music show—wrangling cables, keeping your head down, trying not to get caught staring. You tried not to stare too hard when he walked by. 

But he saw you.

He looked at you.

Really looked.

He asked for your name, then asked if you were free that weekend—and you said yes, way too quickly. You went out that weekend, nervous as hell, trying not to shake through the whole thing. You lied—told him you liked his group, but that you weren’t really into K-pop like that. You tried to act cool, like you weren’t always imagining him bending you over in one of the backstage closets and fucking you raw.

He honestly thought you were cute.

You started dating not long after.

Nobody knew. Not the fans. Not your friends. Not your mutuals on Twitter who’d die if they found out the girl thirst-tweeting about getting face-fucked by Haechan was actually dating him.

He didn’t know either.

Not about the account. Not about the folder on your phone marked simply “H.” Not about the screenshots of his hands or the dozens of clips of his hips during choreography. Not about the draft in your Notes app describing him bending you over his kitchen table and muttering, “Don’t fucking speak unless it’s to beg.”

He didn’t know you got off to them. Regularly.

He had no idea you watched his fancams with a vibrator pressed to your cunt. That sometimes you got so high on him, you ignored his texts just to ride your own hand through another orgasm.

He thought you were shy.

He thought you were sweet. Innocent.

He thought you missed him when he went on tour because you loved him.

You did. That part was true.

But you also missed the weight of his cock on your tongue. The way he grunted when you gagged around him. The way he groaned—low and casual, like he didn’t even realize it.  You missed how sometimes—just sometimes—he’d look at you while you were on your knees like you’d pissed him off, like he was two seconds away from saying ‘shut the fuck up and take it.’

You missed that look.

You loved him so much it made you sick. Loved the way he touched you like you were breakable. Like he was holding back. Loved the weight of his body over yours, slow and deep, fucking the air from your lungs one thrust at a time.

You wanted him to know.

You wanted to show him the account. Scroll through every tweet. Every draft. Every voice note of his moaning that you looped until your thighs were slick and your sheets were ruined.

You wanted him to snap.

You were soaking, just thinking about it.

His hoodie clung to your skin, black and oversized, still heavy with his cologne. You had your vibrator in one hand, your phone in the other. Fancam loaded. Volume low.

You rolled onto your stomach, shoved a pillow under your hips, and tucked the vibe against your clit.

You were already wet. The second it pulsed, your breath stuttered. The buzz vibrated through your spine, soft and relentless. Your hips rolled down into it, desperate for pressure, for anything.

The screen showed him on stage—sweat-soaked, hair messy, jean jacket clinging to his shoulders. He was practically fucking the air, like the audience wasn’t even there—like the lights, the screams, none of it mattered. His eyes stayed locked straight ahead, jaw clenched, hips grinding with that same brutal rhythm, like he was already inside someone. Like he knew you were out there, watching him lose control—and wishing it was you he was doing it to.

And God, his face. That smirk. Those eyes.

You pressed the vibe harder.

Your moan slipped out soft and broken. Your thighs clenched. You moved against it, slow and messy, your slick coating the pillow underneath you. You didn’t care. Your body was already curling, every nerve drawn tight.

“Fuck…”

The moan echoed through your room, quiet but desperate.

Your mind filled with his voice—imaginary, yet it felt so real

“You’re really humping a pillow, baby?”

You gasped. Your hips bucked. Your hands twisted in the sheets.

“You get off to me like this every night, huh?”

You did.

And you were so close.

“Fucking pathetic.”

You came fast and hard—legs twitching, hips jerking, body trembling.

But the shame didn’t stick.

Because you weren’t done.

You didn’t want to be done.

You turned the vibe higher. Pressed it back against your clit.

You were sobbing. Moaning through it. Guttural, aching sounds you couldn’t even bite back.

You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe.

And then—

Your phone rang.

Your whole body jerked. The vibrator still buzzed mercilessly against your clit.

Caller ID lit up the screen.

Haechan ♥️

Your heart dropped. Your brain fried.

You stared. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

And then you answered.

“Hi,” you gasped, voice hoarse and fucked-out.

Silence.

A pause.

Then his voice came through the line, low and smug, and knowing.

“You sound fucked out already.”

You choked on air.

“That for me?”

You whimpered. A sound so broken it wasn’t even a word.

He laughed.

And that was when you realized—he knew.

“Jesus, baby,” Haechan said, voice soaked in disbelief. “You miss me that bad?”

You nodded before you remembered he couldn’t see you. Tried to speak, but your throat clenched around the sound. The vibrator was still humming against your swollen clit—slow, cruel pulses dragging you up and down the edge like it had all the time in the world to make you suffer.

“What are you doing right now?” His voice dropped, smoother and a little darker now. “Tell me.”

You couldn’t. You couldn’t even breathe, let alone form words. Shame burned through your face, your chest, all the way down to your trembling thighs.

He clicked his tongue—sharp, almost condescending.

“Oh my god. Are you actually touching yourself right now?”

The orgasm that had been teasing at your spine flared hotter.

“I didn’t think you were serious. You really can’t help yourself, huh?” he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Bet you’ve been humping that sad little pillow of yours like it’s my thigh.”

You choked on a moan.

He heard it.

“Aw, baby. You’re so fucking gross.”

He wasn’t mad. That was the worst part. He sounded fond and weirdly amused. Like the whole thing was endearing—your soaked sheets, your ruined underwear, your whimpers breaking apart in the back of your throat.

“You got the vibe still on?”

You nodded. “Yes,” you gasped. “Still—still on—”

“How long have you been like this?”

You had to think. Or maybe just lie.

“An h-hour?” It came out small. Shaky. Fragile.

He exhaled through a soft laugh—dark, amused, and just a little breathless.

“Jesus Christ.” A pause. “Did you cum already?”

You hesitated.

“…Twice.”

His groan bled into the speaker. It was quiet, low, and raw. It sounded like it had slipped past his teeth before he could hold it back.

“Fuck. You’re obsessed.”

You whimpered again, full-body tremble, everything clenched and aching and tight.

“Say it,” he said, voice cutting like a blade between your ribs. “Say what you want.”

You wanted to tell him you’d been jerking off to his fancams, but instead, you just said, “I want you to use me,” the words spilling out all at once, your voice cracking. “I want you to know how desperate I am. Please, Haechan, I want to be yours, I want—”

Your breath caught in your throat. The vibrator ground against your clit like it wanted to break you, and your whole body tensed with a cry.

“Keep going,” he breathed. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You didn’t know what you were saying anymore. It poured out of you—shameless and breathless.

“I think about your dick every night. I dream about your voice, your fingers, the way you fuck—rough, mean, fast—I want you to choke me—”

You screamed as it hit you.

Your orgasm exploded through your spine, brutal and unstoppable. You bit your own arm to keep from sobbing out loud. Your legs locked up, your hips twitched, and your cunt throbbed around nothing, dripping slick down your thighs and into the ruined pillow beneath you.

The vibrator kept buzzing.

Too much.

You clawed at it, yanked it away with shaky fingers, body twitching uncontrollably. You were soaked. The pillow beneath you was drenched. You couldn’t see straight and your vision blurred,

He was still on the line.

You heard him breathing slowly and steadily.

“…Are you okay?” he asked finally, voice wrecked. Like he’d been jerking off the whole time and was pretending not to.

You nodded, then laughed, the sound breaking apart halfway through.

“No,” you exclaimed. “I’m fucking exhausted now.”

He let out a breathy laugh at your response; he found it cute—how easily you fell apart, how quickly you turned into a desperate, needy mess just for him.

“I’m coming home in two days, by the way,” he said, tone soft but heavy, like a warning, like a promise.

You swallowed hard.

“You better be ready.”

You weren’t.

Not even close.

Two days later, he didn’t knock.

No warning. No text. No call.

He just walked in.

You were curled up in his bed, legs folded beneath you, phone glowing in your hand, face buried in his pillow like you were trying to smother yourself with the scent of him.

The same video played on your screen. The one you’d watched too many times. Him in the clear box. Sweating, smirking, thrusting so deep into the air it felt personal. The volume was too high. His voice filled the room—hot and arrogant and cocky—and you were too far gone to notice the door.

But you heard his voice in real time. 

“What the fuck is this?”

Your blood ran cold.

You turned slowly. Almost robotically. Like maybe if you didn’t move too fast, you could lie your way out of it.

He stood in the doorway. Still. Calm.

Too calm.

His eyes tracked everything— your flustered expression, your soaked panties half-pulled down your thighs, the spent vibrator glowing faintly at your side. And your phone. Playing him.

You moved too late.

He was already crossing the room, grabbing the phone out of your hand. You didn’t even have time to blink.

He saw everything.

The tweets. The clips. The saved voice notes. The smut drafts in your Notes app.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

His thumb flicked across your screen.

Then he read one out loud.

“‘I want to be manhandled by Haechan so bad.’” His gaze snapped up. “Wow.”

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

He scrolled again.

“‘I want him to use me so bad I don’t give a fuck anymore.’” His head tilted slightly. He looked almost impressed. 

“Damn, baby.”

You scrambled. “It’s not—I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” he cut in, voice sharp now. “Didn’t think I’d find out?”

You fell silent.

He laughed. A single, low sound, cold and amused.

“All this time,” he said, stepping closer, eyes scanning your face like you were something he didn’t quite recognize. “You’ve been getting off to me in secret. Watching me over and over, like my fancams were made to feed your obsession. Lying to my face. Playing innocent.”

He stepped closer, phone still in his hand, and you instinctively backed up against the headboard.

“You’ve been jerking off to me like a fucking pervert. Fucking your pillow like a bitch in heat. Did you even want me, or did you just want to get off?”

You whimpered. Shook your head. But it was useless.

He was already reaching for you, already grabbing your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks until your lips parted with a soft gasp.

“You’re fucking lucky I like you.”

Then he climbed onto the bed, knees pinning your thighs down, eyes flashing with something darker than desire.

You couldn’t look at him. Your eyes stayed down, body trembling like it knew what was coming.

“I—I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely a thread.

“Oh, baby,” he muttered, dark amusement curling through every syllable. “You’re gonna be.”

He dropped your phone onto the bed with a loud, deliberate thud—screen still lit, still open to your account—and you flinched like it’d struck you.

Then his hand was on you.

Fingers curled under your chin, rough and possessive, tilting your face up until you couldn’t look anywhere but him. His grip was firm, his eyes burning with something far beyond anger.

“You ever think about telling me?”

All you could do was swallow hard; your throat tightened, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him.

“You were gonna take that little account to the grave, huh?”

Still nothing.

He scoffed, like he already knew. Like he’d already read every tweet, every caption, every sick little reply.

And then—without warning—he yanked his hoodie off your body. The fabric dragged across your skin as you gasped, arms instinctively crossing over your chest like you could shield yourself from his gaze.

Pointless.

You were bare underneath. Exposed.

He looked at you slowly as if he was analyzing you.

And everything in his face changed.

His anger didn’t even go away. It just shifted into something colder, hungrier. His eyes darkened, dragging slowly and deliberately down the length of your body, lingering at the subtle twitch of your thighs. His gaze caught where your slick had already started to spill, glistening at your swollen cunt—leaking like you were begging without words.

 He looked at you like it was the first time—like he was finally seeing you the way you’ve always seen yourself.

“You were jerking off to me just now, weren’t you?” he asked, voice low, deadly calm.

Your face burned. “Y-Yes.”

He didn’t even blink. “You’re sick.”

You nodded. “I know.”

He stepped closer, closing the space between you in one stride. One hand reached for the back of your neck, gripping tight, fingers splayed wide, ownership in his touch.

“You’ve been jerking off to me every night like some pathetic loser,” he growled, pulling you close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. “You moan into your pillows while touching yourself to the thought of me. You even write your dirty little fanfics and tweet things you’d never dare say to my face—still acting like you’re not already mine.”

“But I-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped. “I’m not done.”

You shut it.

His eyes dropped again, scanning your trembling thighs, the way your fingers twitched at your sides. The way your body was begging without saying a word.

“You couldn’t wait two days?” he muttered. “Two fucking days without touching yourself like a slut?”

You shook your head, barely breathing.

A slow, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“No self-control,” he whispered.

His hand drifted from your throat, down over your chest, between the curve of your tits, across your stomach, slow enough to make you tremble.

“You like this,” he said. “Being caught? Being humiliated?”

You opened your mouth to answer.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“…Yes,” you whispered, throat tight. “I do.”

His fingers skimmed your thighs, teasing the inside, not touching where you needed him—just grazing, just letting you squirm.

“Now you’re gonna sit here,” he said, voice rough. “And you’re gonna watch me go through that little fan account of yours. Every tweet. Every thread. Every disgusting thought you’ve had about my dick.”

You nodded quickly, breath hitching.

The second he told you to drop—you did. Your knees hit the floor like it was second nature to you.

He didn’t waste time.

Didn’t even look at you for long. Just unzipped his pants, pulled his cock out—hard, angry-looking, flushed to the tip like it took every tweet personally.

“Open,” he ordered.

You opened your mouth, and he shoved his cock past your lips without hesitation. No warm-up, no mercy. Just thick, heavy weight pushing into your throat like you were nothing but a hole to fuck. You choked immediately, lips stretching wide, spit spilling down your chin.

Both hands tangled in your hair as he held your head in place. Then he started to move.

“Let’s see if you suck dick as good as you tweet about it.”

You gagged, eyes watering. You tried to keep up—to breathe through your nose, relax your throat—but he didn’t give you the chance. He used you. Fucked into your mouth like he owned it.

When your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering, he chuckled darkly.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he muttered, pulling you back just far enough to watch the spit stretch from your lips to his cock. “You like this. You like being used.”

You nodded, tears sliding down your cheeks, spit dripping down to your chest. You were shaking.

“It’s pathetic.”

He shoved your head down again, and you took it. Gagged, swallowed around it. And he still didn’t stop.

He grabbed your phone with one hand and started scrolling again—Like your sobbing throat and strangled gags were nothing more than background noise to him, just his new favorite sound.

Your head already bobbing, spit-slick and twitching from every shove, every taunting roll of his hips like he was trying to bruise your esophagus on purpose. He had one hand tangled in your hair, the other casually lifting your phone, thumb swiping upward as if your tears pooling down his thighs weren’t even worth acknowledgment.

"Oh, what’s this one say?" he mused, even as you spluttered, spit bubbling around his shaft. He tilted the phone slightly, screen lighting his cheek with that faint glow. 

"'If he looked at me like that we’re fucking in that box in front of everyone I don't give af.'"

He barked a laugh and shoved his hips forward—not hard, just deep, intentional, burying himself until your throat was full of him and nothing else. Until your nose was pressed up against his happy trail and your eyes blurred with tears.

"Did you actually tweet this? " he taunted, holding the phone up, showing you the exact fancam—the fancam that you came to so many times.—paused right on that moment. His own eyes staring into the camera, pupils dark, jaw tight, every muscle in his body glistening in that glass box during that impossible performance. He hadn’t broken eye contact once with the lens, and you knew it. You’d watched it a hundred times. You tweeted about it.

He thrust again and your whole body jolted, a garbled whimper dragging out of your chest as he tapped the screen, watching himself lock eyes with the camera. With you. Over and over. That same unrelenting stare.

"Fucking in that box in front of everyone, huh?" he repeated, half-laughing now, breathless from how tight your throat clamped down when he quoted you. “God, you’re such a slut… wanting me to fuck you in front of all those people.”

You tried to breathe, tried to speak, but he just rocked into your mouth again, harder this time, making your shoulders hitch and your lungs beg. The phone was still in his hand, still glowing, still showing the loop of him staring into your soul.

“Bet you only said that so everyone would know I belong to you.”

God, he was so right.

You liked the idea of every single one of his fans, your mutuals, your followers, the whole damn world—watching that fancam and reading your tweets and knowing none of them could ever have him. Because he belonged to you. And more than that, you belonged to him.

You were his favorite fangirl.

Your whole body jerked, trembling. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as your throat fought to accommodate all of him and failed, again and again.

You were choking. He was scrolling. Perfect harmony.

His expression twisted, something between disgusted and turned on.

Then he pulled out with a wet pop, shoving your head aside like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

“On the bed.”

You scrambled up, legs barely working, knees weak as you crawled onto the mattress—still damp from earlier, still smelling like your last orgasm. You lay back, legs spread wide, open like muscle memory.

He stared.

Then smacked your clit.

Hard.

You screamed, body arching, hands fisting the sheets.

“You’re soaking just from me being mean to you?” he scoffed. “God, you’re such a fucking loser.”

Then he sank two fingers inside you—deep, rough, fast.

No warning.

They curled immediately, stroking the spot that made you jerk with a cry, your whole body thrumming with need.

You tried to breathe. Tried to stay still. But he was relentless—crooked fingers, wet sounds, his thumb grazing your clit just enough to drive you mad.

He leaned in close, voice pouring into your ear.

“All those dirty little posts?” he whispered. “All those disgusting tweets? You really thought I wouldn’t find out?”

You whimpered.

“You’re a fucking perv.”

He grabbed your phone again, still open on the mattress, still glowing.

“Let’s see what else my number-one fan’s been up to…”

He read aloud, slow and mocking.

“‘God, his hands are so pretty I just wish he could shove them deep inside and not stop no matter how many times I tell him to.’”

He looked at you, smirking. “My hands, baby? Out of everything? That’s what gets you off?”

You couldn’t speak. You were too far gone. Too humiliated. 

“You’re such a pervert for me.”

His fingers moved faster. Wet. Unforgiving. Fucking into you with no rhythm, no care—just force and pleasure. Until your legs started shaking and your walls clenched tight and you felt yourself teetering again.

And then—

He stopped.

Pulled out.

You sobbed. A broken, desperate sound.

He clicked his tongue. “Oh, princess. You really thought I’d let you cum after all that gross things you wrote about me?”

You shook your head, begged silently, grinding against nothing.

“You don’t deserve shit from me.”

He unzipped his pants again, pulled his cock out, slapped it against your clit once—twice—just to watch your hips jerk. Your back arched. You needed him. Needed it.

“Mmm, baby,” he said, voice honey-thick and mocking. “Look at it. The cock you’ve been tweeting about. The one you came to.”

Then he flipped you onto your stomach, shoved your face into the mattress, and fucked into you in one vicious, brutal thrust.

You screamed.

“You don’t even deserve to be fucked like this,” he snarled, hips already slamming into yours. “But I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You cried out again. Again. Every thrust shoved you further into the bed, stretched you wider, fucked you raw. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“God, listen to you,” he groaned. “You’re dripping down my cock, baby. Fucking soaked. All for me.”

The sheets smelled like him. Like cologne, sweat, and sex. It was overwhelming. It was perfect.

You couldn’t stop shaking.

Your orgasm was building again.

“Aww, don’t tell me you’re gonna cum already,” he said, voice low. “We barely fucking started.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even form a sound. You didn’t even hear him anymore—his constant taunts and teasing were a blur. All you could feel was his cock pounding into you and your orgasm building like a scream in your throat. All that registered now was the relentless rhythm of his cock slamming into you, slick and punishing, hitting that spot again and again with no mercy, no slowing, no breath between thrusts. Your body wasn't keeping up, and your brain had left hours ago.

And then it hit.

The orgasm came without warning—sudden, blinding, violent. Muscles clamped tight around his cock, walls spasming uncontrollably, thighs shaking as the wave surged through your core and stole every breath. Stars bloom into your vision, and you feel yourself getting dizzy. A scream tore from your throat, raw and broken, muffled into the sheets as your entire body trembled and shook. The convulsions came hard, hips jolting, knees knocking into his without rhythm, and still—he didn’t stop.

