#you do get used of being the third wheel after some time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedensworld · 15 days ago

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Industry, Baby | k.mg

Pairing: police officer Mingyu! x actress reader!

Genre: bestfriends to lovers au!

Type: fluff, angst, humor(?)

Word count: 16k

Summary: Acting is about observation! And to be honest, your best friend does it best—your handsome cop best friend.

Boring patrol, boring night. It was a Saturday night, and the city was alive—just not for Mingyu. Every street was lined with couples walking hand in hand, whispering sweet nothings, or worse, making out in full public view like they were starring in some low-budget romance drama. Mingyu swore PDA had skyrocketed lately, and yet here he was, stuck in a patrol car with Chan, cruising aimlessly through the district like two third wheels in a world built for pairs.

In the noble name of peace and safety, Mingyu had sacrificed his Saturday night for this mind-numbing routine. No raging bar fights, no drunks passed out on the sidewalk, not even a stray cat causing chaos—just an uneventful drive through the city while couples flourished all around him.

He glanced at Chan, who was casually munching on chips, completely unbothered. “You ever think the real crime here is us being single on a Saturday night?” Mingyu muttered.

Chan crunched down on another chip and shrugged. “Speak for yourself. I have plans after this.”

Mingyu scoffed. “With who? The convenience store cashier?”

Chan smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Mingyu groaned, slumping further into his seat as their car rolled past yet another pair of lovebirds. Maybe he should’ve just taken the risk and faked food poisoning to get out of this shift.

"Isn't that girl from your video call last time your girlfriend? The rising actor… what’s her name again?" Chan asked casually, his tone laced with curiosity.

Mingyu shot him a quick glance before steadying the steering wheel with one hand. The car rolled smoothly down the quiet street, the flashing neon signs of late-night shops reflecting on the windshield. He remembered that night well—he’d been stuck on patrol with Chan when your name suddenly lit up his phone screen, buzzing with an unexpected video call. He hadn’t even thought twice before answering, only to realize too late that Chan had been peering over his shoulder the entire time.

"Oh? You knew her?" Mingyu asked, raising a brow. It wasn’t like anyone ever believed him when he said he had a celebrity friend.

Chan shrugged, popping another chip into his mouth like this was just another ordinary conversation. "I think I saw her picture at your place once."

Mingyu nodded, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Yeah, you’re right. We’ve known each other since high school. She’s just a friend."

Chan hummed in response, but the knowing smirk on his face made Mingyu frown.

"Wait a second," Mingyu said, narrowing his eyes, realization dawning on him. "Why are we talking about me? You brought this up to dodge my question, didn’t you? Now spill—who’s the girl you’re meeting after shift?"

Chan smirked, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest like he held the world’s greatest secret.

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. "If she’s real, then prove it. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my theory that you’ve been secretly flirting with the convenience store cashier."

Chan only grinned, crunching down on another chip. "Believe what you want, man."

Mingyu slumped in his chair, drumming his fingers lazily against the desk as he watched the clock inch toward the end of his shift. The office was eerily quiet—just the faint buzz of the vending machine and the occasional shuffle of papers from the few unlucky souls still stuck here. He should’ve been doing something productive, but at this point, he was just killing time.

The second the clock hit shift change, Chan sprang to life. With a dramatic yawn and a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity, he grabbed his bag and disappeared into the changing room. When he emerged, Mingyu did a double take.

Grey hoodie. Black sweatpants. Flip-flops.

Mingyu blinked. Then he blinked again.

"What in the world—" He motioned vaguely at Chan’s outfit. "Are you dating a computer in a PC room?"

Chan scoffed, adjusting his hoodie like it was designer wear. "Whatever, man. Enjoy your loneliness."

Mingyu snorted. "I’ll enjoy it just fine knowing I don’t look like I got dressed in the dark."

Chan ignored him, waving lazily over his shoulder as he headed out the door. Mingyu shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he pulled out his phone. A notification popped up.

Ji Actress: what you do mingooooooooo

Mingyu smirked at the ridiculous spelling, already picturing the way you’d say it in a whiny voice just to annoy him. He typed back a simple Just finished shift, and before he could even lock his phone, it vibrated with an incoming call.

He answered, barely getting a greeting out before your voice burst through the speaker.