He grunted. Slowed just enough to mock you.

“God,” he hissed, breathless, looking down at the mess you’d become. “You’re so fucking gross. You really came that fast?”

Just grabbed your aching body and flipped you over like a ragdoll, letting you bounce onto your back, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“Now it’s my turn.”

And you didn’t get to breathe. Not even once.

He shoved into you in a single, brutal thrust, hips slamming against yours with obscene wet heat. You squealed—sharp and involuntary, a high-pitched gasp that twisted into a choked sob. Your legs instinctively locked around him, thighs clenching at his waist, your arms snapping up around his neck as your whole body reacted with desperate need. He filled you, absolutely filled you, cock stretching your sore pussy wide open again with zero warning, and it was too much.

“Fuck—” he groaned, pressing his chest flush to yours, his entire weight pinning you down into the bed. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t even lift your head. His cock ground inside you, thick and brutal and unrelenting, while he buried his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of your sweat.

“You’re so fucking small under me,” he muttered, voice hoarse with lust, dragging his hips slow now, long, deliberate thrusts that made your back arch off the mattress. His cock slid in deep, too deep, forcing your body to take every inch like it had no choice.

You could barely breathe. He was suffocating you, swallowing your air, pinning your wrists back down with his hands wrapped tight around them like shackles. His broad shoulders caged you in like he wanted to drown you in him. His cock bullied your pussy with every thrust, splitting you open, dragging slick out of you with wet, squelching sounds that made your ears burn.

And you loved it.

You loved being held down. Loved the crushing weight of him on your body, the way his arms flexed over yours, how every part of you was forced to mold to him.

He started fucking harder. Hips snapping forward, slamming into you without rhythm, without restraint—just force. You cried out with each impact, your arms tightening around his neck, trying to anchor yourself to anything as he railed you into the mattress.

Then his mouth found your ear.

“I still can’t believe it,” he whispered, his voice soft and dangerous, like a knife against skin. “You were running a fan account the whole time.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, sweat dripping from his temple onto your flushed cheeks, hips slamming forward as he spoke. Each word landed with a violent thrust.

“All those pathetic little things you posted about me—every night—while I was already fucking you like this in my bed.”

You gasped, trying to stammer something, anything, but the air was gone, and so were your thoughts. His fingers gripped your jaw tightly, forcing your gaze back to his. His eyes were wild. 

Possessive.

He than whispered in your ear “Don’t you think that’s a little fucking selfish?”

“I—I'm sorry—I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did," he cut you off, cock drilling into you harder, his voice thick with betrayal—and something darker. “You wanted both. You wanted to be my girlfriend and my #1 fan all at the same time. You wanted to write all that crazy shit about me and still look me in the eyes like nothing was wrong.”

Your body jolted as his cock slammed deeper, harder, shoving you up the bed until your head smacked into the headboard, breath ripped from your lungs.

“You’re mine,” he exclaimed. “You’ve always been mine. And no one gets to know that my biggest fan is a gross, pervy little slut I call my girlfriend.”

And that did it. Again.

Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and unstoppable. Your legs shook around him, your voice cracked in a hoarse, broken scream that you buried in his shoulder, teeth scraping skin. You clung to him like a lifeline as he fucked you through it—faster now, chasing his own release with those brutal, punishing thrusts that sent the bedframe banging against the wall.

Then you felt it.

The heat. The flood. His cock twitched hard inside you, buried to the hilt, as thick, his warm cum spilling deep into your cunt. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you like he wanted to drown in you, hips still twitching, grinding in lazy aftershocks as your body milked him for every drop.

You were full. Overstuffed. Sore, soaked, still trembling. His cum leaked out of you in hot, messy spurts, mixing with your slick on the sheets. You could feel the mess under you, the wet sound your bodies made every time he shifted slightly, still inside you, cock still hard.

He didn’t move. Just collapsed on top of you, chest heaving against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist like he didn’t care if you suffocated under him.

He stayed there.

You stayed under.

His cock twitched inside your pulsing cunt. Your heartbeat pounded against his ribs. You were nothing but a mess under him, and he loved it.

After a long silence, he reached over, his arm dragging lazily across the mattress, and grabbed your phone from where it had fallen off the bed earlier. He unlocked it without asking.

Scrolled.

Paused.

“I thought about it,” he said suddenly, voice low, husky. “But I don’t want you to delete your account.”

You blinked. Tried to process through the fog.

“…W-wait. What?”

“I said,” he repeated, eyes flicking to yours with that same glint of cruel amusement, “you should keep it.”

Your stomach dropped through the bed. You stared, eyes wide and raw. “No. No, wait—”

He leaned in close, mouth brushing yours with a smirk.

“Don’t get all shy now, baby,” he said with a low chuckle, eyes glinting. “Not after you posted that 43 tweet thread about how you’d let me facefuck you while I played League.”

You wanted to vanish, to die, to claw your way under the bed and disappear forever.

But he just kissed you again. Slow this time. Warm. Sickeningly sweet. Sinister.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips. “Don’t worry.”

He pulled back and winked.

“Post whatever you want. Just know I’ll be watching…”

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter six

⭐︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, killing zombies, mentions of blood

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another kind of tension starts building between you and Steve the longer you spend time on the road.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: Things are getting interesting y'all. This is only gonna get better from now on hehe. And a quick reminder, @hellfire--cult helped me with this chapter as always (this is our baby) (Also, I think it's so easy to tell who writes what parts. Roe always writes in past tense, while I write in present tense and most of the time I'm too lazy to fix it oops)

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter ⭐︎ next chapter

☀︎

Eddie bops his head to some 70s song as he drives on the lone and abandoned highway, tapping the steering wheel, he hums along. Nancy is in the passenger seat next to him with her feet on the dashboard and a book in her hands.

Steve sits on the bench across from you, his hands are on the table, fingers playing with his switchblade as he looks out the window. It’s raining today. Your eyes follow the raindrops that roll down the windows. 

There is a comfortable silence between all of you, only the sound of the music and the rain fills the big RV. It’s almost odd how normal this feels like you are just a group of friends going on a road trip and not one trying to survive while making it to the other side of the country after the world ended. 

It’s easy to pretend at certain moments. When you are driving through parts of the country that had been untouched by the upside down. Where nature is still blooming and alive, where the roads aren’t blocked by abandoned cars. In those moments it’s easy to pretend that you are just a group of friends doing this for fun. But those moments of pretend only last for a few seconds, until you take a look at your clothes that you can’t stand anymore or when you eat another bowl of something canned but worst of all; when you have to look over your shoulder after every step that you take, fearing something or someone creeping up on you and your friends. 

“Guys,” Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “There’s an exit in about two miles, should we try our luck or keep driving?” 

Nancy stops reading her book, narrowing her eyes as she looks outside. 

Your eyes meet Steve’s. He raises his eyebrows at you, knowing that you have been desperately looking for new clothes. 

“Yeah, we could try.” Nancy shrugs before she goes back to reading her book. 

Eddie’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror.

“What do you say, sweets?”

You don’t notice the way Steve huffs or the way he rolls his eyes as he sinks back into his seat. 

You nod, smiling at the metalhead. 

“Let’s try! We all need warmer clothes!”

“Alright, the exit it is,” Eddie grins. 

Steve watches the way your smile widens as you still look at Eddie, the way something glints in your eyes as you sigh in contentment keeping your gaze still locked on him for a few more seconds before you look outside again. 

Something in his chest stirs, something unpleasant. He suddenly doesn’t taste the mint flavor of his gum anymore as something sour settles on his tongue. His stomach twists in a way it always did when he was a teenager, when he watched others get what he wanted. 

You are not something he wants. He has no interest in you. You are a friend, that’s all. But annoyance bubbles up inside of him whenever he watches your interactions with Eddie. Whenever he sees how sweet he is with you and how his flirtations make you blush. 

He wonders if you like him. 

He isn’t sure if he would like it if you did. 

It troubles him more than he would like to admit and it brings up scenarios in his head that he finds unpleasant to even think about. 

Your squeal startles him and pulls him out of his thoughts. You jump up, wasting no time to grab your gear before you make your way out of the RV. 

Even though it’s Eddie and Nancy who call out to you, it’s Steve who runs after you first. With his rifle slung over his shoulder and his trusted bat in his hand. He gives Eddie and Nancy a stern look, “stay here, I’ll go with her. Keep the motor running.” 

Eddie frowns, shaking his head, “I was the one who saw the sign, dude–”

“You stay here, Munson.” He glares at him before he looks down at Nancy. “Both of you.” 

He doesn’t give them the chance to even utter a single word before he takes off after you, looking over his shoulder to give another pointed look at Eddie who rolls his eyes at him. 

Steve grumbles your name in annoyance as he watches you struggle with the crowbar. 

“You can’t just run out like this, just because the area looks safe doesn’t mean that it is safe!” He mumbles. Frustration built up in him. 

“Shush, Steve!” You say cheerfully. “I have hope that I will find clothes here!”

He scrunches his face up and squints his eyes as he looks at the sign above the store, it hangs loosely from the wall, broken and shattered and covered in dirt. The windows are still intact and the door seems to be locked. The mannequins are still clothed as well so yeah, maybe you do have a chance. 

“You don’t know what could be in there just because this door is locked doesn’t mean that there aren’t other ways to get in–”

A loud click echoes through the empty streets, followed by a cheerful squeal from you. You look over your shoulder, grinning at him proudly. 

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug. Putting the crowbar back into your backpack, you reach for your machete again. You press your palm against the dusty door but he stops you with his hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m going in first,” he sighs, pushing you behind him slowly. 

You give him an innocent smile, blinking up at him in satisfaction. 

“I won’t argue with that.”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes yet again. 

“What a surprise,” he murmurs under his breath. He takes another look around, ignoring your eyes that are set on him. 

He gets that feeling. Every time something bad is about to happen, he gets that certain feeling that unsettles him. For the longest time, he couldn’t place it and he didn’t understand it until that bad thing had already happened and he realized too late that something was warning him. 

It changed after Robin’s death. 

But right now, he feels calmness inside of him, nothing unsettling. Yet, he is still careful when he takes the first step inside the abandoned store. His grip is tight on his bat, his eyes scanning the place as he tries to pick up on any sign that something is in here. He is quiet on his feet and he is on full alert. 

Just like you are. 

You are right behind him, ready to sling your machete at anything that may come running out of the shadows, ready to make you both its feast. 

But the store is clean aside from the dust that covers every surface. 

You make your way through every aisle. You check behind the cash register just to be sure. You look for any open windows or other ways inside this building. Steve insists on checking the break room by himself but you don’t let him. You follow him, covering his back just in case. 

“Alright, it’s clear in here,” Steve whispers. 

You watch the tension fall from his shoulders and from his face and you see the way his features soften after he takes a deep breath. 

Despite living in a world like this, so unlike from the one you grew up in. You don’t share this tension and this fear with him but you also didn’t lose your best friend and watch her get ripped apart before you. You understand him. Even if you don’t feel the same, you understand him.

He doesn’t want to see that happening again – to anyone. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped out of the RV the way I did.”

Steve swallows, nodding in agreement. His hazel eyes glare a little into yours. 

“Yeah you’re right, you shouldn’t have,” he mumbles, sighing. He wants to roll his eyes again when you look down with a guilty look on your face. He hates it when you do that. “It’s fine, let’s get those clothes, sunshine.” He nudges your shoulder with his finger, giving you the smallest smile when you look up at him again. 

“Yeah.” You nod. “Please look for a new jacket, a warmer one!”

He chuckles softly. His eyes follow you when you walk away. 

“You too.”

Excitement rushes through you so strongly that you don’t even know what section to check first. It’s been so long since you had last stepped foot into a store that still looked so normal, like it has been untouched by this world. This store froze in time, just like the clothes in it, the fashion that was in trend while the world was ending. 

Bright colors you normally would have picked, you skip. They don’t fit into this world. 

You start by looking for a pair of new jeans before you move onto sweaters, picking some out for Nancy as well. You want to pick the pastel colors out for her so badly, thinking they will suit her but it’s always best to go for clothes that blend in better outside, ones that don’t attract unwanted attention. 

The items start piling up on your arm and you end up getting a cart, something that makes Steve chuckle when you finally bump into each other in the shoe section. 

“We need to gear up on winter clothes, how are you gonna survive with that?” You ask, frowning at the clothes in his basket. You see some knitted sweaters, t-shirts and wool socks but no sign of what you told him to look for. “You better get that jacket or I’ll get it for you, Steve.”

You glare at him and it only makes him want to chuckle even more – not because he is laughing at you. But because he thinks that the frown on your face is adorable. You threatening him is adorable. 

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands up in surrender. 

Your eyes keep scanning the basket and they light up when you notice the socks he threw in there. The Garfield socks. 

A smug smile stretches across your face and you look up at him a little evilly. 

“You wear Garfield socks?” 

Steve looks down into his basket and his cheeks light up suddenly, blushing red. Though he shakes his head when he raises his head to look at you. 

“They’re not for me,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. “They’re for Eddie. He’s like obsessed with Garfield. He had Garfield pajamas at home, I’m pretty sure he packed his Garfield mug into his box somewhere.” 

A giggle falls from your lips. You tilt your head to the side, pouting softly. 

“Aw! Eddie is so cute! I adore him!” You say before you turn around and continue your little shopping spree.

Oh, so you adore him now? 

The unpleasant feeling in his chest spreads even more as he stares at the back of your head. His eyebrows are scrunched together so strongly that there is almost no space left between them. 

A huff falls from his lips as he forces his eyes away from you. He gets up, glaring down at the socks in his basket. 

“Cute,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes again. 

“Get yourself a jacket, Steve!” You call through the store, reminding him yet again. 

“Yeah, yeah…” He mumbles as he finally listens to you and goes on a hunt for a warmer jacket. His thoughts are troubled though and he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t like the thought of you liking Eddie. It’s not that he wants you to like him instead. It’s just that he thinks it would make things complicated in your group when you are all growing closer. 

He has been through that before and it only made things awkward. When he was so desperate to feel something again and he set his eyes on his ex-girlfriend again, almost ruining the friendship that just started blooming between them. He confessed his undying love for her when all he wanted was to feel something real. She was the only real relationship he had. Every other relationship was short lived, superficial and meaningless. No one ever bothered to actually get to know him and not the guy everyone liked; King Steve. 

He thought she was the exception, that she wasn’t like the others – and she wasn’t. But she never planned on sticking around either and he crashed hard when he realized that he was never something real to her like she was to him. 

When those old feelings came back, he didn’t realize that it wasn’t because he wanted her back. It would have been stupid to want someone back who hurt him like that. He was just desperate to feel something again after every failed date and every failed almost-relationship. He wanted to feel even if it was hurt. 

Now he knows how stupid it was to almost ruin the new connection that was growing between them – a genuine friendship. It took him a while to see that they were always better off as friends but when he finally did, it started to make sense why they didn’t work. 

If he could tell his 17 year old self that he would move on from Nancy Wheeler and lose all the feelings he ever had and become friends with her instead, that teenage boy would probably stare at him in horror. 

Steve stumbles around the store, lost in his thoughts as he throws more clothes into his basket. When he is done, he starts looking for you, going through one empty aisle after the other before he finally finds you. It takes him a moment to realize the section he walked into and when he does he freezes a little. A blush creeps onto his cheeks when he looks around the items. The soft colors, the lace, the frill. The mannequins dressed in lingerie. 

He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath but it gets stuck in his throat when he finds you standing in the corner, holding up two different types of panties. A pink pair, laced. And the black one is a… thong. Steve blinks as he stares at you, unable to look away even though he knows he should. He knows he should give you privacy. Step away and pretend like he has seen nothing but he can’t. 

His blushing cheeks turn red, glowing like they haven’t since god knows when. His body heats up as his mind takes him to places it hasn’t been since years but when he watches you stuff both panties into your backpack, the boyish part in him just can’t help it. 

Steve never wondered what you wore under your clothes before, now he knows and it does little to mend the heat in his body. It awakens something in him that died a long time ago. 

God. He needs fresh air, he needs it now. 

He takes a few steps back, trying to be quiet and discreet but when he turns around, he walks face first into the poorly dressed mannequin, pushing it over and causing it to crash into the other one. It all goes so quickly, he can’t even reach out to catch them before they stumble to the ground loudly. 

“Fuck,” he curses through gritted teeth. He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before he slowly turns around to face you again despite the blush on his cheeks. 

Your eyes are wide and by the expression on your face, he knows that you have flinched. 

You look between him and the two mannequins on the ground. Your heart is pounding in your chest from the sudden noise that startled you but you start calming down quickly when you realize that it wasn’t anything to freak out over but something to laugh at. 

You have never seen him like this – eyes wide, cheeks red, awkwardness written all over his face. He looks embarrassed and his hands are still frozen in the air after trying to catch the mannequins. 

He looks like a teenager caught staring at boobs in a magazine for the first time. 

You have to admit, it’s quite a sight, amusing to say the least. You just know that he is beating himself up over this and you can’t help but start giggling, wanting nothing more than to tease the poor guy. 

“Do you need me to leave you guys alone?” You ask, giggling as you point between him and the figures lying on the floor. 

“I-I’m what…?!” He shakes his head, not getting your joke. 

You snort and reach for your cart, you start pushing it towards him, smiling smugly as you stop beside him. 

“I thought you were some sort of playboy back in the day?” You smirk, blinking up at him. You want to giggle again when you realize just how red his cheeks actually are. “What kind of playboy starts blushing because of a few naked mannequins?” 

Steve knows you’re enjoying this, he can see it in your eyes, they’re flashing with mischief and the smirk on your lips might be a rare sight but it’s so strong right now. 

You don’t give him a chance to reply to your teasing comment. Your giggle echoes when you continue your way out of this section, beginning to hum in satisfaction while he still stands there. 

“I’ll be outside!” You say with a sing-song voice. 

Steve closes his eyes and he finally breathes again. 

If only you knew why he is blushing the way that he is. 

By the time he comes out of the store and makes his way back into the RV, Nancy and Eddie are kneeling on the floor, looking through the stuff you got for them and for yourself. He avoids your eyes when he walks in. His cheeks are still burning, he can feel that. 

“You know me so well, sweetheart.” Eddie grins at you as he holds up a Metallica shirt. “I don’t even have to go in there myself.”

You smile at him proudly. 

“Maybe to grab a jacket,” Nancy shrugs as she tries on the olive colored one you got for her. You reach over to her, fixing the brown color. 

“Thanks,” she smiles at you. 

Steve clears his throat and takes out a black jacket from the basket he carried the whole time, not giving the metalhead on the floor time to react before the jacket hits him in the face. 

A grunts leaves Eddie’s face as he catches it before it falls on the floor. 

“Give a guy some time to react,” Eddie mumbles as he unfolds the jacket, holding it up to take a look at it. “Fancy.” He squints his eyes as he looks at the price tag. “See, this is what I love about the apocalypse, we can just grab whatever the hell we want. This thing would’ve cost me a liver back then, now? I can just take that shit and go.” He chuckles to himself as he puts it on. “Fits perfectly, thanks man!” He finally looks up at Steve and his grins widens instantly when he notices the red cheeks. He raises his eyebrows at him, tilting his head to the side in question. 

Steve huffs at him which only makes Eddie more curious. 

“I got you a bunch of panties and socks as well!” You say to Nancy, taking the items out of your backpack and throwing them onto Nancy’s lap. 

Her blue eyes widen and she quickly puts the packs of panties away, hiding them from the male eyes’. 

Eddie furrows his brows. Amused he looks down at your lap to find the flimsy material, lace and ruffles. He doesn’t think anything of it, though his eyes instantly move back to Steve’s and realization rushes through him quickly. 