"Can I crash at your place? I'll bring food. Please, please, pleaaaaase…"

Mingyu rolled his eyes, though his lips curled into a smirk. "You’ll make my house dirty. And Bobpul hates you."

A dramatic groan came from the other end. "I won’t! I promise! And I hate her too, so that makes two of us!"

Mingyu chuckled, rubbing his face. "Alright, fine. Bring chicken and beer. I’ll get us enough soju for both of us."

A high-pitched squeal erupted from your end—so loud and unexpected that Mingyu had to pull the phone away unless he wanted to go deaf.

"Okay, bye! See you, handsome boy!"

Mingyu let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "Alright, take care," he said before hanging up.

He stared at his phone for a second, the exhaustion of his shift melting away. A late-night hangout with you and free food? Maybe this Saturday night wasn’t a total waste after all.

The doorbell rang once. Then twice. Then—

Ding-dong. Ding-ding-dong. Dong-ding-dong.

Mingyu groaned, already knowing it was you before he even got up. Who else would take a perfectly normal doorbell and turn it into a drum solo? If you kept it up, the security guard would be knocking soon, grumbling about noise complaints from the neighbors who, unlike you, actually valued a quiet Saturday night.

He practically ran to the door, yanking it open before you could press the bell again. "You'll wake the whole floor," he hushed, grabbing your wrist mid-motion.

You beamed at him, completely unfazed. "Doom for them. Should’ve had something better to do on a Saturday night."

Mingyu sighed, stepping aside to let you in. You strutted inside like you owned the place, dressed for ultimate comfort—an oversized hoodie, a big T-shirt peeking out from underneath, and bear-printed pajama pants. In your hands, plastic bags filled with food swung dangerously as you made your way straight to the couch, plopping down like you’d just finished a marathon.

Mingyu shut the door, turning to watch you spread out like you paid rent here. He crossed his arms, shaking his head in amusement. "As if you have anything better to do besides crashing my place."

You nodded solemnly, propping your feet up on the armrest. "Yes, you're right. Doom for us."

Mingyu chuckled, rubbing his face. "Unbelievable."

"Correction: predictable," you said, already reaching for the bags. "Now, where’s my soju? You promised enough for both of us."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but was already heading to the kitchen. Whatever peace and quiet he thought he’d get after his shift? Gone. But honestly… he didn’t mind.

"Where’s Bobpul?" You sat up from your spot on the couch, eyes scanning every corner of Mingyu’s apartment like you were on a mission.

Mingyu barely glanced up from unpacking the food. "Don’t bother her. She’s in my bedroom."

You grinned. "Oh? That sounds like an invitation."

"It’s not—"

Too late. You were already up, taking small, sneaky steps toward his bedroom like some kind of cartoon burglar. Mingyu sighed, shaking his head. Sometimes, he seriously wondered how someone like you managed to survive in the acting industry. How many headaches had you caused your filming team? How much patience did your co-stars have?

A moment later, the sound of you sweetly calling Bobpul’s name echoed from the room, followed by an unimpressed grunt from the dog. Mingyu didn’t even need to turn around to know exactly what was happening.

When you finally emerged, you had Bobpul in your arms, cradling her like a spoiled princess. The poor dog looked stressed—her tiny paws stiff, her eyes pleading for help—but at the same time, Mingyu could tell she secretly enjoyed the attention. She always acted like she hated you, but the way her tail twitched slightly told a different story. Bobpul was just playing hard to get. And the worst part? You were thriving on it.

"I got you a treat on the way here, Bobpul!" you chirped, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small snack. Bobpul’s eyes immediately lit up, her internal struggle between pride and greed crumbling in an instant.

You smirked, holding the treat just out of reach. "Just like your oppa, you can’t resist food, huh?"

Mingyu, now setting out the chicken and tteokbokki, snorted at the comparison. "Excuse me?"

You tossed Bobpul the treat, watching in satisfaction as she gobbled it up without hesitation. "See? The Kim family has no self-control when it comes to food."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t argue. Instead, he popped open a can of soju, pouring some into a glass before sliding it across the table toward you. "Yeah, yeah. Now sit down and eat before I start charging you rent."

You plopped back onto the couch, Bobpul still in your arms, looking way too smug for someone who had just successfully bullied both dog and owner.

"Ahn and Seola are getting married," Mingyu announced, tossing an envelope onto the table like it was no big deal.

You were in the middle of reaching for a piece of chicken when his words hit you like a truck. Your hand froze mid-air, eyes widening in pure disbelief. "Wait—what?"

Mingyu, completely unfazed, leaned back and stretched his arms. "Yeah, they gave me this at our last meetup. Their wedding’s in two weeks." He nudged the invitation toward you.

You snatched it up, flipping it open as if expecting to see some kind of hidden Gotcha! message inside. "No way. No freaking way."

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, watching your reaction with amusement. "Why are you so shocked? I told you back in academy that they liked each other."

You scoffed, dramatically throwing yourself back onto the couch. "Then why did they spend every single day fighting like they were in some sort of K-drama rivalry? If they liked each other so much, they should’ve just kissed already and saved us the headache!"

Mingyu burst out laughing, shaking his head. "They were dumb high schoolers. And let’s be real, we have no idea what was going on behind the scenes." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. "Ew, gross. Do not make me think about that."

Mingyu smirked, dodging your shove. "I’m just saying, they had chemistry. Meanwhile, you were the only clueless one who didn’t see it." He pointed at you accusingly.

You gasped, holding a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Excuse me? Maybe I was just too busy focusing on important things—like, I don’t know, not failing math?"

Mingyu snorted. "Right. And yet you still failed the midterm."

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned, stuffing a piece of tteokbokki into his mouth.

With a dramatic sigh, you waved the invitation in the air. "Still, it’s crazy how they actually ended up together. Like, they were chaos."

Mingyu shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "Yeah, but I guess some people are just meant to be."

You hummed, staring at the names on the invitation. "Meant to be, huh?" You turned to him with a mischievous grin. "What about us, Mingyu? Are we meant to be?"

Mingyu nearly choked on his drink. "Yah!" He coughed, glaring at you while you burst into laughter.

"Relax, it’s just a question!" you teased, wiggling your eyebrows.

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at his lips as he passed you the soju. "Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and eat your chicken."

"How's your promotion? I saw your press conference," Mingyu said, casually reaching for another piece of chicken.

Your ears perked up immediately. "Really?" You leaned forward, eyes wide with that soft, almost innocent expression—one that might fool anyone else, but not Mingyu. He knew you way too well. That look? Pure concept. A calculated move to appear cute.

"Yeah," he said, unimpressed but amused. "The promotion period ended yesterday, right?"

You nodded, then hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to say something. Finally, you put your drink down and took a deep breath. "Mingyu… I haven’t told you this yet, but—I got the role."

Mingyu frowned mid-chew. "What role?"

"The role."

He blinked, brain lagging for a moment before it clicked. His eyes widened. "Wait—police officer?"

You nodded vigorously, and before Mingyu could react, you let out a scream of excitement. A full-on, top-of-your-lungs, might-get-us-kicked-out kind of scream.

"Yah!" Mingyu panicked, nearly dropping his chopsticks as he lunged forward to slap a hand over your mouth. "Are you trying to get me evicted?!"

You wiggled under his grip, eyes still sparkling with joy as you pried his hand off. "But, Mingyu! I finally did it! You know how bad I wanted this!"

He sighed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Yeah, yeah. Since forever, right?"

"Since I failed the police academy test," you corrected, dramatically clutching your chest like you were reminiscing about a tragic past life. "I really thought my dream of wearing a uniform was over."

Mingyu rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. "Y/n, you weren’t even good at math. What did you expect?"

You gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "I could’ve improved!"

"You failed the entrance test twice," he deadpanned.

"Okay, but the third time—"

"Didn’t even happen because you gave up."

You groaned, throwing yourself back against the couch. "Alright, alright! We get it, I suck at math. But now, look at me! I finally get to be a police officer�� in a drama."

Mingyu chuckled, raising his can of beer. "Well, here’s to achieving your dreams, even if it’s just pretend."

You clinked your can against his, grinning. "Cheers to acting like a responsible adult."

He smirked, taking a sip. "Something you still struggle with in real life."

"Yah! You’re ruining the moment!" you whined, kicking his leg lightly.

Mingyu just laughed, stealing a piece of tteokbokki off your plate while you were distracted. "I’m just saying, let’s be honest—you as a cop? Terrifying. The world isn't ready for you with actual authority."

You squinted at him suspiciously. "What’s that supposed to mean? I can make the better world."