A smirk tugs at his lips when Steve starts glaring at him, threatening him with his eyes to keep his mouth shut. 

Steve knows that Eddie won’t let him live this down. Blushing over a few panties? Ridiculous. 

“And for you,” you say, throwing packs of socks towards Eddie and Steve. “For the cold nights, I know the most important part is to keep your feet hot. So we can just wrap them up in many socks. Oh! And–” You pause, shuffling through your bag with a determined look on your face. You fish out something else, something that makes Steve’s embarrassed face even worse. Boxers. 

He was so distracted by your underwear, he didn’t even think of getting some for himself and for Eddie. 

The metalhead grabs them, nodding. “Cool.”

Steve scratches the back of his neck as he finally sets the basket down on the floor. Taking a seat on the bench, he grabs them from your hands and gives you an awkward smile, not keeping eye contact for long as he looks down at the size. You even got the right one. 

And as if Eddie can read his mind – “how’d you know the size?” 

“My lazy brother would ask me to get some for him whenever I went shopping, you’re about his size. Steve’s a bit bigger,” you shrug, replying so nonchalantly before you get back to your clothes as you begin to fold them.

Nancy and Eddie share a look, holding back their laughter when Steve’s flustered face gets even worse. 

“I bet he is,” Eddie cackles, earning a punch to his shoulder. “Ow! Dude! Take that as a compliment–”

“Munson, I swear to god,” Steve glares at him. 

Nancy shakes her head at them, snorting quietly. To her surprise, you pay them no mind. 

Eddie rubs his shoulder, still laughing. His eyes widen when he looks down into the basket, a surprised gasp falling from his lips, “are these Garfield socks!? Oh, I love you so much, Harrington!” He says dramatically which makes you giggle loudly. 

Steve’s cheeks burn even hotter and he gets so incredibly flustered when you look up at him with lightened up eyes and a grin stretched widely. He tries not to stare but he can’t help it, not when your eyes shine like this and you look up at him so… happily. 

He can’t help but hate that feeling that rises up inside of him. He refuses to admit that it is there. 

Maybe he would feel better if someone told him that you would be in the same exact state only a few days later. 

-

Weeks have gone by since you left Hawkins and by now you have gotten into a routine. From the start, you quickly realized that Eddie and Nancy are somewhat inseparable and usually stick together – whether it’s perimeter checks, night watch or scavenging for food. It’s always Eddie and Nancy. 

You switch up sometimes and either you or Steve replaces one of them but usually it’s those two together. They’re simply inseparable. That’s how you imagine Steve used to be with Robin. 

At first you suspected that there was more between Eddie and Nancy. That they were in a secret relationship or that they were just friends with benefits but you quickly came to realize that those two could never see each other that way. They are best friends, it’s clear as day. Their banter is sibling-like, just like Nancy’s and Steve’s. – You never bothered to ask how those two met or how their friendship blossomed. You know that they have known each other far longer than they have known Eddie but you never tried to find out what made them become friends. 

They don’t seem to have much in common and Steve behaves more like a big brother around her than a friend. A grumpy older brother. 

You look over your shoulder, glancing at the RV. The golden light in the living room shines through the tiny window. You wonder if Steve is still napping. It’s yours and his turn to do night watch. 

You look back into the fire you have started, tugging your jacket tighter around you, you rub your palms together, trying to catch more warmth. 

The wood crackles before you, the wind blows softly against you. It’s still warm for fall. You have lost track of time but if you had to guess, you would say it’s october. The leaves are red and orange and the air still smells of fall. 

You squint your eyes when you notice the two figures in the distance. You don’t reach for your machete or your gun, recognizing your friends instantly. They both carry gallons of water from the stream down the hill. 

You push yourself up from the camping chair and make your way towards the RV to wake up Steve. You walk up the stairs and open the door, making your way inside and closing it softly behind you, not wanting to startle him.

You furrow your eyebrows when you don’t hear him snoring or moving around the RV. 

“Steve–”

A loud click echoes through the silent space and before you can even blink or move, the door to the bathroom opens and Steve walks out. Almost naked. Your eyes meet his and you see how wide they get when he sees you. His towel isn’t even around his waist, he barely manages to cover himself, quickly placing it in front of his crotch. 

You freeze. 

You should move. You should apologize. You should hold your hand up before your eyes and turn around again, leave the RV and pretend like nothing happened but you can’t. You are frozen in place, unable to move, unable to look away. In fact, you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop staring at him or at his wet skin. At the water dripping down his face and his hairy chest. At the flush in his cheeks from either the hot water or from running into you dressed in… nothing. His hair looks even longer when wet, darker too. His eyes are looking into yours intensely. 

You swallow harshly. 

Unable to keep your eyes from taking him in fully, from letting them run up and down his body. His arms are strong, his muscles aren’t huge but defined. There’s thick veins coursing through his skin, through his strong hands. 

Something in you stirs. Something in your belly heats up and starts to burn. 

He is handsome. 

You knew that much already but you haven’t looked at him in this light yet. He has a pretty face and pretty eyes. His smile is contagious. His hair is gorgeous. He is tall and his shoulders are broad. He is a handsome man, obviously. 

But he is also hot. 

Steve Harrington is hot. 

Maybe even the most attractive man you have ever set your eyes on, the longer you look at him now. Your body certainly never reacted this way before. You have never gotten weak in the knees and you have never stopped breathing over a man. Your belly never burned and your mouth never watered either. 

This is not good. 

This is so not good. 

You can feel your cheeks burning and your heart pounding and you can’t seem to snap yourself out of it. 

You don’t even notice how he is looking at you. 

It was embarrassment that flashed in his features first before he noticed your reaction. 

You are flustered. You are blushing. You are checking him out. He can see the way your wide eyes take him in. He can see how your throat bobs when you swallow. 

Something in his chest stirs and his lips curl into a smirk. He can’t help but feel flattered but also smug. He forgot what it’s like to be looked at like this. 

He fastens the towel around his waist, raising his chin up a bit as he gazes down at you. He clears his throat, pulling you out of your stupor. 

“Like what you see, sunshine?” 

You blink a few times before your eyes meet his face again and you notice the smugness in his features as he caught you eyeing him like you’re some animal, hungry over something you never tried before. 

You want the ground to swallow you whole. You can tell that he is amused. 

Your cheeks feel like they have been touched by fire. Shame fills you and panic rises up inside of you. Your eyes widen and you quickly take a few steps back. 

“I didn’t know you were taking a shower!” Your high pitched voice bounces off the walls in the RV. “I’m sorry!” You quickly turn around, not realizing how close you were to the door until you walk face first into it, your forehead hitting it harshly. 

As though you weren’t embarrassed already. 

“Oh my fucking god! Are you okay!?” Steve asks behind you, already taking a step forward. 

You scrunch your eyes shut, ignoring the sting in your head. You quickly open the door and make your way outside. 

“Yep! Yeah, I’m great!” You say loudly before you rush out and shut the door behind you loudly. Startling both Nancy and Eddie who just put the gallons of water down by the steps. 

Worry flashes in her features when she notices you rubbing your forehead while Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, squinting his eyes as he takes in the look on your face. 

“You okay, sweets?” 

“Mhmm,” you nod your head quickly, avoiding their eyes. “I’m okay, yeah. I’m fine.” You mumble as you make your way back over to your camping chair. Picking up your water bottle, you open it and raise it up to your lips. 

Nancy matches the confused look on Eddie’s face. She turns her head to look at him, raising her eyebrows at him when he looks between you and the door to the RV. 

Realization crosses Eddie’s face when Steve comes out a minute later. His hair wet, a flush to his cheeks, plaid shirt unbuttoned at the top, sweatpants and the smell of body wash fills the air. 

Oh. 

You have seen something you weren’t supposed to see. 

It isn’t hard to figure that out when he takes another look at you before he detects the smugness in Steve’s eyes. 

And even if he didn’t notice then, he certainly would have noticed all the days after. 

Not only do you avoid Steve’s eyes whenever you can, you are also clumsier. Way clumsier. Whenever you turn to look at Steve, you falter in your step and Eddie notices. Noticing you are in a very weird state around Steve, which Eddie kind of figures why by now, he takes the opportunity to patrol with Nancy while you and Steve do chores in the RV. Washing clothes, preparing foods, getting lumber, getting water, trying to spare you from spending time with Steve alone in the dark while walking.

Gladly, as the days pass, Eddie can see you becoming calmer, and it seems that your initial shock is gone, but you are still clumsy.

You are startled when Eddie comes up from behind you as you are cleaning your boots behind the RV. He clears his throat as he leans against it, facing you, shoulder against the cold metal and his hands in his pockets. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he suddenly approached you.

“What is it?” 

“Sweetheart… Did you see Steve’s dick?” You feel the earth swallow you whole as you stumble backwards and the boots drop from your hands. Your entire body heats up, sweat appearing on your fingertips as you quickly shake your head, almost breaking your neck.

“N-No! Why– Why would you think that!?” Eddie chuckles at you, shaking his head.

“You are fucking obvious. You are literally tripping over everything, princess. You can’t look the man in the eye. You saw something you shouldn’t have seen.” And your heart is beating out of your chest as you swallow harshly, looking down at the floor as your cheeks remain heated up.

“I– I didn’t mean to… He was only covered in a towel and I– I thought he was sleeping! I was only going to wake him up and–” You cover your face with your hands in shame. “I’m so fucking stupid! I should have, I don’t know, made some noise, or knocked or–” 

“Okay, calm down. So you didn’t see his dick.”

“No–”

“Then what’s the problem?” You uncovered your face, and rationally, there shouldn’t be any problems. There really shouldn’t. He was just a man… a very… handsome, hot, and attractive man.

“I– I stared a little too much because of the shock and… I feel like I invaded his privacy way too much…” You kind of lied. You are embarrassed to your core because you were caught red handed, staring without any restraint, checking him out completely and he even made fun of you for that. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Princess, I bet it’s not the first male body you’ve seen. If anything, Steve probably felt flattered, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it. You’re worrying too much.” 

You take a sharp breath at Eddie’s words but somehow manage to calm yourself down a little bit more… way more. Eddie knows Steve, more than you do, and if Eddie tells you this, it’s because it’s truly what Steve is feeling. You give Eddie a small nod and he smiles at you, his fingers pinching your cheek, making you wince as you pull away.

“What was that for!?”

“For being an idiot. It’s four people in one single RV. We will run into each other either naked, jerking off, or changing clothes. We don’t have individual bedrooms or separated bathrooms.” And that makes a lot of sense, making you nod again, a small smile appearing on your cheeks.

“Yeah… you’re right.” He then smirks, looking out at the horizon where some buildings are spotted.

“Yep. So prepare yourself, cause it’s yours and Stevie’s turn to go scavenging.”

-

You found a neighbourhood that looked quite untouched compared to ones you have been in, in the past few weeks. You broke into old homes, trying to find canned food and some snacks, even if stale. But you had no luck, all you found were empty shelves and dusty storage rooms. 

This one looks quite promising. 

The windows are intact, no shattered glass is visible. The doors are closed as well. No monsters, people or infected are around. At first sight at least. 

Eddie looks back at you from his spot in the passenger seat, winking at you as he is chewing on some peanuts. 

“Good luck.” 

You hold onto the strap on your backpack, digging your nail into the material. You pick up your machete and take a deep breath. 

Steve looks down at you. With his backpack on, a rifle slung over his shoulder and a crowbar in his hand, he is holding onto the doorknob, waiting on you. 

“Ready?” His kind eyes meet yours. 

You nod, humming softly. 

“Don’t come back with expired chicken noodle soup, please.” Nancy says, earning a glare from the metalhead beside her. 

“We’ll try,” Steve chuckles as he gives her one last nod before he opens the door. “Let’s do this.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, following him out. 

He closes the door again once you are out. You look around you, keeping a tight grip on your machete just in case. 

It is quiet between you both, you don’t make much conversation as you make your way through the abandoned neighborhood. You are both too busy looking out for any sign of life or death. 

You don’t notice the way Steve looks at you, the way he glances at you every once in a while. He isn’t blind or stupid, he noticed that shift in your behaviour after the incident in the RV. He couldn’t help but think that it’s cute how you suddenly turned into a klutz – all because of some naked skin. 

“Let’s check this one out,” you point out to the blue house with the huge front porch. 

“Lead the way,” Steve nods, flipping the crowbar in his hand. 

You and Steve continue to walk and work in silence. As you go into the first house, you cover each others’ backs as you clear the building first before you begin to scavenge. You split up once you deem it safe. Though you aren’t so lucky there, nor in the second or the third. All you find are some canned peaches and two cans of corn. One bottle of painkillers and an old first aid kit. 

You make your way through the neighborhood, going through one house after the other. But it isn’t until you make it to the last one, to the huge house right by the forest, that you get somewhat lucky. 

Just like in the ones before, you clear the building first. Covering Steve’s back as he walks ahead of you with the rifle in his hands, aimed at anything that could come running out of any room. 

Your steps are quiet on the floorboards, barely audible. You learned how to be resilient and quiet in this world, tiptoeing through it to save your life, to prevent unwanted attention. 

There is something eerie about this place. You can’t figure out what it is but there is something. The silence is nearly deafening. The energy is off. You can feel something in your chest but you can not tell what it is.

When you get to the last room and Steve opens the door with his rifle, he takes a look around before he finally allows himself to breathe again. He turns around to face you, nodding as he swallows. 

“It’s clear.” He mumbles, slinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna check out the kitchen.” You whisper, looking down. 

He nods at you, trying to make eye contact, something you haven’t been so fond of lately. “Alright, yeah. I’m gonna check out the bathroom, see if there’s any medicine around.”

You take one last look at him before you part ways. You make your way downstairs, quickly. Determined to find some food and get out of here before it gets dark – you need to set up camp before that. You step into the kitchen and take a deep breath. 

You try to ignore that heavy feeling that is cursing through you the longer you are in here. 

You open the cabinets and find a pleasant surprise. Peanut Butter. Canned vegetables and fruit. Cans of meat and tuna. You want to squeal but you restrain yourself. 

Dropping your backpack onto the counter, you start throwing the cans in, putting in as many as possible. You go through each and every cabinet, filling up your bag in the process until there’s no more space left. 

You will be eating well tonight. 

A smile appears on your face when you open the door to the storage. Your eyes widen at the amount of snacks on the shelves. You grab one of the empty boxes on the ground and start filling it. 

Through all your excitement, you don’t hear the creaking of the floorboard in the hallway or the faint grunting sound coming from the basement. 

“We found a gold mine, Steve!” He hears you calling as he makes his way down the stairs. A smile appearing on his face. He opens his mouth to reply, though the words get stuck in his throat and his blood runs cold when his feet hit the ground floor again, just as the door to the basement opens and an infected comes stumbling out, sniffing the air and grunting as though in hunger. 

He realizes too late that he didn’t check the basement before. 

Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t move, not yet. His face hardens as anger flashes in his eyes. It wasn’t an infected that killed Robin but he holds just as much hatred for them as he does for the monsters. 

He reaches for his crowbar, slowly, not wanting to startle it. The quieter and slower he moves, the less it will pay him attention. They don’t see but they smell and they hear. Just like Steve can smell the decay. He scrunches his nose up and tries to halt his breath. The skin is grey, almost blue. Bloody tear stains on its cheeks. The clothes are ripped and reeking, he can smell it from here. 

He takes a step forward, slowly bringing the crowbar up, aiming at the infected’s head, ready to take a swing and let it be over with. 

“Eddie is gonna flip out, I found Honeycombs!” 

The infected suddenly flips his head into the direction of the kitchen, startled and lured in by the sound of your voice. Steve’s heart falls to his stomach when he hears several footsteps running up the stairs of the basement. More infected. More sick ones ready to feast on you. 

Fear grips at him so strongly that his heart nearly beats out of his chest as he makes a run for the kitchen, knowing that the attention is on him now too. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is grabbing you and getting the hell out of here. 

But there is no time and he knows it. 

You are standing with your back to him, one foot inside the storage room and you turn around startled when you hear his fast and loud footsteps. Your eyebrows furrow and you open your mouth again to question him but he doesn’t allow you to. Steve takes the final step towards you and cups the back of your head, pressing his other hand to your mouth as he signals with his eyes to keep quiet. 

Only then do you register the other footsteps and your eyes widen. 

He jumps into action once more, pushing you further into the way too small storage and stepping inside with you, not wasting a single second to shut the door and lock you both inside, just in time before all the infected come tumbling into the room in search for the two of you, in search for fresh meat. 

He maneuvers you around until your back is pressed against his chest, until your whole body is pressed against his front. His hand is still over your mouth, his arm now fully wrapped around you as he holds you against him. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, you can feel his hand shaking against your skin. 

Your own heart is racing, your knees threaten to buckle and if it wasn’t for him holding you, you are sure that they would. 

Fear rushed through you when you listened to the grunts and the screeches out in the kitchen. You didn’t hear them before, you didn’t hear them creeping up on you. 

A cold shudder ran down your spine when you realized what could have happened if it wasn’t for him. 

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you raise your arm up and you wrap your hand around his wrist, needing to hold onto something. In turn, he holds you tighter against him, pressing himself further into you, allowing you to feel his body heat, the warmth he always radiates. 

“Shh,” he whispers into your ear as though to reassure you, thinking that you are scared. 

You aren’t scared. You never are. 

You feel startled. 

You close your eyes for a moment and he removes his hand after a few seconds, allowing you to take proper breaths. He still keeps his arm around you and he tries to move back but there isn't much space in this tiny room. 

You listen to the infected outside, surprised they haven’t found their way to this door yet. You are in deep shit and you know that it will take a while until you will get the chance to sneak out, unless you decide to fight your way out but you know that there are too many. It’s too risky. Too dangerous.

And you hope, you really hope that Nancy and Eddie won’t come looking for you and stumble right into this mess you two have gotten yourselves into. 

You take another deep breath and you lean your head back into his chest as you keep your hand around his wrist, your fingers touching his skin. Through the adrenaline and the anxiety creeping up on you, you don’t even feel his breath on your neck or register the palm that has settled on your stomach. 

You are too focused on the sounds outside this room. On the footsteps. On the groans. On the hungry monsters. You don’t notice how there is barely any air left between your bodies. How your body is pressed against his fully. How his chest is on your back. How his chin is resting on the top of your head. His arms fully wrapped around you. Him. His crotch against your butt. His bulge.  

If only you snapped out of it and looked back. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched. His heart is pounding for different reasons now. His breathing is heavy and his skin is burning, worse and worse the further you press yourself against him, the more he feels you on him. 

It feels good. It feels nice. And he can’t help but curse at himself for feeling this in such a moment. 

He blames it on the lack of affection he felt in the past few years. It isn’t because of you. 

No, absolutely not. 

Your scent is sweet, soft, gentle. The touch of your hand is soft. You are curling into him, showing him that you feel comfortable with him, that you feel safe with him. He would be lying if he said that it didn’t stir something within him. 

You don’t know how many minutes pass of you standing stuck in this tiny room, listening to the groans and waiting for the right moment to make your escape but when the silence in the kitchen greets you again and their footsteps disappear further into the house. You tilt your head back and look into his eyes. You silently agree to make a run for it, to try your best to sneak out. 

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the fight you know will happen. There is no sneaking out and getting away so easily, ever. 

You lean down to pick up the machete you placed against the wall earlier and turn around to look at him once more and Steve gives you an encouraging nod. 

You turn back to the door again as his hands slip from your body. You close your eyes for a moment and take another deep breath before you wrap your hand around the cold doorknob. You twist it and push it open slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

You step out, tiptoeing out of the room. You ignore the pounding in your chest as you look around the empty kitchen, keeping a tight grip on the red handle of your machete. 

Steve steps out right after, covering you instantly as you bend down to pick up your heavy backpack. 

He glances at you, brown eyes filled with anxiety when the cans clatter in your bag. 

You shrug at him. You won’t leave this here. You tilt your head into the direction of the backdoor in the kitchen, the one that leads out into the garden. 

Steve nods at you, motioning for you to go first. 

You twist the machete in your hand, taking one last look around before you turn around and creep over to the glass door. You unlock it as quietly as you can, squinting your eyes and cursing inwardly when the door creaks as you open it. 

“Come on,” you whisper as you look over your shoulder at him, glancing into the hallway to make sure that nothing heard you yet. 

“Go,” Steve whispers as he places his hand on your back and pushes you out of the house, quickly following and shutting the door quietly. Only as he breathes in the fresh air does he notice just how strong his heart is pounding against his ribcage, how shivers run across his whole body. 

While he needs a moment to recover, you are already making your way down the porch, securing the area before you look back at him. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, tilting your head at him. 

His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, wondering how you are so… calm. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs under his breath. He tries to control the shakiness in his hands, holding the cold metal of the crowbar tightly as he makes his way down the stairs. His boots hit the grass and he steps up beside you. He takes another look at the haunted house before he turns his back to it and follows you away from it and closer back to the road where the RV is parked. 

You spot Eddie leaning against it with a cigarette between his lips as he swings his axe back and forth while Nancy kneels down beside him, looking up into the sky. 

“I left the box in the kitchen,” you frown, sighing loudly. “Eddie’s Honey Combs!” 

“I’m sure he’ll live–”

A loud crash echoes through the neighborhood, startling you both. You turn around just in time to see an infected jumping through the now broken window, screeching loudly as it runs straight towards you and Steve. 

Steve’s eyes widen and he presses his hand on your chest, pushing you away before he swings his crowbar at the infected. It hits the ground from the impact, grunting loudly, though it doesn’t take long until it jumps back into action, ready to pounce on him. 

Your heart skips from the adrenaline that curses through your veins. You throw your backpack on the ground and grab your machete with both hands as more infected come tumbling out of the broken window. 

Ready to make you and your friends their dinner.

You don’t have the time to count how many there are but the groans and the screeches fill the space around you quickly. You swing your machete at the infected that once was a woman, stabbing through her head with the sharp blade, the body falling limply to the ground. 

Eddie curses behind you as he finishes off the male infected with his axe – ‘motherfucker’ falling from his lips several times. 

Nancy’s shotgun goes off a few times and you already worry what kind of attention that sound must have attracted, what kind of things the sound has lured in just now, what kind of monsters are on the way here now. 

“Steve!” Eddie yells as he watches one of them jumping at him, taking him down and pinning him on the ground. It’s teeth clatter as it tries to take a bite of him. 

Steve grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he tries to fight it off, though its hands are strong, way too strong. He hears the shots going off around him. He hears Eddie’s voice calling out to him. He feels his heart pounding stronger than ever. Everything stops moving for a moment, time slows down and he looks death into its eyes. 

The infected, a male, something that used to be a man, maybe a teenager. It’s struggling, fighting for his flesh, trying to lean down further, trying to take a bite out of him, craving his flesh, his blood. 

Though he notices something else. There isn’t only death in his eyes, there is something else – something like fear, something like grief, sadness. It looks at him like it’s hungry but it also looks at him like it's begging. Begging to do something, begging to make it all be over. 

And suddenly it is. 

A clear cut appears in his neck, black blood oozing out as its head tumbles off and the body stops struggling against him, though still twitching. He wastes no time to throw it off him, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. It takes him a moment to recover. He brings his hand up to his neck, his throat hurting from the inside as he continues to breathe in the cold air. He raises his head to look at his savior, expecting Eddie or even Nancy but not you. For some reason he didn’t expect you to save his life, let alone like this. 

Blood is dripping from the blade of your machete. Your chest is rising up and down heavily, worry flashes in your eyes as you look down at him. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, needing to make sure that he is fine. 

Steve nods, blinking in surprise. He furrows his eyebrows as he takes a look around, at the dead bodies on the ground, the twitching bodies. 

Nancy and Eddie are frozen in place as they both look at you, stunned. Eddie even more so than Nancy when the head you cut off rolls before his feet and he looks down, wide eyed. 

“Steve,” you whisper, eyes softening when you notice his heavy breathing. “Are you okay?” You ask again. 

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat as he slowly pushes himself up, nodding, wiping the blood of the infected that had fallen on his cheek with the back of his free hand. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he mumbles, trying to smile at you. He ignores the weird feeling in his chest when it dawns on him that you have saved him. 

You have saved him. 

You nod, tearing your eyes away from him. You make your way over to Eddie. 

“The brain.” You clear your throat as you swing your machete, giving it a snap so that the excess blood leaves the blade. “You can cut off the limbs but the bastards regenerate. Their arms go all… gooey and reassemble. Like watching ground beef have a life of its own and just… dragging itself to other parts.”

Steve and Eddie stare at you like they can’t believe what they have seen and what they hear. 

Nancy’s eyes widen, her lips part as she tilts her head at you. 

“...Like the mindflayer in 1985…” 

You nod. You remember what they told you. You look down, scrunching your nose in disgust as blood seeps through the grass. You remember the first time you killed an infected. You remember it clearly… a kid… You had tried to talk to it. You had tried to sing to it, maybe a lullaby, but nothing worked. You had stabbed it in the heart and it still lived, cut off the arms and it regenerated and you were sobbing as you looked at it, at how many times you had to kill it.

You realized it was the brain you needed to kill when you desperately, in a panic attack, smashed the skull in. You were crying afterwards, but then it was just hatred. Hatred towards these things, these monsters, and now all of that was directed at a person. A person who caused all of this. Someone, something, that was already dead from what your friends told you… but hatred nonetheless… Because it didn’t spare anyone. 

“We can bring them peace like this…” You mumble as you stab through the head, causing the body to stop moving – even if decapitated. 

While Eddie huffs in surprise, looking up at you pleasantly surprised. Steve’s eyes are still wide. He is not only stunned by your action, he is also surprised by the way you handled your machete. 

You are swinging it the same way he swings his bat. 

“We have to move. My gun was loud enough.” Nancy speaks once again and you nod, bending down to wipe the blade on the grass, trying to get most of the blood off. They all knew the blood doesn’t infect or give you any sickness. It’s the venom. The venom in their teeth.

“... Do you guys think we can eat it?” Eddie suddenly asks, making everyone turn their heads completely stunned to look at him. When nobody replies, he looks up to all of you, shrugging with a frown. “What!? It’s an honest question!”

“Are you out of your mind, Eddie?” Steve asks, still trying to wrap his head around everything that happened.

“Look, it’s fresh, and it’s–”

“Human!” You yell as you all start making your way to the RV. Eddie scoffs at you all as he stands next to the door, waiting for everyone to get it.

“Nuh uh! Their bodies are all purple and some have those petal thingies the demogorgons have, pretty sure they’re not human anymore.” Eddie smirks at his train of thought and all he gets its a punch to the gut. A straight ass punch. Light, but still enough to make him bend over slightly. “Wheeler, what the actual flying fuck–”

“Stop saying nonsense.” She says as she finally steps in the truck, you follow, snickering under your breath but you almost fall over when the weight of your backpack throws you back down and onto Steve’s chest. You heard an ‘oof’ leave his lips as his arms grabbed you.

“You okay there?” And memories flushed to you. At the time, you hadn’t noticed it. At the time, your mind was occupied by the sounds of the infected outside. Now you remember it all. His body against yours, his chest against your back, his hands on your mouth, on your stomach, pressing you against him as if his life depended on it. Then, his hips and his–

You felt your entire body flush over again, and even if you didn’t have his chest against your back right now thanks to your backpack, this closeness was new. You moved away from him and gave him a nod, trying to avoid looking straight at him. 

“Yeah– Yeah, I’m fine–” Steve hummed and grabbed the straps of your backpack, and you gulped as you helped him take it off. Another grunt came out of his lips as he lifted it up a few times.

“What the hell are you carrying in here, Sunshine? A fucking machine gun?” His words caused you to look at him, a giggle escaping your lips as you shook your head.

“Better. Food! Lots of it!” Eddie’s voice chimed in, tilting his head to the side.

“See, if we tried to have some of that meat, we wouldn’t have to eat canned food–”

“Munson, catch.” And Steve threw the backpack towards Eddie, who was smiling with his dimples showing, his hands grabbing onto it, only for him to be slammed against the side of the RV with a thud. The weight of the backpack threw him back at the impulse, a surprised yelp escaping his lips. 

You started laughing with Steve as you both stared at Eddie who grunted when keeping the backpack up in his hands.

“You are both very mean… I was joking! It’s called ‘clearing the tension’.” He says as if matter of factly and he heads back into the van, groaning under his breath as he struggles to carry the backpack in. Steve stands next to the door, a soft smile on his lips as he nods at you and then at the RV.

“Ladies first.” 

And that shouldn’t have made your stomach turn the way it did. This was something common for men to do but– This was the first time it happened with Steve. Or at least, that he said that. Making it known he is letting you go first. Maybe he did it before but never spoke out loud of it, so you never noticed it… Now you do.

You cleared your throat and nodded, shooting him another small smile as you walked up inside the RV. His eyes followed you, his image of you having changed completely as he turns to look at the bodies you have killed, the decapitated smashed head that was about to bite him, to eat him, to turn him. 

Just when he thought he got to know you, or figure you out completely, you come up with something new. You startle him each time, but nothing stunned him as much as this one thing did. Your months of survival showed, letting him remember how you traveled alone for most of the time, and how you had to save yourself many times. 

You were new. Curiosity invaded him, something he should avoid. Questions he wants to ask, but the farthest he can be of knowing about you, every single detail, the better it will be. But the fucking curiosity, the want and the need to ask you so many things and get to know you entirely, to save him from surprises, like the one that happened just now.

Because these surprises impressed him. You are impressing him. And he doesn’t like that. He looks back to step inside the RV, closing the door behind him, and then seeing how excited Nancy and Eddie look as you beam, taking the cans out of your bag, the snacks, the beverages. You looked so proud as they praised you for finding a ‘jackpot’ and Steve couldn’t help but smile.

You are an enigma… and he hates that he wants to figure you out.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx

[rie-092]

STAY WITH US

[ soft yandere! park moondae x manager! reader ]

summary : moondae didn't like what the other idols just did to you.

okay, let's talk about soft yandere! park moondae.

he first met you when the testar move into their dorms after the survival show. there, the staffs introduced you as one of their managers.

at first, he was kind of worried. because it's kind of unusual to see a woman being a manager of a boy group (it's not like he's being a misogynist, he just have a trust issue because of the rumors that he heard before)

and it's not just him, it seems like keun sejin and ryu chungwoo was worried too.

but, when you assured them that you like female idols more than male idols. they were kind of relieved.

park moondae who watched how you were able to make every members of testar trusts you. he watches how you always feeds cha eugene with chocolate bars during their hectic schedule. how you helped raebin with his job as their group's producer (and he has to admit, seeing raebin's excited face whenever he talks to you means your damn good at it), he also watch how you enjoys crocheting with ahyeon whenever you has free time.

and surprisingly, keun and bae sejin as well as ryu chungwoo slowly opened their hearts to you.

you were a good person, he knew that. you were also good at your job. that's why when the t1 tries to assign you to another group. park moondae surprisingly found himself pulling up some strings to make sure that you will remain as their precious manager.

soft yandere! park moondae who always finds himself cooking some foods for you at dawn whenever he found you pulling up an overnight to fix their schedule.

he hates to admit it himself but taking care of you became his habit. wait, isn't it supposed to be another way round?

park moondae who likes to see how your eyes twinkled while watching their music videos with them by the time it got posted. see? their music were better than those groups that you stan— wait? why the hell does he sounds like a jealous brat?

park moondae who accidentally broke a couple of cheongryeo's ribs when he talk shit about you during the time when he got kidnapped by this lunatic.

park moondae who always shows a perfect idol persona in front of the camera for the sake of the loveviewers. so calm, so cute, so calculated. yet, his facade slipped when he heard from bae sejin (who is also losing his shit in anger that time) how you got slapped by one of the entitled rookie members from another company.

look, he likes how calm and collected you are. he likes the fact that you make sure not to hurt their reputation.

but— you let those guys touch you? really?

everyone knew how good park moondae was when it comes on the internet. and with the angry bae sejin and the annoyed cha eugene (who thankfully managed to capture the exact moment while he was trying to get a cute selfie to post in their instagram)

they 'accidentally' leaked that picture.

and the loveviewers did the rest. being known as the beloved loyal manager of the testar. their fans adores you so much. and those entitled self proclaimed idols dares to slap you for no reason? nah-ah, not in their watch.

you, being completely unaware of how park moondae destroyed a certain kpop group's career overnight. was greeted by the group that morning with a bright smile which confused you.

and what's more confusing was park moondae himself.

sure, he was still the same ol' tibetan moon puppy. but he became more— uhm, overbearing? protective? yep— something like that.

overall, park moondae was the overprotective type of yandere who will do everything to keep you safe.

he likes doing this on secret. do you remember the senior manager who dumps his works to you? don't worry, he lost his job the next day after eugene told him about that. the reason why he got fired? they said it's because of leaking the testar's home address (when it truth, moondae manipulated some evidences to make sure that guy won't be able to approach you again).

even with their hectic schedule as idols. moondae enjoys taking care of you as well as the group's meals. he doesn't know the real reason but he kind of enjoys how you enjoy his foods.

moondae will do anything to keep you as their manager.

moondae was the calm one in their group. but he will absolutely lose his shit if you ever mention anything about quitting your job.

he might go far on manipulating and gaslighting you. he doesn't want to do that, promise. so be careful, okay? after all, moondae can be pretty twisted sometimes—

“ how could you not tell us— don't you trust us? don't you trust me? ”

[loovser]

the guy she was interested in wasn’t a guy at all - chapter 1

synopsis turns out the cute guy from the cd store is actually… a girl.

cw: heavily inspired in the manga with the same title if you couldnt tell, for obvious reasons ellie is often referred to with masculine pronouns (💔) just on reader’s direct thoughts about her or as she is talking about the guy from the cd store. cursing, ellie is down baaaad, cheap flirting (quite literally lol), conflicting thoughts, miscommunication.

wc: 2.9k

you found yourself at the same damn cd store you’ve been to the last five days, which is the amount of time you’ve acknowledged its existence. since you did, something — actually, someone — has been drawing you towards it day after day. you tell yourself it’s not that serious, you just need another rock band cd. who cares if you already bought four of them? you definitely don’t.

as the little bell above the door announces your arrival, ellie’s attention drifts to you. it’s like she’s been waiting for you to show up today, too. and she has. just like she waits for you to show up at the classes you both attend in college — not that she would admit it.

your heart flutters in your chest. you’ve never been this interested in someone before. like, ever. you’d even wonder if you are really into guys at all. but you never gave it that much thought, since you’ve never really been into any girls either… plus, you had other things to worry about.

but now? now, it’s different. there’s something about this guy that works at this cd store that has you wrapped around his finger. even though you’ve never seen his full face — because if you had, you’d know she’s a girl. that’s so fucking pathetic. is what you think every time and yet you can’t seem to get away from the grip those green eyes have over you.

“let me guess- another deftones cd?” is what she asks when she approaches you.

“actually… do you have any recommendations? i’ve been wanting to try something new.” smooth. you are proud to have come up with this excuse while thinking about how to get to know her better, during some random class. her eyes narrow a little and you imagine her smiling under the face mask.

“yeah, um… have you ever heard of sick habit?” she asks, leading you towards one of the smaller cd shelves. you follow, asking yourself how can his voice be so damn soft? which, honestly, just attracts you even more.

“i’ve never, actually.” you chuckle lightly and ellie almost gets stuck on the way you look when you do it. just like she did the other times she’s seen it in class.

she clears her throat, grabbing a cd from the bottom of the shelf, your chuckle still echoing inside of her head. “they’re great. you should give ‘em a listen”

“i definitely will.” your cheeks burn when your fingers brush as you take the cd from her hand. “how much is it?”

“it’s on the house. just tell me what you think about it after.”

your eyes widen at that. he’s giving it to me for free?! the thought makes you smile and ellie watches your reaction — silently thanking the universe that you can’t see how pink her cheeks turned under the mask.

“i… really?” she nods. “thank you! i’ll come back when i finish listening to it.”

she wants to ask why you don’t talk to her in class, but she keeps it to herself. “i’ll wait for it.” it’s what she goes for, instead. you’ve seen each other in class twice since you started going to the store, maybe you were just… shy? or you didn’t recognize her?

she watches as you smile at her and leave the store after thanking her once again. ellie didn’t want people from college to know she works there, — hence the face mask — but she wouldn’t mind it if you did. during classes she’s just someone that no one else seems to notice. and she likes it that way, it’s peaceful, doesn’t draw attention.

you, on the other hand, are the complete opposite. you draw attention everywhere you go, even if it’s unintended. you are popular in college, having your own group of friends and lots of guys drooling over you. not that you pay any mind to them, as you know what’s worth your time and what’s not.

as you walk to your apartment, you know exactly where your attention is going to be for the next few hours: sick habit’s whole discography. you were so excited about her giving you the cd for free that you barely said bye, not trusting yourself to be around her without stuttering or doing something stupid.

it’s so weird to think that someone you barely know can have this kind of effect on you. i know nothing about him! is he even a him? i never asked his name, never saw his face. he’s always wearing oversized shirts or hoodies and pants. i haven’t even seen his whole hair, always hidden in hoods or caps. is it short? is it long? you groan. overthinking is a bitch.

it feels like you are going crazy. maybe it’s all this mystery that attracts you. is it even healthy to be this obsessed over someone? you know it’s probably not, but at this point you don’t care anymore.

as you finally reach your apartment, discarding your shoes by the door, you sigh, quickly getting in and throwing your purse on the couch. there are so many things you should be doing instead of this. like the visual effects paper you kept postponing and is literally due tomorrow.

you huff, already plopping down on the floor, in front of the cd player. maybe you could ask that girl in your class, that sits next to you, to help you with it. or you should just be responsible for once and do it right now.

however, as soon as you press play and the guitar chimes in, starting the first song, you are sure that there’s no way you could stop now.

ellie is late. that’s actually an understatement, given the current situation. she missed her first class and is really late for the next one. which is VFX — visual effects. the only class that she shares with the film major students today.

which means, the only class she shares with you.

not that it matters, right? i mean… is she really that eager to see you? if someone asked it to any of the poor souls that have almost been dragged with her while she rushes through the dorm’s hallway, the answer would be yes. if someone asked her, though? of course not!

her wrinkled flannel and skinny jeans combo turns out to be quite comfortable for a little marathon, as she runs towards the class’s building. she spotted jesse, one of her only friends, near it. he mouthed a clear ‘what the fuck are you doing’ but she just signaled that she would text him later, entering the building and fleeing up the stairs to the second floor.

by the time she arrived the classroom, she was a panting mess, totally out of breath, hands on her knees as she tried to compose herself before opening the door. through the little glass window, she could see some students. she saw you.

big mistake, she felt even more out of breath. you looked so pretty, writing something down in a rushed manner, sitting on your usual spot. her chair, next to yours, empty.

she took a deep breath, running her hand through her short auburn hair as she entered the classroom, murmuring a tiny ‘excuse me’ and going to her seat.

of course she has to smell great, too. is what she thinks as she sits down, trying not to throw any glances at you. would you talk to her today? she hoped you would.

but as the class went by, you haven’t said anything. she couldn’t stop throwing glances at you. you caught her twice, the second time offering her a soft smile, which almost made her melt in her seat.

when Mr. Barbosa finished the class everyone started gathering their things to leave. ellie was no different — until one of your friends nearly yelled, making her freeze on her spot as she heard it.