Next morning, Mingyu stepped into his bedroom, already dressed for work, adjusting his watch as he approached the bed. The sight of you and Bobpul sprawled across his sheets, tangled in the blankets like some kind of burrito, made him shake his head with amusement.

He reached down and gave your shoulder a firm shake. “Hey, I’m heading out. Clean up before you leave, alright?”

You let out a groggy whine, stirring slightly but refusing to fully wake up. Your eyes barely cracked open as you mumbled, “It’s Sunday… why are you working? You don’t even have a wife and kids to support.”

Mingyu let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I do have a broke celebrity friend who couldn’t even pay for extra alcohol last night because all her money is with her manager.”

That earned him a pillow straight to the face.

“You suck,” you muttered, voice muffled against the blanket.

Mingyu chuckled, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I made you breakfast—it’s on the table. Eat before you leave.”

You peeked out from under the blanket just enough to glare at him. “Look at you. So responsible. You sure you don’t secretly have a wife and kids?”

Mingyu smirked, leaning down to pinch your cheek. “Nope, just a very high-maintenance celebrity friend.”

“Kim Mingyu!” you yelped, swatting his hand away.

Laughing, he ruffled your hair for good measure before grabbing his keys. “Alright, see you later, Ms. Officer.”

You groaned dramatically, rolling over and burying your face into his pillow. “Bye, my colleague.”

Mingyu shook his head as he stepped out, knowing full well that you were probably going to sleep in for at least another two hours before even thinking about cleaning up.

Mingyu drove to home once his shift finished. He stepped inside his house, tired from his shift, only to pause at the sight before him. You were sitting at his dining table, hunched over a thick academy textbook, flipping between its pages and your tablet, a pen tucked behind your ear. It wasn’t a very you sight—studying was never something you did voluntarily—but Mingyu knew that when it came to acting, you always took your roles seriously.

Bobpul, who had been silently watching you from her spot on the counter, immediately perked up at Mingyu’s arrival, barking and wagging her tail excitedly.

“You’re still here,” Mingyu said, raising an eyebrow as he set down his things.

You finally looked up from your book, nodding before gesturing vaguely around the apartment. “And I cleaned the house.”

Mingyu glanced around, scanning every corner while cradling Bobpul in his arms. He gave you an approving nod. “Wow. Good job, Y/n. You actually can clean.”

You rolled your eyes but smirked at his teasing.

Mingyu sat down beside you, peering at the chaotic mess of notes scattered across the table. His brows furrowed as he tried to decipher your scribbles. “What’s all this?”

“Studying a murder case,” you said, tapping the script with your pen. “I’m playing Jung Inha, a rookie officer who finds a dead body behind the police station. Turns out it’s a dead body of the serial killer.”

Mingyu snorted, flipping through the pages of your script. “So unrealistic. Every station has CCTV in every corner, and there’s always someone monitoring them. No one’s just dumping bodies behind a station and getting away with it.”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “I know, but should I tell that to the director and risk losing my precious role?”

Mingyu didn’t even hesitate. “No, don’t say that.” He shook his head firmly before flipping to another page of your script, scanning the dialogue.

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

You watched as Mingyu flipped through your script, his brows occasionally furrowing at the way police work was portrayed. He looked so serious, like he was mentally critiquing every single unrealistic procedure.

That’s when an idea struck you.

“You know,” you started, leaning forward with a sly smile. “You should totally do a cameo.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicked up to you, suspicious. “A cameo?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah! A real-life, handsome police officer appearing in a crime drama? The audience would eat it up. You’d gain, like, a hundred thousand Instagram followers overnight.”

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t need Instagram clout.”

“Come on, it’d be perfect,” you insisted, nudging his arm. “You’re tall, intimidating when you want to be, and—most importantly—you actually know what you're doing. Unlike half the actors pretending to be cops.”

Mingyu smirked. “Are you saying you don’t know what you’re doing?”

You pouted. “That’s why I’m studying! But it wouldn’t hurt to have a pro like you show up on set. Maybe intimidate the fake officers with your real-life knowledge.”

Mingyu laughed, shaking his head. “What would I even do? Stand in the background looking cool?”

You gasped dramatically. “Exactly! That’s the job! You don’t even have to act—just exist.”

Mingyu sighed, setting your script down with a dramatic thud. “If I’m going to do this, you better not make me regret it.”