“he gave you the cd for free?!”

he…? they must not be talking about her, right? she tries shaking her thoughts away, but couldn’t help hearing the conversation.

“that’s totally flirting! i can’t believe the guy you’ve been drooling over for days just hit on you during his shift.” your other friend adds.

what the fuck? it can’t be. you thought she was a guy? i mean… yes, she doesn’t dress all girly. and you can’t really see her face with the face mask on. but still… a fucking guy? really?

“you should ask for his number! what is the cd about again?”

“mmm… it’s from a really cool band. sick habit. i kinda listened to all of their discography on spotify, too” you explain, shyly. but genuine. ellie’s heart is beating so fast that she is having trouble hearing anything besides it, but she heard you.

she wanted to hear you telling her that later, on her shift. but she was so confused… she should just clear this all up. and that’s what she would do. she couldn’t lead you on, it would be so cruel. are you even into girls?

“you have such a weird music taste.” one of your friends say, giggling.

you don’t usually care about other people’s opinion, but somehow, when it comes to music, you’ve always felt so different from everybody else in your circle. they always point it out, too, which makes you uncomfortable.

“crap, leah, we have to meet jake at starbucks, like, right now. he’s got our stuff” your other friend pointed and they both said bye to you, rushing out of class.

ellie watches it all — the way your smile fades a bit when your friend says you had a weird taste in music. you really don’t. she thinks your music taste is fire.

she wanted to comfort you, somehow. her mind was a mess, not knowing if she should stay away from you or give in to her desire to get to know you better.

then, she sees it. your wired earbuds, dropped on the floor. she grabs them, getting closer to you. you get slightly startled, until you realize it’s her. ellie, the girl that sits next to you. she has green eyes, you would always see them through her glasses. cute freckles too, all over her cheeks and nose. and a lip ring.

you noticed her, sometimes. like, really noticed. she was pretty. but you barely talked. not because you didn’t like her, she was just usually very quiet. you even thought about asking for her help with your VFX paper, — which is still unfinished — but you didn’t.

she leans forward a bit, putting something in your ear. your earbuds. you didn’t even realize you had dropped them, since they are still connected to your phone, as ‘loser’ by beck is blasting through them and can be faintly heard by the both of you.

her fingers brushes at your ear, as she looks down at you. you freeze. her eyes, for a moment, really reminded you of the guy from the cd store.

“you dropped it.” she flashes you a crooked smile. “this song rocks, by the way.”

and with that, she’s gone. leaving a starstruck you behind.

you check your reflection in the mirror one last time, making sure you look good. you like the way your clothes fit on your body. you’ve worn this outfit a lot already — never to the cd store, though.

the time has come. finally you would go back there and see her again. it’s been so long (less than 24 hours). to be honest, time really seems to pass slower when you crave to see someone. and she hasn’t left your mind for even a second.

meanwhile, ellie was at the store since her classes ended. joel asked her to come a little earlier today to help him unpack the new arrivals and that’s what’s been keeping her busy all afternoon. which is great because she was almost going insane in her own head, thinking about what she should do about your… situation.

it’s way more complicated than she thought. because, even if she didn’t like to admit, she did care about you. so what if you barely know each other? you’ve always been nice to her — at least at the times you spoke to each other.

also, you guys share classes together. three, every week. she sits next to you in two of them. it would be so awkward if she just revealed herself to you. she tried imagining doing it naturally, just taking the mask off at some point. but she never did that, so it wouldn’t feel natural at all.

to be honest, she didn’t even know if she wanted you to know she is actually a girl. not a random girl, but your classmate. what if you stopped going to the store? changed your seat? just out of embarassment. ellie didn’t want that to happen.

she sighed, rolling her hoodie’s sleeves up, as she grabbed another box of cds to put on display, approaching one of the many shelves and kneeling down on the floor. she put the box down and took the nirvana cds, organizing them on the shelf.

the store is very cozy. there’s just something about it that makes her feel like she’s home. maybe the fact that her dad owns it? yes, that could be it, indeed. but she would like to work there even if it wasn’t joel’s.

music has always been a part of her life. a big one. all of her childhood memories are filled with songs. mostly rock ones. when she was little, joel and her uncle, tommy, were always playing something for her, letting her sing even if she didn’t really know the words. she grew up playing instruments and being surrounded by melodies.

since they opened Firefly, a few years ago, she would play among the cd shelves all day long, after school. the regular costumers adored her. some still do, visiting every now and then. she was so lost in those nostalgic memories that she didn’t even hear you arriving.

you recognized ‘tonight, tonight’ by the smashing pumpkins playing through the store’s speakers. not too loud, just loud enough to be comfortable and settle into the background. you smiled to yourself when your eyes laid on the figure knelt down in front of a shelf.

adjusting your purse, you made your way towards her. you took in her clothes, noticing something you didn’t see before. a tattoo, on her right forearm. a moth and fern? damn. it’s beautiful.

“i didn’t know you have a tattoo.” you say softly, making your presence known.

oh fuck. your words take ellie out of her thoughts, she turns to look at you. “you like it?”

“yeah, it’s beautiful.” you get closer to her and she nearly panicks, standing up.

“i was waiting for you.” it blurts out before she can stop herself. she wasn’t supposed to flirt with you, god. she should tell you the truth.

you blush at her bluntness. “have you, now?” you chuckle. “guess i couldn’t leave you hanging.”

“im glad you didn’t… so, did you like sick habit?” ellie asks, even if she already knows the answer.

“a lot. i had to listen to their discography on spotify after i finished the cd.”

“couldn’t get enough, huh?”

you almost shiver at the answer. why does he sound so good? “i guess not. in fact, i came here to buy another cd from them.”

“so you didn’t come to see me?” she teases, mentally facepalming herself right after. why the fuck can’t i stop flirting with her?

but then you chuckle shyly and she knows exactly why. she just can’t get enough of you, apparently.

“well, i… also want your number.” you shrug, trying to act nonchalant but your heart is beating like crazy. so hard you hope she can’t hear it.

talking about hearing things, you definitely didn’t miss the hoarse chuckle that escaped her lips. muffled by the face mask, but still there. your stomach might just fly on its own by now.

she pretends to ponder for a moment, just to tease you. she couldn’t really say no to you, could she?

“fair enough. do you know which cd you want to take today?”

“their second album.”

apparently, it was right next to your head, on the shelf behind you, as she gently sticks her tattoed arm next to your face, taking the cd and murmuring “great choice.”

you swallow hard as you stare at each other. it feels like everything around you just froze. her green eyes piercing through yours like she’s seeing inside your brain.

“there’s a girl in my college that reminds me of you.” you say, simply.

not imagining the turmoil it causes in ellie’s head. cursing internally and praying that you didn’t recognize her. but also…

she remembered me?

is what she thinks, before clearing her throat and answering “she must be pretty, then”

“cocky much?” you tease, but you are not denying it.

ellie laughs and your heart swells. “it’s $9,99” she hands you the cd.

you give her ten dollars. she writes something down and hands it to you. one cent.

and a card with her number written on it.

next

end notes: OKAAAYYYY so this was nerve-wracking 😅 this is my first work EVERR and english is not my first language so pls be nice 🤓 i hope you liked reading it tho, lmk if you did 💘

[gottencents]

Dibs - Jennie Kim

pairing. meangirl!jennie x loser!reader

synopsis. jennie kim the school dubs as the it girl & of course a mean girl has called dibs on the schools biggest loser not to bully but to love ?

Jennie Kim had always been the center of attention. She was the undisputed queen of the school—head cheerleader, top of every best-dressed list, and the girl every student wanted to be or be with. She walked through the halls like she owned them, because, well… she did.

But nothing turned heads more than her obsession with Y/N L/N.

Y/N was the school’s biggest loser. At least, that’s what people called them. They weren’t part of any social circle, didn’t care about fashion, and had a permanent residence in the library. While Jennie was basking in the spotlight, Y/N was content sitting in the shadows. They weren’t bullied, per se—more like ignored.

Except by Jennie.

Jennie, who stared at them from across the cafeteria.

Jennie, who shut down anyone who had a single bad thing to say about them.

Jennie, who had once made an entire group of guys apologize after laughing at Y/N’s thrift-store hoodie.

Jennie, who was absolutely head over heels in love with the school’s most oblivious outcast.

And today, she was going to do something about it.

The cafeteria was buzzing with its usual energy—students chatting, music playing from someone’s speaker, and Jennie sitting at her usual table with her usual crowd. Lisa was talking about some new dance move, Jisoo was scrolling through her phone, and Rosé was engaged in a deep conversation about the ethics of pineapple on pizza.

Jennie, however, was not listening.

Her eyes were locked onto Y/N, who sat alone at the corner of the cafeteria, lazily eating their sandwich while reading a book.

Lisa followed Jennie’s gaze and sighed. “You’re doing it again.”

Jennie didn’t look away. “Doing what?”

“The whole ‘I’m-in-love-but-refuse-to-admit-it’ thing.”

Jisoo smirked, finally looking up from her phone. “I still don’t get it. You could have literally anyone. Why Y/N?”

Jennie tore her gaze away just long enough to glare at them. “Because I called dibs.”

Lisa snorted. “Dibs? That’s not how people work.”

Jennie crossed her arms. “I don’t care. Y/N is mine.”

Rosé raised an eyebrow. “Does Y/N know that?”

Jennie opened her mouth, then closed it. A beat of silence.

Lisa laughed. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

Jennie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m making my move.”

Jisoo blinked. “Wait—now?”

“Yes, now.”

Jennie stood, smoothing down her designer skirt before making her way across the cafeteria, her every step turning heads.

Whispers followed her. People watched with wide eyes, some elbowing their friends as they noticed where she was headed.

Y/N, of course, remained completely unaware, flipping a page in their book.

That is, until Jennie plopped down across from them and stole a fry from their tray.

Y/N finally looked up, blinking in confusion. “…Did you just steal my fry?”

Jennie smirked, twirling the fry between her fingers before eating it. “You weren’t eating them fast enough.”

Y/N stared at her, unimpressed. “Do you need something, Jennie?”

Jennie propped her chin up on her hand, batting her lashes. “I just wanted to keep you company.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that people are staring like you just walked onto the loser’s table?”

Jennie feigned innocence. “What? I can’t sit with my favorite person?”

Y/N gave her a look. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never spoken to me before.”

Jennie grinned. “Not my fault you avoid me.”

“I avoid everyone.”

Jennie hummed, stealing another fry. “That’s cute.”

Y/N groaned, setting their book down. “Okay, seriously—what do you want?”

Jennie leaned forward, her voice dropping into something softer, more genuine. “I want you to let me take you on a date.”

Silence.

Y/N blinked. Once. Twice. “…A date.”

Jennie nodded. “Yeah, you know. Those things where two people go out together, and one of them falls madly in love with the other.”

Y/N gave her an unimpressed stare. “So you just assume I’d be the one falling in love?”

Jennie smirked. “I already have.”

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. “…What.”

Jennie rested her chin on her palm, watching them with the kind of intensity that made it hard to breathe. “I’ve liked you for years. I was just waiting for you to notice.”

Y/N blinked again. “Jennie. You’re literally the most popular girl in school.”

Jennie shrugged. “And?”

“And I’m me.”

Jennie tilted her head. “Exactly. You’re you. And I happen to think you’re perfect.”

Y/N opened their mouth, then closed it. For the first time in their life, they had no idea what to say.

Jennie leaned forward even more, whispering just for them to hear—

“So… what do you say?”

Y/N swallowed. “…You’re not going to stop bothering me if I say no, are you?”

Jennie grinned. “Nope.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing their temple. “Fine. One date.”

Jennie beamed, standing up as if she’d just won the lottery. “Great! I’ll pick you up Friday. Don’t be late.”

Y/N watched in stunned silence as Jennie walked away, leaving the entire cafeteria whispering and staring.

Lisa, Jisoo, and Rosé looked at Jennie expectantly when she returned to her seat.

Jennie smirked. “Told you. Dibs.”

For the rest of the day, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

It wasn’t paranoia—people were actually staring at them. In the hallways, in class, even when they went to their locker, whispers followed in their wake.

Did you see Jennie sit with them at lunch?

I heard she asked them out!

Is this some kind of joke?

By the time the final bell rang, Y/N’s head was pounding. They had spent their entire high school life flying under the radar, and now, thanks to Jennie Kim, that was officially over.

They trudged toward their locker, exhausted, only to find her already waiting there, leaning casually against the wall.

Jennie smirked when she saw them. “Hey, cutie.”

Y/N groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”

Jennie tilted her head. “Would you prefer ‘my future spouse’?”

Y/N shut their locker with more force than necessary. “Do you ever stop?”

Jennie grinned. “Nope.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing their temple. “Look, Jennie, what’s your deal? I mean, really.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow. “My deal?”

“Yeah. You’re… you. And I’m me. We don’t make sense.”

Jennie’s expression softened, and for the first time since this whole ordeal started, she looked genuine.

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

Y/N hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Because you’re popular, rich, and everyone in this school either worships you or wants to date you. And me?” They motioned to themselves. “I don’t even think half the school remembers my name.”

Jennie took a step closer, her gaze locked onto them. “I remember it.”

Y/N felt their heart stutter.

Jennie took another step. “I remember the way you always choose the seat by the window in class because you like the natural light.”

Another step.

“I remember how you only ever eat peanut butter sandwiches for lunch because you think cafeteria food is a government conspiracy.”

Y/N’s face burned. “I—”

Jennie smirked. “I remember how you always chew on the end of your pen when you’re stuck on a math problem. How you roll your eyes when you’re flustered. How your nose scrunches up when you laugh.”

She was so close now that Y/N could feel the warmth radiating off her.

Jennie tilted her head, her voice dropping into something softer. “You might not think you’re special, Y/N, but I do. And I don’t care if the rest of the school doesn’t see it.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “…You really like me?”

Jennie let out a soft laugh. “I called dibs on you. That’s basically a love confession.”

Y/N snorted despite themselves, shaking their head. “You’re impossible.”

Jennie grinned. “And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

Y/N sighed. “I hate that you have a point.”

Jennie smirked, reaching out to adjust the collar of their hoodie, her fingers brushing against their neck for just a second.

“Get used to it, loser. You’re stuck with me now.”

And as Jennie sauntered away, leaving Y/N standing there with a racing heart and a flushed face, one thought crossed their mind:

They were so, so screwed.

Y/N stood frozen in the middle of the hallway long after Jennie walked away, their thoughts racing at a million miles per hour.

How was this their life now?

One minute, they were just a nobody, and the next, Jennie Kim—the most untouchable girl in school—was calling dibs on them like they were her personal treasure. And now? Now they had a date with her.

A date.

Y/N groaned, pressing their forehead against their locker.

“Uhh… are you okay?”

Y/N turned their head to see their classmate, Mark, giving them a concerned look.

“No,” Y/N deadpanned.

Mark blinked. “What happened?”

Y/N exhaled dramatically. “Jennie Kim.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. That.”

Y/N lifted their head, narrowing their eyes. “Wait—you knew she liked me?”

Mark gave them an incredulous look. “Dude, everyone knew.”

Y/N gawked. “How? I didn’t even know!”

Mark shrugged. “It was kinda obvious. The staring, the shutting down anyone who talked bad about you, the fact that she nearly started a fight with Minho when he tried asking you out last year—”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh.” Mark scratched the back of his neck. “You didn’t know about that?”

“No, I did not know about that!”

Mark winced. “Yeah, uh… Minho made some joke about you being a ‘charity case’ for the school and how Jennie should date ‘someone on her level,’ and she kinda—”

“What?”

“—threw her iced coffee at him.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “She what?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah. Then she told him, and I quote, ‘If Y/N isn’t on my level, then maybe I should try lowering myself to yours and see if that makes me want to throw up less.’”

Y/N stared.

Mark shrugged. “Anyway, Minho transferred schools after that, so.”

Y/N still hadn’t closed their mouth. “You’re telling me Jennie Kim has been defending my honor for years, and I just never noticed?”

Mark gave them a flat look. “You walk through life like a background character. So, yeah.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down their face. “I hate this school.”

Mark patted their shoulder. “Good luck on your date.”

Y/N groaned again.

If Y/N thought the attention yesterday was bad, today was so much worse.

The moment they walked into school, the whispers started up again. People glanced at them in the hallways, whispered behind their hands, and a few brave souls even nodded in approval at them like they had just won some secret competition.

By lunch, Y/N was exhausted.

They sat at their usual table in the farthest corner of the cafeteria, hoping for some peace and quiet. But, of course, that was too much to ask.

Because Jennie Kim was heading straight toward them.

Again.

And this time, she wasn’t alone.

Lisa, Rosé, and Jisoo followed closely behind her, their faces filled with amused curiosity. The entire cafeteria watched as Jennie plopped down in the seat directly next to Y/N—so close their shoulders were pressed together.

Y/N swallowed. “Uh—”

Jennie stole a fry from their tray again. “Hi.”

Lisa smirked. “Hope you don’t mind some company.”

Y/N stared at the four of them, then at the way Jennie was completely invading their personal space, and sighed. “Do I even have a choice?”

Jennie grinned. “Nope.”

Rosé giggled, taking a seat across from them. “You’re funny.”

Jisoo rested her chin on her hand. “So. Y/N. How does it feel knowing Jennie’s been secretly in love with you this whole time?”

Y/N nearly choked. “I—”

Jennie smacked Jisoo’s arm. “Unnecessary.”

Lisa leaned forward. “Nah, but seriously. You really had no clue?”

Y/N hesitated before sighing. “Not even a little.”

Rosé gasped. “Not even when she defended you all those times?”

Y/N frowned. “I didn’t know she was defending me! No one told me!”

Lisa whistled. “Damn. You’re really out here living life on airplane mode, huh?”

Jennie rolled her eyes but was still watching Y/N closely, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of their sleeve.

Y/N sighed, shaking their head. “I still don’t get it.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow. “Get what?”

Y/N looked at her. “Why me? Of all the people in this school, why me?”

Jennie held their gaze for a moment before speaking, her voice softer than before.

“Because you don’t care about any of this.” She gestured vaguely to the cafeteria, to the stares, the whispers, the constant attention. “You’re not like the people who only like me for my status. You don’t try to impress me, or be something you’re not. You’re just… you.”

Y/N felt their heart skip a beat.

Lisa fake wiped a tear. “Damn, that was deep.”

Jennie shot her a glare.

Jisoo clapped her hands together. “Alright, so when’s the wedding?”

Y/N groaned. “Can we not?”

Jennie smirked. “Not yet. Let me at least take them on a date first.”

Y/N buried their face in their hands.

Rosé giggled. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Lisa nodded. “Agreed.”

Jennie leaned in, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as she whispered—

“I told you. You’re stuck with me now.”

And for some reason, despite all the chaos, Y/N found that they didn’t mind it.

Not one bit.

[thedensworld]

No Big Deal | L. Jh

Genre: fluff, dad au!

Summary: At the end of the day, both of you are a team. Even it sounds like a no big deal, it should be discussed.

Kim Mingyu had just become a father, and the entire group was ecstatic. Finally, the ever-enthusiastic, kid-loving Mingyu had a child of his own—one he could pour all his affection into instead of borrowing everyone else’s. The mood was lighthearted, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air as everyone gathered for a celebratory dinner.

Between bites of grilled meat and sips of soju, the topic naturally shifted to parenting.

"How do you even raise a kid properly when they’re growing up?" Mingyu mused, his eyes full of wonder.

The members who already had children began chiming in, eagerly sharing their own experiences and philosophies. Meanwhile, the single ones remained largely unbothered, focused on their food and drinks, merely listening in amusement.

Then, out of nowhere, Seungcheol turned to Jihoon.

"How about you, Jihoon? Do you scold your daughter?"

Jihoon, caught off guard, blinked in surprise. He wasn’t expecting to be pulled into the discussion so suddenly.

Jihoon was a father of two—a five-year-old son, Junho, and a three-year-old daughter, Jena. His children were widely adored, even by Mingyu, who often declared them to be the easiest kids to take care of. They were well-behaved, gentle, and polite—traits they no doubt inherited from both of their parents. It was hard not to love them.

Jeonghan, the ever-observant older member, leaned back with a knowing smirk. "There’s always a difference in how a father treats his son versus his daughter," he commented. "No matter how hard you try, you just can’t bring yourself to scold a daughter the same way."

Joshua and Jun nodded in agreement, chuckling.

Seungcheol, however, wasn’t convinced. "If I need to scold them, I scold them," he stated firmly.

Jeonghan chuckled. "That’s because you only have daughter. It’s different when you have both. Jihoon, what do you think?"

Jihoon let out a sigh, thinking back. Had he ever actually scolded Jena? He honestly couldn’t remember. Every time she looked up at him with those big, glistening eyes and her plump, rosy cheeks, he felt himself melt. Her giggles could soften even the hardest of hearts.

But Junho? Oh, he had plenty of memories of scolding Junho. When Junho made a mess, he scolded him. When Junho tripped over a cable, he scolded him. It wasn’t that he loved one child more than the other—it was just different.

"I think Jeonghan hyung has a point," Jihoon admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "I don’t think I’ve ever actually raised my voice at Jena… but with Junho, it happens naturally. I don’t even think about it, it just comes out."

The table erupted into laughter, knowing nods exchanged between the fathers.

"See?" Jeonghan grinned. "Daughters just have their dads wrapped around their fingers."

Jihoon sighed, taking a sip of his drink. "Yeah… it’s dangerous."

The conversation continued, filled with more stories, advice, and teasing remarks, but Jihoon couldn’t help but glance at his phone, where his lock screen displayed a photo of Junho and Jena together—smiling brightly, unaware of just how much power they had over their father’s heart.

"Are the kids asleep already?" Jihoon asked as he stepped inside, setting down his bag and spotting you curled up on the couch with a book in hand.

You turned your head toward him, a soft smile gracing your lips. "They've been asleep for a while now," you replied, glancing at the clock. "It's way past their bedtime."

Jihoon bit his lip, guilt creeping in as he realized how late it was. "Sorry, love. Seungcheol hyung wouldn’t let anyone leave early," he murmured, making his way to you. He plopped down beside you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

You ran your fingers through his hair, letting his head rest against your shoulder. "It must've been fun, though. It's been a while since you guys had a gathering like that."

Jihoon hummed in agreement, his voice laced with exhaustion and amusement. "Mingyu was absolutely ecstatic about having a daughter. We even started listing potential names for her."

You chuckled, already knowing how ridiculous things could get when the group brainstormed anything. "Don't tell me someone suggested 'Bap.'"

Jihoon pulled away just enough to look at you, laughing as he nodded. "Oh, absolutely. We threw in every possible name that could go with Kim. It was chaotic."

Shaking your head in amusement, you leaned into him. "It sounds like kids were the main topic of the night."

"Pretty much," Jihoon admitted. "We ended up discussing a lot of parenting stuff—it was actually pretty informative. I can't believe how much the guys have changed now that they’re married." He let out a soft chuckle, still wrapping his mind around the fact that his once carefree bandmates were now giving fatherhood advice.

You smirked. "I bet Wonwoo, Dino, Vernon, and Seungkwan struggled to keep up with that conversation."

Jihoon grinned, nodding. "Oh, they were completely in their own world. The world of being single."

You playfully smacked his arm. "Don't make fun of them," you scolded, though the amused glint in your eyes betrayed you.

Jihoon only smiled, his gaze softening as he cupped your face. Without another word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a lingering kiss, one that carried both affection and exhaustion.

When he pulled back, his voice was a gentle murmur. "Let's go to bed, love. You must be tired too."

With a small nod, you set your book aside, letting Jihoon pull you up with him. Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you followed him to your shared room, ready to end the long day in the comfort of each other’s arms.

*

"Hey, there's no need to scold her. It's not a big deal," Jihoon muttered, his voice carrying a slight edge.

It was his day off, and the two of you were sitting on the couch, finally enjoying some downtime. That peace was short-lived when Jena toddled over, her big, pleading eyes locked onto Jihoon.

"Daddy, can I have a candy?" she asked, her tiny hands clutching his arm.

Jihoon glanced at the clock—almost lunchtime. "Not right now, sweetheart. You’ll spoil your appetite."

Jena's pout deepened, and she tugged on his sleeve. He hesitated, but eventually, he caved, slipping her a small piece of candy.

That should have been the end of it—except she came back for more.

This time, you were in the room.

"Jena," you said, your tone patient but firm. "If you eat candy now, you won’t enjoy your lunch."

Jena didn’t like your response. Her expression twisted, and within seconds, she burst into tears, her tiny frame shaking as she threw herself into a tantrum. You let her cry, waiting for her to calm down, but when the wailing only grew louder, you had enough.

"You won’t get anything you want by throwing a tantrum, Jena," you said, your voice sharp enough to cut through the noise. "If you want something, ask politely. And if someone says no, it’s because they have a reason—a reason that’s good for you."

Jihoon shifted beside you. "She’s just a kid," he muttered, crossing his arms.

You turned to him fully, your patience thinning. "That’s exactly why she needs to learn now. If we keep giving in, she’s going to think crying is a way to get what she wants."

Jihoon sighed, rubbing his temples. "I just don’t see why it had to be such a big deal. It was one piece of candy."

Your jaw tightened. "It’s not about the candy, Jihoon. It’s about discipline. She needs to understand that rules exist for a reason."

He exhaled heavily, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I get that, but you don’t have to be so strict about it."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "And you don’t have to be so soft just because she’s cute. You’re teaching her that she can get her way if she looks at you the right way. Do you want that to become a habit?"

Jihoon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering between you and Jena, who had finally calmed down and wandered off to join Junho, drawing sea creatures on the DIY board Mingyu had made.

After a long pause, he sighed. "I just don’t like seeing her cry."

Your expression softened slightly, but you held your ground. "Neither do I. But I'd rather deal with a few tears now than have her grow up thinking she can manipulate people to get her way."

Jihoon leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. He hated to admit it, but you had a point. Still, a part of him felt torn.

Days later, Jihoon was sitting in his studio, lost in the rhythm of a song he was working on. Jena sat comfortably on his lap, bouncing along to the beat with a wide grin, her tiny hands clapping excitedly. Jihoon couldn’t help but smile at her, the warmth of fatherhood settling deep in his chest.

A sudden knock at the door pulled him from the moment. He turned just in time to see you walk in, your brows furrowed in concern. Without hesitation, you scooped Jena up from his lap.

"Junho is crying outside. What happened?" Your voice was firm, laced with worry.

Jihoon let out a slow sigh, already knowing this conversation was inevitable. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together as he tried to explain.

"He was playing in here with Jena while I was working," Jihoon began, his tone calm but a little exasperated. "He tripped over one of my cables and shut my computer off."

You frowned. "And?"

"I just gave him a word or two. Nothing big."

Before you could respond, Jena reached for your face, her little hands patting your cheeks as she babbled, "Mama, don’t get mad at Daddy!"

You softened slightly, pressing a quick kiss to Jena’s forehead before setting her down and guiding her outside to play with her brother. Then, you turned back to Jihoon, crossing your arms.

"Was your file deleted?"

Jihoon sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "No, babe. But that’s not the point. This isn’t the first time it’s happened."

"He’s crying outside, Jihoon. I’ve never seen him cry that hard. You hurt his heart, babe."

Jihoon scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "It’s because you were there. He wasn’t crying because he was hurt—he was crying because he wanted you to talk to me. I know him, he’s my son."

Your eyes narrowed slightly. "How can you say that? You shouldn't invalidate his emotions like that. He's only five, Jihoon. He probably feels awful about what happened, and now he feels like he disappointed you."

Jihoon met your gaze, his own dark and steady. "I didn’t invalidate his emotions, and you know that. Just like you told me with Jena, kids need to learn. I gave him words, not punishment. He cried because he wanted your attention, not because I was too harsh on him. Why don’t you understand that?"

The room fell into a brief silence, the tension thick between you. Jihoon’s jaw was tight, and you could see the conflict in his expression—his natural instinct to be strict versus your softer approach when it came to Junho.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe he just wanted comfort."

Jihoon let out a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "And maybe he needs to understand that actions have consequences. I didn't yell at him. I didn’t punish him. I just told him to be careful, but the moment he saw you, he turned on the waterworks."

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "He's a child, Jihoon. He makes mistakes, and he looks to us for guidance—not just discipline."

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. "And you think I don't know that?"

Silence stretched between you, heavy and thick.

Finally, you sighed, your voice quieter. "Just talk to him, okay? He needs to know you’re not angry at him."

Jihoon hesitated before nodding, running a hand over his face. "Yeah… okay."

You watched him for a moment longer before stepping back. "I’ll be outside... with the kids."

Jihoon sat there, staring at the closed door. His chest felt tight, not just from the tension between the two of you, but from the realization that, despite everything, he was still figuring out how to be a good father, and a good husband.

*

Later that night, the weight of the day still lingered in the air between you and Jihoon. The house was quiet, the kids fast asleep in their rooms, but the unresolved tension from earlier sat heavy on your chest as you lay in bed beside him. Jihoon was turned to the side, his back facing you slightly, his breaths steady but not quite asleep.

You sighed softly, shifting closer to him, resting your chin against his shoulder. "Jihoon..."

He hummed in acknowledgment, but he didn’t turn around.

You hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. "I’m sorry for getting upset earlier."

Jihoon finally rolled onto his back, eyes flickering open as he looked at you. "You don’t have to apologize," he murmured.

"I do," you insisted, searching his expression. "I know you weren’t trying to be too harsh with Junho. And I know you love him more than anything."

Jihoon let out a soft sigh, rubbing his face. "I just don’t want to raise him to think he can get away with things by crying," he admitted. "I don’t want him to grow up feeling entitled."

You nodded, understanding his perspective. "I get that. And I don’t want that either." You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. "But I also don’t want him to feel like he has to suppress his emotions just to be ‘strong.’ He’s still a kid, Jihoon. He’s learning how to deal with feelings, and he looks up to you so much. The way you talk to him shapes the way he sees himself."

Jihoon was silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Then he turned his head toward you, his gaze softer now. "So, what do we do?"

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "We find a middle ground. You don’t have to stop disciplining him, but maybe sometimes, instead of scolding him right away, we explain things to him first. Let him understand why something was wrong before we correct him. He respects you a lot, Jihoon. If you talk to him, he’ll listen."

Jihoon sighed, but this time, it was less of frustration and more of understanding. "Yeah... You’re right." He turned fully to face you, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I’ll try to do better."

You smiled, warmth filling your chest. "Me too."

Jihoon let out a quiet chuckle, tugging you closer until your head rested against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm against yours. "Parenting is harder than I thought," he murmured, voice laced with exhaustion.

You laughed softly. "Tell me about it."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the tension from earlier melting away. Jihoon pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Love you," he whispered.

You closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you. "Love you too."

A few days later, after much discussion, you and Jihoon decided to seek advice from a child behaviorist. It wasn’t about proving who was right or wrong—it was about understanding Junho and Jena better, about making sure you were raising them in a way that nurtured them both emotionally and mentally.

The session was eye-opening. The specialist listened to both of your parenting styles and observed how you and Jihoon interacted with the kids. At the end of the analysis, they gave you their insight.

"If raising a child is like sailing a ship," the behaviorist said, looking at both of you, "then both parents need to steer in the same direction. If one pulls to the left and the other to the right, the ship won’t move forward—it will just struggle against itself."

That line hit home.

Later that evening, after putting the kids to bed, you and Jihoon sat together at the dining table, the analysis report in front of you. Neither of you spoke at first, both processing everything.

Jihoon exhaled, rubbing his temples. "So basically, we have different methods, and we don’t talk about it enough."

You nodded, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. "I think we both just assume we’re doing what’s best without really checking in with each other first."

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "It makes sense, though. You’re more patient with the kids, and I—" he sighed, "—I tend to be strict, especially with Junho."

You reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You’re not wrong for wanting to teach him responsibility. And I’m not wrong for wanting him to express himself. But if we don’t agree on how to balance that, we’ll just confuse him."

Jihoon looked down at your joined hands, then back up at you. "So, what do we do now?"

You smiled, squeezing his fingers. "We do what we should’ve done from the start. We talk. Before making a decision about the kids, we communicate. If one of us feels like the other is being too harsh or too lenient, we address it together—not in front of the kids, but privately. We back each other up so they don’t feel like they have to pick sides."

Jihoon nodded slowly, letting your words sink in. "And if we don’t agree?"

"Then we find a compromise," you said simply. "Just like we do with everything else in life."

Jihoon let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I guess I didn’t realize how much teamwork parenting actually takes."

You smiled. "Neither did I."

He looked at you for a moment, then lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Alright, then. Let’s be better together."

You grinned. "Together."

That night, as you both lay in bed, Jihoon pulled you close, his hand resting protectively on your waist. "Thanks for pushing me to do this," he murmured.

"Thanks for meeting me halfway," you whispered back.

And just like that, the ship of your family was back on course, both of you steering it forward—together.

*

"Oh my god!" You gasped as you saw Jena clutching Junho's favorite toy—now in two broken pieces. Your heart sank as you rushed toward her, gently prying the shattered toy from her small hands. Junho, who had been sitting beside Jihoon watching his favorite TV show, turned his head at the sound of your voice.

"My robot!" Junho yelled, his face a mix of shock and devastation as he took in the sight of his broken toy.

Jena, still too young to understand the gravity of what she had done, simply turned away and began to walk off. But Junho was faster. He grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him.

"Jena, did you do this?" His voice wavered with disbelief.

Jihoon and you exchanged glances, concern flickering in your eyes. Jihoon exhaled through his nose, subtly signaling for you to stay calm.

Tears welled up in Jena’s eyes as she stood frozen by the wall, sniffling softly. Junho, however, was not done. Without another word, he stormed off toward her toy basket.

Your stomach twisted when you saw what he was after—Jena’s beloved bunny plushie. Before you could stop him, he grabbed a pair of scissors from the nearby desk and held the plushie up, placing the blade at its neck.

"No... No... No!" You rushed toward him, your heart pounding.

"Junho, stop! Revenge is not the answer!" You pleaded, blocking his way.

Jena let out a wail, running straight to you, desperately reaching for her bunny. Your thoughts raced. How had things escalated this quickly? Where had he learned this behavior?

Jihoon, now standing, swiftly stepped in. Without raising his voice, he took the plushie from Junho’s hands, his firm but calm presence instantly halting the situation.

Junho blinked up at his father, taken aback. To him, he had just wanted to scare his sister, to make her understand how it felt to lose something precious. But now, he was the one facing Jihoon’s disapproval.

Jihoon crouched to Jena’s level, his voice even. "Jena, you broke your brother’s toy. You need to say sorry."

You hesitated for a moment but then loosened your grip on her, letting her step forward. Yet, instead of apologizing, Jena stubbornly reached for her bunny in Jihoon’s grasp, her little hands stretching desperately toward it.

Jihoon sighed. "You made a mistake, Jena. If you don't take responsibility, I’ll have to throw this away."

Jena gasped, her little hands gripping the hem of your shirt as she stared at Jihoon in sheer horror. Tears welled up in her round eyes, her lower lip trembling as she realized what was happening.

"No, Daddy! No!" she cried, her voice breaking as she stomped her feet. "Not my bunny!"

You felt your chest tighten at the sight of her distress, but Jihoon remained firm, his expression unreadable as he held the plushie just out of reach.

"Then say sorry, Jena." His tone wasn’t angry, but it was resolute.

Jena sniffled, but instead of apologizing, she lunged forward, trying to climb Jihoon’s leg to reach her toy. He gently blocked her, and her frustration turned into wails.

Junho, who had been standing stiffly a few feet away, clenched his fists. His face was still tear-streaked, but now, guilt flickered in his eyes as he watched his sister fall apart. His earlier anger seemed to fade into something softer—uncertainty, maybe even regret.

Jihoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jena, you broke your brother’s toy. It was his favorite. If you don’t take responsibility, how is that fair?"

Jena only cried harder, shaking her head furiously. "I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!"

You crouched beside her, rubbing slow circles on her back. "Baby, I know you didn’t mean to, but when we make mistakes, we have to say sorry. That’s how we make things better."

Jena hiccuped between sobs, but she wasn’t budging.

Jihoon turned to Junho, handing him the plushie. "Junho, you tell me. Should I throw it away?"

Junho's eyes widened as he looked at the bunny in his hands. His fingers tightened around it for a second, but then he looked at his sister—her face blotchy from crying, her tiny body trembling.

Slowly, he shook his head. "No…" His voice was quiet, unsure. "Jena can't sleep without it."

Jihoon watched him carefully. "But she broke your toy. Doesn’t that mean it’s fair?"

Junho bit his lip. He glanced down at the bunny, then at Jena, then finally at you—like he was searching for the right answer. After a long moment, he let out a deep breath and walked over to his sister.

"Just be careful when you play with my toys, okay?" His voice was soft, hesitant, but sincere.

Jena sniffled, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Then, in a flash, she threw herself at him, wrapping her little arms around his waist.

"I’m sorry, oppa!" she cried. "I didn’t mean to break your robot!"

Junho hesitated before patting her head. "Okay, okay… just don’t do it again."

You and Jihoon exchanged glances, both of you exhaling at the same time. The tension in the room slowly dissolved, replaced by something lighter—relief, maybe even pride.

*

"Woah… How does she have your attitude? She nearly refused to say sorry, babe!" you said in disbelief, a teasing lilt in your voice as you eyed Jihoon knowingly.

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

You smirked. "She has the pride of Lee Jihoon."

Jihoon let out a chuckle, shaking his head before pulling you into his arms. His warmth was comforting as you lay together on the bed, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

"You were so stressed back then," he murmured, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.

You let out a deep sigh. "How could I not be? Junho was holding scissors, babe. He was actually about to cut her plushie. I can’t even begin to imagine what could’ve happened if things went wrong."

Jihoon tightened his hold around you, his voice low and reassuring. "Don’t worry, love. I always step in—now or later. I would never let anything happen to them."

His words should have eased you, and in a way, they did. But still, the thought lingered in your mind. You let out another sigh, resting your head against his chest. "But I was surprised too, honestly. Where did he even learn that kind of reaction? Has he been watching something…?"

Jihoon blinked before realization dawned on him. "Wait… we've been rewatching Jujutsu Kaisen together."

Your eyes widened as you pulled back to look at him. "Are you serious? And you let him?"

Jihoon let out an awkward laugh. "I mean, he loves it! And it’s not that bad—"

You shot him a look. "That show has fights, curses, and literal revenge plots. Junho just tried to traumatize his sister with a scissor! Connect the dots."

Jihoon winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, okay… maybe I’ll put a pause on anime night for a bit."

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. "Unbelievable."

Jihoon let out a soft chuckle, his fingers lazily trailing up and down your spine. "You stress too much, babe."

You scoffed, shifting slightly in his embrace. "Of course, I do! I’m literally trying to keep our kids from turning into little menaces."

He hummed in amusement, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing against your bare skin. "And I love that about you… but you should let yourself relax too."

You shivered at his touch, but you tried to keep your composure. "Easier said than done, babe."

Jihoon smirked, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Well, lucky for you, I know exactly how to help with that."

You narrowed your eyes at him, already recognizing the shift in his tone. "Babe—"

"Shhh," he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss on your jaw before tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "Just trust me, love. Let me take care of you for a bit."

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise between the two of you as Jihoon’s fingers traced slow, teasing circles on your skin.

Maybe… just this once, you could let him distract you.

[odoraful]

𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑨𝑹𝑴 ᯓ 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩

⟡ content: gn!reader ; established relationship ; honey petname hehe ; minor hurt/comfort (which i didn't anticipate honestly, but it seemed to just go in that direction :O) ; 1.5k wc

⟡ a/n: i watched a clip where pepper potts helps tony stark replace like the tech in his heart and my brain went straight to caleb! also i don't know bionics at all so pls suspend disbelief at my descriptions of tech because its definitely all baloney HAHA also still figuring out how to write for caleb so it might be ooc..,, ANYWAY I DIGRESS i do hope it's an enjoyable read!! <33

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It was beyond you why Caleb chose to entrust you with this task, and equally incomprehensible that you agreed to it. Sure, you knew your way around certain weaponry and gadgets—a skill every good Hunter needed to have—but you were certainly no biomechanical engineer. Yet here you were sitting in the living room of Caleb’s home, his bionic arm fully revealed to you and a set of tools being laid out on the table.

“Isn’t the maintenance process… automated?” you asked, voice quivering with trepidation.

Caleb finished arranging the equipment in front of him. A neat array of screwdrivers and wires.

Comparably, there was no indication of hesitancy in his voice when he spoke.

“Yes, it typically is,” he answered, sitting back down on the sofa. He flexed the fingers of his right arm before flashing a smile at you, “but this isn’t one of those typical times.”

His usually comforting smile did little to ease you. You sat down, observing his arm as he continued speaking.

“One of the wires here—” Caleb pointed to the area at his elbow, “—has loosened for some reason. It just needs some reconnecting and I’ll be right as rain.”

He was right. Upon closer inspection, you could see the wire now beginning to detach from the small, round metal piece it was connected to. Occasionally, a tiny spark of electricity flashed from within the empty hole. If this was left unchecked, it would certainly lead to some kind of malfunction.

You squirmed in the cushion. “Wouldn’t telling the Fleet be better? Don’t they have technicians to do this exact thing?”

Caleb's lips quirked upwards, betraying the stiffness he suddenly felt.

Yes, it would be protocol to let the people responsible for this arm know (whether that was the Fleet or not he would never admit the truth of to you), but it was far too bothersome to have them inspect and diagnose for such a minor issue. And then, there was the pain of it as well. Caleb was very familiar with gritting one’s teeth and baring it, but the soulless nature of the Professor’s rooms made him always feel so alone. Despite the bright, sterile lights and the group of masked technicians in white coats attending to his arm, it was always just him and the pain and the desire for everything to be finished already.

Things were a lot different now with you here, finally here with him.

“Oh, your touch is much gentler than anyone in the Fleet, trust me,” he replied.

Though he hadn’t actually answered your question, the line was enough classic Caleb charm to disarm you. He looked fondly over at your expression as your shook your head, trying to stifle your laugh.

“It’s not a full maintenance repair, just a simple replacement. I’ll walk you through every step, don’t worry.”

He patted the space right next to him and you shuffled over.

“Caleb… will this hurt you?”

You couldn’t help but recall the pain he was in when his arm was hooked up to that machine. Your chest grew tight at the memory.

“Not at all, I swear,” he quickly responded. “Like I said, it’s just a replacement.”

He reached over to pick up a screwdriver. Turning his right arm around so you could see his elbow clearer, he used the tool to point out a small screw on the round metal pieces where the wire was being held.

“So, all you need to do is turn this a little to the left, and it should loosen the wire enough to remove it.”

Caleb then reached for the table to pick up a wire the same as the one in his arm. Though, the metallic conductors could be seen emerging out from the ends of the black casing.

“Then, all you need to do is just need to replace it with this.”

You repeated his words over in your mind. Loosen and then replace.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you took the screwdriver. You placed a hand against his arm to help steady yourself. The metal cooled your sweaty palm. Moving closer, you inserted the tip of the screwdriver into the screw, turning it slowly as possible. Afraid that any quick movements might have an adverse effect.

Just as Caleb had said, once the screws were turned, the metal pieces widened and the wire was freely hanging, only held to the arm by its conductive metal.

So focused on making sure your hands weren’t shaking, you didn’t see Caleb’s eyes scrunched shut, taking in deep breaths through his nose.

“Ah!”

Your head snapped up hearing him wince. His eyes peeled open, a weak but sheepish expression on his face.

“Caleb! You promised it wouldn’t hurt you!”

At your accusatory look, he chuckled wearily. “That was nothing! Just a little—” he sucked a sharp breath in “—buzz that’s all.”

Panicked, you put the screwdriver down. “W-what do I do now?!” you stuttered out, holding your hands away from the exposed area.

“Take the old wire out and put the new one in the same spot.” Despite his discomfort, Caleb tempered his voice. His composure kept your fear at bay for the moment. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.”

You nodded. Moving you hand closer again, you held onto the wire delicately. You pulled slowly. Thankfully, it released without any tugging needed.

“Mhm, there you go. You’re doing great,” Caleb reassured.

The conductive wire unfurled as if aware it was being replaced. You picked up the wire Caleb had held previously in demonstration and lined it up in the empty space. Similarly, the wire reattached itself.

“Now tighten it with the screwdriver.”

Turning the screws once again, you felt the round metal pieces tighten around the wire, holding it securely in place. The repair appeared successful.

You let out a long sigh, relief washing over you. You looked at Caleb’s face, hoping you wouldn’t find him pale and stricken. Instead, he was smiling. He turned his bionic arm around, bending his elbow and wiggling his fingers. It looked like it was back to normal.

“Look at that,” he beamed. “I knew you could do it, honey.”

Your laugh was filled with disbelief at his complete faith in you. “Please don’t ask me to do this again.” You were still slightly delirious by everything that just happened.

“What if I don’t have anyone but you?” he responded.

You knew that statement wasn’t true. There were plenty of people he could rely on to assist him with this. He was the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet after all. Yet, there was a softness in his tone and a distance in his eyes as he spoke. He really believed that to be the truth.

You looped your pinkie finger around his (still hesitant if your craftsmanship had fully worked). Caleb glanced down at your movement. He saw your tenderness and there was a phantom sensation of warmth right where your fingers connected. Though, he knew it was all just his brain and its sensory signals trying desperately to reconstruct a feeling he once had.

“But what if I messed up a-and something bad had happened? I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Caleb enveloped his hand around yours. His touch was cold and metallic, but his words were anything but.

“Nothing you do could ever hurt me.”

The color of his bionic arm began to change. It flickered in the same way a holographic screen did when you put your hand through it. His arm was recalibrating to project the perfect color, and to mimic the feeling of real skin. As fast as you could blink, it returned to its usual appearance.

Caleb squeezed your hand. “See? Right as rain.”

The sudden mixture of your fear and sadness made you crave being in his hold. You pulled him into a hug. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you buried you face into his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, rubbing your back. “I’m still here with you, arm fully functional.”

“I know…” you remained glued to his shoulder, voice muffling.

“Nothing bad will happen to me,” he said, coaxing you gently both in speech and touch as he grazed his finger against your cheek. “Could I see you? Please?”

You lifted your head up, leaning back. Your eyes were glossy with tears and Caleb felt as though he’d been stabbed in the chest. He kissed you on the forehead. With his thumb, he carefully swiped at your bottom lashes.

“I'm sorry, honey. I don’t know what I was thinking wanting you to do this,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your skin at his closeness. “You don’t have to do this for me next time.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffed, shaking your head. “Now that I know what to expect, I think I can help you if this happens again.”

The shock soon passed. Feeling the rise and fall of Caleb’s chest grounded you. You both held each other until the pain faded, talking to each other quietly in the embrace.

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[linxnnalyn]

Shauna being obsessed with Jackie's younger sister! reader

࣪𖤐.ᐟ note -> Oh Shauna they could never make me hate you <33

࣪𖤐.ᐟ warnings -> S3 SPOILERS (?), mentions of cannibalism and death, TOXIC!!!

࣪𖤐.ᐟ content includes -> fluff and angst, reader is like a year younger, protective! obsessive! yandere-ish Shauna, manipulation, guilt, reader wasn't a part of the soccer team.

۫ ꣑ৎ Shauna and you weren’t close before the crash, in Shauna's eyes you were just Jackie's younger sister, but everything changed after the crash. Jackie and Shauna were the only people you really knew on the team so you chose to stick with them, making you eventually grow closer with Shauna.

۫ ꣑ৎ You were the second person to know that Shauna is pregnant, and the first to know that the baby is Jeff's. Shauna begged you not to tell Jackie and you didn’t, unsure if it was because you actually like Shauna now or because you didn’t like Jeff at all. Either way you kept her secret, which deeply upset Jackie when she found out.

۫ ꣑ৎ After Jackie's death the two of you found comfort in each other. Shauna would be glued to your side at all times, telling herself that it is simply because she is making sure that you are safe for Jackie and because of her guilt, but Shauna knew deep down that wasn’t the truth and so did her hallucination of Jackie.

۫ ꣑ৎ As time passed Shauna became more and more obsessive and protective of you, especially after her baby's death. It was obvious how much hurt she is and Shauna played that card well enough so you wouldn’t leave her side. She doesn’t feel guilty for it, thinking that she is doing what's right to keep you safe.

۫ ꣑ৎ When the two of you do eventually get together Shauna starts hallucinating Jackie again. Jackie would tell her how she is a bad influence on you and that she would eventually hurt you how she hurt you exactly the same way she hurt Jackie. And after that hallucination Jackie never appeared again.

۫ ꣑ৎ She starts to isolate you slowly—never in ways that feel cruel, always in ways that feel like concern. She tells you the others don’t really care about you, not like she does. That they only tolerate you. Over time, you begin to drift away from the rest of the group, spending more and more time with Shauna.

۫ ꣑ৎ Shauna has your back every time, and she expects the same from you. Especially after she starts fighting with Mari and even Nat. Shauna would manipulate you into thinking that she is in the right, that they are wrong and have something against her. And you believe her. Every time.

۫ ꣑ৎ Sometimes she catches herself calling you Jackie by accident, especially when she’s tired or panicked. She always corrects herself and brushes it off. You never say anything about it, but it stays with you longer than you'd like. In those moments, Shauna doesn’t know if she loves you because of who you are or because of who you remind her of—and it haunts you more than you want to admit.

۫ ꣑ৎ Shauna never lets you be the one to get your hands dirty. Shauna is more than willing to commit the violence, to take the blame, to bear the weight of sin if it means keeping your hands clean. Even when her hands are stained with blood and bone, she looks at you like you’re something holy. Something she doesn’t deserve but won’t let go of.

۫ ꣑ৎ She doesn’t like it when the others talk to you for too long—especially Nat, especially Misty. Even if the conversations are harmless, her thoughts spiral. They don’t understand you the way she does. They didn’t see you curled up and shaking the night after Jackie died. They didn’t hold you when you asked whether Jackie blamed you. She did. And she will never let you forget that.

[caxycreations]

Okay, I've been nerd sniped, I'm sorry

NOTE: If you're going to reblog just to say "not reading that" or some other rude shit, DON'T. I've seen so many notifications of people just saying they couldn't be bothered to read it. I don't know if it's just that they don't see how incredibly rude and disheartening that is or if they know and don't care, but either way it really hurts to see, so please don't reblog if it's just to tell me you won't read it.

So let's go through the canonical likelihood they could each beat Goku. For the sake of keeping canon, we'll keep groups/pairs together if they would never reasonably be apart for something like this. Long post below the cut.

So first up are the ones I see that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Saiki K

Saiki is an omnipotent psychic/psionic with quite literally every single possible power out there. Now, this on its own isn't enough to beat Goku. Versatility doesn't mean everything, but Saiki is also powerful enough to rewrite the genetics and reality of everything within range, and his range is, so far, "Earth".

So this, on its own, would allow him to rewrite Goku's biology to make him Human. Bye bye zenkai boosts, bye bye Saiyan transformations. And Saiki, with his powers, has no trouble beating a Human of any caliber if he truly wanted to. And for those who ask "Why would he ever fight Goku?"

One simple reason: Goku would sense his immense power, and be excited for a fight. Goku is respectful enough to not force one if he's refused, but he's persistent enough to badger Saiki until he's given a chance. And Saiki, being Saiki, would simply take off one of his limiters, or both, and rewrite reality as such: "Being an alien isn't possible", thereby making it effective immediately that Goku must be lying/insane, and he is, in fact, Human. Easy win for Saiki.

And for those who would argue against this, bear in mind, the funniest way to beat Goku in this instance would be to simply make him weaker than Saiki, and Saiki is a gag character from a gag series, and it's already been shown in the world of Dragon Ball, and again in Dragon Ball Super, that Goku is incapable of defeating a gag character regardless of that characters canonical ability.

Saiki could win without gag character status, but even in the instance of Goku "beating" him, the gag would turn out to be that Saiki only pretended to get beaten, and is actually entirely unharmed because it was the easiest way to get Goku to leave him alone. Followed by a reveal that Goku will still show up now and then to ask for sparring matches, to drive the point home.

Popeye

Gag character. Would get beaten handily, crawl his way to spinach, and then be exactly as strong as he needs to be to take Goku down in however many hits is funniest.

Bugs Bunny

The gag character to end all gag characters. Someone on this hellsite once described Bugs as a "Trickster God who traps us in our own societal expectations" or some such. Like convincing Thanos to remove the Infinity Gauntlet by establishing a security checkpoint with a metal detector and shaming him into cooperating by telling him there's others waiting.

He could beat Goku in a billion ways, and each and every one of them would involve some shenanigan like Goku throwing a spirit bomb, Bugs showing up behind him holding it, saying "Ehhh, can you hold this for a second?" and as soon as Goku takes it and Bugs is off-screen, it would explode and Goku would be a pile of ashes with blinking eyes. Bugs would win because Bugs' gag is that...well, he simply can't be beaten.

The Warner Trio

Gag trio. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot would snark, sass, and sarcastic-joke their way into the scene, and they would spend the entire time poking fun at him, roasting his look, being unfazed by his attacks because "Nice laser show but we didn't bring our glowsticks." and just being too unbothered to care.

They would undoubtedly annoy Goku into admitting defeat simply to get away from them.

Road Runner

Gag character. Would force Goku to chase him, Goku would fire some blasts, chase him around, and inevitably be led right into the path of a blast he fired earlier to be disintegrated by it.

Pop Team Epic

I know nothing about this series except that it is a gag series. They are gag characters. That means Goku is inherently incapable of beating them.

ASDF Guy

Gag character. Could beat Goku with a simple "Hello, Mine-Turtle!" or "I like Trains."

Heart Diagram

Goku was literally killed by a heart virus in Future Trunks' timeline. This is one that has actually canonically already killed Goku.

Chowder

Gag character. Would likely be after S-Cells for some recipe and need to take Goku's as he's "The only Saiyan in this episode!" or some such, thereby ending the fight with a shot of Chowder wearing Goku's Gi for comedic effect while Dahl stirs raw Super Saiyan aura in a pot to hint that Chowder killed Goku for his S-Cells.

Force Ghost Trio

Gag versions of serious characters, and also ghosts. Goku is canonically unable to beat ghosts or gag characters, and these guys are both.

Those are the ones that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Now, let's go over the ones that could, potentially, be it likely or unlikely.

Kirby

Kirby is often considered a gag character, but he isn't. He has a very specific level of power, even if that level of power is "fuck you" levels of power. Kirby has beaten Gods, but so has Goku, even more often and with greater ease. However, Kirby has absorption and power-theft. Kirby could, potentially, absorb Goku (he isn't the brightest and Kirby has his unassuming appearance on his side) and take on his strongest form, including its powerup, and given Kirby in base form is likely more powerful than Goku in base form (Goku needed SSJ to scare Supreme Kai, Kirby beats Gods in base), it's possible Kirby would be more powerful than Goku with the same power up.

Kevin McCallister

Okay, hear me out.

Kevin is technically a gag character, BUT. He is not TRULY a gag character. He just happens to be a comedy character.

So he isn't guaranteed to win, but he could still possibly do so. How you ask?

Goku has been somewhat injured or lightly shaken by the following: planet-shattering attacks. Punches that rock the universe. Energy blasts so potent they would destroy entire galaxies.

Goku has been rendered inconsolable from the pain of the following: chest pain and a half-heartedly, boredly tossed pebble.

It is canon that when Goku and the other fighters in the series are expecting an attack or primed for battle, they are protected by their ki, like armor. It's how they're able to knock away attacks that would destroy planets, or put their "bare" hands on plasma energy that would normally burn the skin off you from a mile away let alone touching it.

This is why when Krillin threw the rock at Goku, it left him in agony and bruised him despite Goku being in Super Saiyan form at the time. This is why Chi-Chi is able to injure Goku regardless of how strong he gets.

So, how does this relate to Kevin being able to beat him? It's everything. It's critical information.

Kevin McCallister's entire M.O. is unexpected attacks. You open a door, you see a bucket fall, think it's over, turns out no, second bucket pulled by the first, second bucket is full of paint and open, you're blinded, you get your bearings, you take a step and feel cars, you smirk and step over them only to find marbles, you slip, you land on the cars which turn out to have been rigged to break easier to let loose a single thumbtack which is now firmly stuck in your back or butt. You bolt upright only to slam your head on a 2x4 that was rigged to hang down from a rope when you fell because your impact shook things enough to make it fall from a precarious perch above.

You get the idea. Every time you think it's safe to let your guard down, that's when the next wave hits. So you say "well he would stop letting his guard down" right? You fool. You know nothing of Goku. He would never put his guard UP. This is a human child, Goku can sense his pitiful power level. His strength? His speed? His ki? Weak. Pathetic. Nothing. A scouter wouldn't even register his power it's so low.

Goku never raises his guard to Chi-Chi, or to Bulma, or to Hercule. He does not raise his defense against normal, powerless, non-combative humans.

"BUT KEVIN IS COMBATIVE" No. He isn't. Goku can sense intent, power, and location. But Kevin isn't actively intending to hurt Goku. He's intending to protect himself and his home. He's not actively wanting to hurt Goku, he's just wanting Goku to leave. He doesn't have power to threaten Goku with, so Goku won't pick up on any threatening aura. And while Goku could simply instant transmission to Kevin and do what he will, we're not talking about how Goku could win, we're going over the fact Kevin could POSSIBLY win.

Enough injury and Goku is down for the count. Otherwise, Goku leaves to avoid further injury, and thereby admits defeat. Both cases, Kevin wins.

Shedinja

This one took me...quite a while. I had to do a lot of extra research for this. So, my immediate thought was Shedinja is a Ghost type, so ghost rules, right? Nah. Bug and Ghost type, and they are the physical shell left behind that has been reanimated. So they very much are physical beings, and given their ability to faint in the games and show they are capable of being physically damaged.

But There's a real case to be made for Shedinja beating Goku.

It can learn Ghost type moves, which operate on ghost-logic, and therefore are a canon weakness Goku is known to have. So things like Shadow Ball, Hex, Curse, and the like would all effect Goku regardless of Ki or form.

It also has access to Wonder Guard, which renders it "immune to all damage types that are not Super-Effective". For those unaware, we can actually attribute Typings to Goku's moves based on attributes and traits they share with Pokemon moves. His melee is, by nature, Fighting type, which Shedinja is immune to. In fact, Shedinja is immune to ALL attack types except Flying, Rock, Ghost, Dark, and Fire type moves, which are all Super Effective.

Goku's most common methods would actually fall under Fighting and Normal type attacks. "But his Ki blasts-" would be Normal type moves. You want proof?

Focus Energy is Normal Type. Quick Attack is Normal Type. Self Destruct is Normal Type. Techno Blast is Normal Type. Tera Blast is Normal Type. These are all energy based moves similar to ki blasts. Know what other energy based move is Normal Type? Hyperbeam. Which is almost identical to the Kamehameha and every other beam attack in DBZ.

Those few attacks Goku has that aren't going to be Normal Type will be Fighting Type.

Shedinja is Immune to all Normal and Fighting Type moves. Goku literally can not damage Shedinja, but Shedinja can damage Goku through Ghost Type moves. Shedinja can beat Goku. But why is it not "absolutely will" beat him? Because Goku can also transform his Ki and if he finds out Shedinja is vulnerable to fire, he can and will use that to his advantage.

That's who could potentially beat Goku. Here's who absolutely could not.

Saitama

I forgot to go over Saitama originally so here's the edit that features that analysis. Bear in mind I am saying this as someone who has seen Seasons 1 and 2 of the show AND is aware of some of the events of the manga.

A lot of reblogs over Saitama claim he is a gag character. But there is a case to be made that he is NOT. What is that case you ask? Well, for the sake of fairness, here is how I am handling gag characters: if their gag is in effect in 100% of all cases (such as looney tunes like Bugs or Road Runner) or if the gag is triggered in 100% of all cases (such as Saiki K or Chowder) then they are a True Gag Character and will insta-win.

However, if their gag has failed (such as Wario, or, yes, even Saitama) in ANY case, then it CAN fail again, and the fairest fight is one against two non-gag characters, so we can safely apply non-gag Saitama here since his gag has failed and Goku meets the conditions to cause it to fail again, which I'll explain.

So, first off, how does his gag fail? Well, his gag is that he kills everything instantly in one hit, unless he actively chooses not to. So we can safely say his gag fails if any of the following are true: he fails to instantly kill an enemy with a single hit while intending to do so, OR if he fails to kill an enemy with a serious hit intended to kill.

He meets both of these conditions. Boros survived for several seconds AFTER Saitama hit him with a Serious Punch. It was a single hit that intended to kill...But he didn't kill Boros INSTANTLY with it. Another example of his gag failing, if that doesn't satisfy, is Garou. Garou, in the manga, has survived MULTIPLE Serious Punches with intent to kill. This, on its own, is proof Saitama's Serious Punch does in fact have a limit to its output. It also proves his gag can, and does, fail against certain opponents.

So the next thing we need to look at is similarities between Garou and Boros to identify what they share that could possibly allow them to get around Saitama's gag, or to nullify it entirely. First similarity is that both are determined to have a good, satisfying fight. Boros crossed the stars seeking one, and Garou sought to become a true Monster powerful enough to force every hero, every do-gooder, to unite under one banner just to take him down. They both seek a battle to end all battles, even if Garou's intention is to end it in his favor, not simply enjoy the fight.

The second similarity is that they have incredibly unique circumstances, even by OPM standards. Garou is a man who has always felt love for the bad guy, he looks to the monsters as inspirations, as the misunderstood and the victimized by those claiming to be heroes. He's trained by an S-Class hero, and has developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of his dream. Very much a true foil to Saitama, who looked to heroes in comics as inspirations, as the righteous and unshakably moral, self-taught through and through and developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of HIS dream. Garou is, in this way, a reflection of Saitama, the Tails to Saitama's Heads, the dark to his light.

Boros on the other hand is an alien, forced to become strong by his homeworld's unforgiving conditions, developing a level of power necessary to survive and then some, and on realizing he was far too powerful for his own good, he sought purpose, meaning, and when he heard he may find a worthy opponent, he did everything he could to achieve that future, to realize his dream of facing a foe that would give him a true challenge.

So what are the similarities we can identify? Notably unique circumstances even by OPM standards, sharing strong similarities to Saitama's desires or dreams (Garou dreaming of becoming the greatest Monster vs Saitama dreaming of becoming the greatest Hero, Boros feeling lost in life and seeking a worthy foe vs Saitama feeling bored with living and wishing for the sensation of a real fight again), and the desire for a serious and ultimate battle.

Goku fits ALL of these conditions. He is an alien sent to Earth for his protection, grew up in hostile conditions (surviving on his own for most of his childhood, constant battles with Nation-level threats throughout his teen years, constant battles with world or universe-level threats throughout his adulthood), trained extensively until he was the best of the best, has the ultimate dream of a truly satisfying battle (a dream he routinely seeks out by facing down powerful foes), and being entirely bored with mundane life because there's absolutely no challenge to it, not to mention the fact he has the ultimate dream of becoming the strongest, something he shares with Saitama's pre-OPM self.

Since Goku fits ALL the conditions needed to make this battle exempt from the gag, we will NOT be considering it, as Saitama is not a True Gag Character, and Goku fitting conditions for nullifying it means we can assume actual power limits and such.

So let's look at feats of power. Saitama's Serious Side Hop technique allowed him to create AT LEAST 60 after-images (based on the manga panel) which, when compared with Sonic's 4, means Saitama was moving 15x faster than Sonic in that moment (bare minimum). An afterimage like that is created by moving at least 572mph, stopping in each position for at least 1/255th of a second (any less and the human eye can't pick up on it), so by moving from position A to B for 1/255th of a second and back to A, going 572mph between the two, you create the afterimage.

Sonic creates 4 simultaneously, meaning he needs to move to 3 positions and then back to starting position, or go from A to B, B to A, A to C, C to A, A to D, and repeat.

This means Sonic, to move into each of these positions in less than 1/255th of a second, would need to be moving ~4x faster than the speed for one afterimage. That puts him as moving at 2,228mph while creating those 4 afterimages. Given he is capable of Mach 5 speeds (he's said to be hypersonic) this feat is easy for him, as Mach 5 is 3,805mph. I assume, just as it's easier to move at top speed in a straight line than at sharp turns for a normal person, it's likely more difficult to create such consistent afterimages and so the difficulty that makes it his best attack is from the technique and reaction involved, not the speed itself.

In any case, if Saitama made at least 60 afterimages, putting him at 15x faster than Sonic's speed while creating 4, that puts Saitama's speed at 33,420mph just to account for the 60 we can count in the manga panel. This means 33,420 is the MINIMUM speed we can assume for Saitama's max ability. To be generous, given he wasn't winded after doing that and given he was able to react incredibly easily to the near-instant directional changes, I'll be kind and put his maximum speed at 10,000x this number.

That puts Saitama's speed at 334,200,000mph, or 49.8% the speed of light. We'll be kind again and say 50% the speed of light, round up that last .2%

So we have a speed value for Saitama. Now what about Goku? Well, let's look at Goku on Namek, for a moment. Base form Goku, at the start of his fight against Freeza. Goku, BEFORE his super saiyan transformation, was moving at 3.26 (we'll round down to 3) times the speed of light. How do I get this number? Buckle up, it's involved.

The Namekian ship Bulma, Krillin, and Gohan took to get to Namek made it from Earth to Jupiter in "seconds". That means less than a minute, so we'll say it took them 1 minute just to lowball it and to have a solid starting number. Jupiter, when the two planets are at their closest to each other (assuming shorter distance for slower speed, another lowball), is 365,000,000 miles from Earth. This means the Namekian ship moved 365mil miles in 1 minute.

That puts the Namekian ship at a speed of 21.9 billion miles per hour. They made it to Namek in 30 days of travel. The ship Goku took to Namek made the trip in 5 days. That means Goku's ship is 6 times faster than the Namekian ship. Don't worry, the ship speed DOES matter in this, I promise you.

So Goku's ship moves at 131,400,000,000mph. That's 131 billion, 400 million miles per hour. Or 195x the speed of light.

Why does the ship speed matter so much, you might ask?

Because King Kai could visually keep up with the ship. He was able to track Goku's progress with ease, and could see his ships movements without problems. This means King Kai's eyes and brain are capable of perceiving and processing things that move at 195x the speed of light.

Why does that matter? Because Super Saiyan is canonically a 50x multiplier to ALL base ability. Strength, speed, durability, etc.

And Goku, in Super Saiyan, was moving so fast King Kai stated he could no longer keep up. King Kai, capable of seeing and processing the input of vision on a ship moving 195x the speed of light, could not see or process the input of vision on Super Saiyan Goku.

We'll lowball it, and say Goku only needed to move 1 mph faster than 195x the speed of light for King Kai to lose track of him. So whatever value we get, we'll add 1mph to for Goku's base form speed.

So 195x the speed of light +1mph. 195/50=3.9x the speed of light. That's 2,616,900,000mph, adding in the extra mph makes it 2,616,900,001mph. So Base Form Goku moves at ~3.9x the speed of light, ON NAMEK. Super Saiyan is a 50x multiplier, putting him at ~195x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 2 is a 100x multiplier to Base, so 390x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 3 is a 400x multiplier, so 1,560x the speed of light. Super Saiyan God is a 20,000 multiplier so 78,000x the speed of light. Super Saiyan Blue is a 1 million times multiplier, so 3,900,000x the speed of light. And lastly, Mastered Ultra Instinct is a 300 billion times multipler, so 1.17 trillion times the speed of light.

Why did I bother going through all those multipliers? He wins in Base as of Namek saga lol. Anyway, continuing on to strength now that we've established Base Goku on Namek could move 3.9x faster than the Speed of Light while Saitama could only move at 0.5x the Speed of Light.

Strength. Okay. This one is harder to gauge, but we CAN gauge it. We'll go in terms of level of damage, so human level (would be on-par or less than peak human ability), town level (small towns), city level (large cities), nation level (an entire nation, less than a continent), continent level (one or more nations that span an entire continent), world-surface level (the surface of an Earth-sized planet), Planetary (capable of destroying an entire Earth-sized planet), Solar (capable of destroying a solar system), Galactic (capable of destroying a galaxy), multi-galactic (capable of destroying many galaxies), Universal (capable of destroying an entire universe), Multiversal (capable of destroying multiple universes).

We'll start with Goku this time. Goku's punches are, as of the Battle of Gods arc, strong enough to match Beerus perfectly to nullify the shockwaves of Beerus' attacks. Mind you, the mere shockwave of Beerus' attacks are enough to rip and tear the fabric of the universe itself, as stated by Elder Kai. This puts Goku's punches as being powerful enough to tear the fabric of the universe in when he first obtained Super Saiyan God. Why does this matter for Base Goku? Because Base Goku retained his SSJG power, as stated by Beerus.

So Goku in Base, post-battle of gods, is physically capable of punches that can tear apart the universe from the aftershocks alone. This is important to note because Elder Kai could physically feel the shockwaves from the World of the Kais. This makes Goku Universe-level in strength. This means Goku, post-BoG, in Super Saiyan is 50x stronger than what's needed for Universal, while Goku, as of current manga canon (assuming he didn't actually get any stronger since BoG and is simply more powerful due to new transformations) is capable of a form (Mastered Ultra Instinct) that puts him 300 billion times stronger than minimum Universe level strength.

And Saitama? Where does he fit here? Well, I thought this gap would be bigger honestly? But after researching, it seems the gap isn't all that big. Saitama has, canonically, with a Serious Punch, snuffed out an entire cylinder of stars and presumably every planet, moon, asteroid, and more, at a distance surpassing that of our solar system, and with a diameter surpassing it as well. This puts Saitama's power (if we lowball it MASSIVELY) at Solar. He could, in a single punch, destroy our entire solar system, and he wouldn't even need to be serious to do it. It's worth noting this is coupled with Garou's own Saitama-level Serious Punch, so we can assume this level of power is double Saitama's own.

So how do we determine the specifics? Well, he cleared an area large enough to cover, presumably, half the area of stars destroyed in the path of his and Garou's serious punches.

Through future revelations in the series we learn they didn't "destroy" every star in that path, but likely only several were destroyed, and possibly a galaxy, while the remainder of the void left behind was from the shockwave forcing every other star within range into a new position, creating a void in space that all stars had been moved from, save the few that were in the DIRECT path of their attack.

Another theory is that the Serious Punch^2 simply distorted the photons in the area, resulting in the appearance of a massive void, and this theory is based on the angles in the manga and comments made by other characters that paint Earth as the only thing in real danger from the power of the attack.

To be fair to Saitama, where we would lowball Goku, we'll highball Saitama, and say the Serious Punch^2 outright destroyed every star in the area. That level of power would, naturally, have shockwaves that push nearby stars out of the way AND distort photons in the area, resulting in a massive cone of destruction surrounded by a large cylinder of force.

This puts Saitama at, quite easily, multi-galactic level of strength.

But why did I say this gap isn't as big as I expected? One simple thing. Saitama has canonically punched his way into a different dimension in the manga. That means he's capable of brute-forcing his way out of the bounds of his universe. He is capable of physically destroying the fabric of the universe.

Meaning Saitama's strength is, bare minimum, Universal in close proximity. That puts him, strength-wise, on par with Goku, who through training has become stronger than Super Buu (who was so strong he could shout his way out of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, a dimension separate from our own), meaning Goku is also Universal in close proximity.

So...while I expected Saitama to be ~Planetary, MAYBE he'd be Solar at most...Research indicates he's actually Universal, or near-Universal, meaning the fight may not be too far a gap after all.

Goku may have Saitama beat on speed (given recent manga events in OPM, I'm willing to allow that Saitama is faster than light speed, but Goku having as many forms as he does (Kaioken, which he can combine with other forms and can hit a multiplier of x100 on top of whatever power he currently has, SSJ1-3, SSJG, SSJB, MUI) means even if Saitama matches Base Goku, he's likely not going to stand up to his stronger forms).

But on strength, I'd wager they're close enough for this fight to be one hell of a battle.

What about Durability? After all, all the strength in the world won't save you if you're as easy to kill as a simple bullet to the head, right?

Goku has withstood universe-ripping punches (from Beerus, the God of Destruction, and based on comments in the manga he's one of the stronger Gods of Destruction too), dimension-tearing attacks (from Goku Black, pre-Fusion), energy blasts that even the Gods of Destruction were nervous of (from Jiren during the Tournament of Power), and he survived multiple blasts from Granolah post-wish buff, who was renowned for his sniping power pre-wish, and post-wish was as powerful as he would be if he had spent every single second of the next 147 years training non-stop with the absolute healthiest amount of rest and physical care, making him, presently, as powerful as he would be at the END of that time, with the price paid being that he only had 3 years to live as he lost 1 year of his lifespan for each power boost.

It was also clear that Granolah was the strongest in the universe...at the time of his wish. Goku and Vegeta, who were already on their way, were not as powerful as Granolah even with their transformations. They became stronger during their fight with him, and stronger still during their fight with Gas (who was more powerful than Granolah after Gas transformed and mastered his transformation).

So we can safely assume Goku is Multiversal in Durability, as he himself was able to output Universal damage with each punch, and he was able to survive hits from beings drastically stronger than himself.

What about Saitama? Well, Saitama was able to survive the force of the Serious Punch^2 and he was able to casually bust his way into another dimension. So his Serious Punch, if he wanted it to, could easily destroy the barrier between universes or dimensions.

And given he survived the force of two of them impacting each other, I would put Saitama at, bare minimum, Universe-level durability. But given he was able to survive prolonged battle against Garou, who is a Power Mimic and has shown Saitama-level strength, we can safely assume Saitama is BEYOND Universal-level durability, and so we can put him right there with Goku at Multiversal durability.

So what do we have so far?

Goku has speed equal to, in Base Form, 3.9x lightspeed, and 1.17 trillion times lightspeed in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal level strength in Base Form, 300 billion times that in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal durability in Base Form, Multiversal durability in his most powerful form (300 billion times his Base Form's durability).

Saitama has speed equal to, at minimum, 0.5x lightspeed, and at maximum, if we highball it, 2x lightspeed.

Saitama has Universal strength.

Saitama has Universal durability at minimum, and Multiversal durability at maximum.

At this point, I'm convinced the speed difference between Base Goku and Saitama means nothing. Saitama's durability means even with Base Goku moving at his top speed, his impacts won't be enough to beat Saitama. At top speed Base Goku may be putting out Universal damage, but he's not putting out enough to actually BEAT Saitama. Only injure.

Making me rethink my "Goku wins in Base lol" claim earlier, how dare you!

Anyway, at this point, Goku would HAVE to transform to beat Saitama. His ability to sense power and Saitama's evident inability to suppress it (as evidenced by multiple characters sensing his ungodly power even while Saitama is completely relaxed) would mean Goku would know, right away, he needs to transform for the fight.

Saitama's durability means Goku would likely need Super Saiyan 2 or 3, or, more likely, SSJG. Super Saiyan God's multiplier to Granolah-arc Goku, after all of his training with Whis and Vegeta, would most likely be enough to beat Saitama. And given SSJG is enough to "most likely" beat him, then Super Saiyan Blue (aka Super Saiyan God Super Saiyan, the form above SSJG) is surely enough, and Mastered Ultra Instinct (a form drastically more powerful than SSJB) is absolutely more than enough to beat Saitama.

And given Goku's mastery over the Kaioken technique, and he's been shown to enter Kaioken x 20 while in Super Saiyan Blue for fair amounts of time as of the Moro saga, meaning even if SSB wasn't enough, given MUI is overkill, it's possible SSB x10 or x20 would be.

The point being, Goku wins this fight due to a combination of technique, experience, and power from his transformations. Given Goku is faster than Saitama and would sense his power as Saitama doesn't know how to suppress it, nothing Saitama could do would be a surprise attack to Goku, meaning Goku would have ample opportunity to react to everything Saitama does.

And given the relatively similar strengths the two bear, Goku would recognize he needs to transform to beat Saitama's output.

And given Saitama's greater durability than Base Goku, and greater durability than even what Saitama himself can put out, Goku would see he needs to transform to have enough of his own output to beat Saitama's durability.

Conclusion: Goku would absolutely win this fight, BUT...I'll give Saitama credit where it's due.

Out of everyone on the entire list, Saitama is the fairest matchup here, and the one most likely to give Goku a truly satisfying fight, given it would be a battle on par with those Goku has enjoyed most.

Kingdom Hearts Mickey

K.H. Mickey has a clear power limit and ability set. He is not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, or durable enough to beat Goku, but he is just enough of a threat for Goku to actually put his guard up, which is why K.H. Mickey would lose; Goku would see it as a fight, unlike with Kevin.

Crash Bandicoot

Crash isn't nearly powerful enough to be a threat to Goku, but he IS insane enough to push Goku to hostility. Goku would feel the need to put effort into getting him away and that is his downfall.

Hatsune Miku

Goku would assume she is a Red Ribbon android and fight her on assumption she's trying to kill him or bring harm to Earth. He would hit her full force expecting her to tank it and she would keel over dead instantly.

Wario

Everything he could possibly do, the Red Ribbon Army has tried and done better, and they've never beaten Goku. Neither would he.

Sans

Lost to a child with slightly above average human determination, and standard human strength and speed. He does not beat Goku.

And just because you specifically told me not to @ you, have this :)

@that-one-enby-onyx