You grinned. “Of course not! But if you’re gonna be on set, you might as well help me train properly.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “Train?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah—teach me how to act like a real officer. How to hold a gun properly, how to chase a suspect without looking like I’m in a rom-com, stuff like that.”

Mingyu smirked. “You mean you don’t already know? What happened to all your ‘serious studying’?”

You pouted. “I can only learn so much from books! I need practical training, and who better to teach me than my very own cop bestie?”

He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a knowing look. “You know, if I didn’t quit acting, I could’ve been the one taking this role.”

You blinked. “Oh? Now you admit it?”

Mingyu shrugged. “I mean, I was pretty decent at it. Jaehyun and I were killing it at the academy before I left for the police route.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And yet, here you are, getting scouted for a cameo in my drama.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Life is funny like that.” He tapped the script. “But you? You stuck with it, and now you’re actually living the dream.”

You softened at his words. “It was your dream too, you know.”

Mingyu gave you a small, lopsided smile before reaching over to flick your forehead. “Maybe in another life. Right now, I’ll just settle for making sure you don’t embarrass real officers on TV.”

“But imagine all the thirsty comments you’ll get. ‘Who’s the hot officer in the background?’ ‘Is he single?’ ‘He can arrest me anytime.’”

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me,” you said sweetly, batting your lashes.

He sighed, looking at you with fake exasperation before ruffling your hair. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

You squealed in victory, causing Bobpul to bark in alarm. Mingyu shook his head with a chuckle, already regretting letting you put ideas in his head.

Mingyu had been tailing you from the moment the two of you arrived on set. With his broad shoulders, long legs, and towering presence, he walked behind you like an oversized lost puppy as you introduced him to the filming team—the director and the assistant director.

The director eyed Mingyu with curiosity before chuckling. “Your friend is handsome. Is he actually a cop or a model?”

You glanced at Mingyu, only to find his ears turning pink. A shy but polite smile graced his face as he bowed slightly in response to the compliment. That was the thing about Mingyu—he was effortlessly good at receiving praise, never letting it get to his head, but always gracious enough that people just wanted to keep complimenting him.

“Right?” You grinned, fully agreeing with the director’s words. “He gets that a lot.”

Mingyu cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, but you continued, enjoying his reaction. “We actually used to go to the same acting academy, with Jung Jaehyun too.”

At the mention of Jaehyun, Mingyu’s head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking to you. There was nothing odd in the way you said it, but something about hearing his name from your mouth after such a long time felt… different. Not just that guy or your friend, but Jung Jaehyun. It felt like some kind of unspoken progress had been made, like all his efforts to maintain the friendship over the years hadn’t been for nothing.

The director’s eyebrows lifted with interest. “Oh? So you have an acting background too?”

Mingyu scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah, well… I trained for a bit, but I didn’t continue with it.”

The assistant director chuckled. “Still, once an actor, always an actor. Let’s see how you do later. If there’s room for an extended scene, we’ll talk about it, okay?”

Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

You patted his arm with a mischievous smile. “Congratulations, Officer Kim. You might just get a bigger role than you signed up for.”

Mingyu groaned, already regretting letting you drag him into this. But when he caught the director giving him an intrigued look, he suddenly wondered—was he actually about to make an unexpected return to acting?

Mingyu was glad he had the day off today—though he hadn’t expected to spend it like this. The director, practically glowing with excitement, had pleaded with him to accept an additional role written just for him. With the entire crew looking at him expectantly and you standing across the set flashing him a thumbs-up while getting your makeup fixed, he found himself unable to say no.

One day of shooting. That’s all it would take. He could handle that… right?

Before he could fully process his fate, another actor approached the director, who immediately introduced him. “This is our male lead, Park Yaehan. And this is Kim Mingyu—he’s a cameo, but also a great actor.”

The weight on Mingyu’s shoulders grew heavier. Great actor? That was an exaggeration. His acting career had lasted about as long as a summer fling before he had walked away from it completely.

“Hello, I’m Park Yaehan.” The man offered a friendly handshake. “Are you with Ji Y/n? I saw the two of you together earlier.”

Mingyu firmly shook his hand, nodding. “We’re friends.”

The director beamed, adding enthusiastically, “Kim Mingyu is a real police officer! He’s from the Gangnam district.”

Yaehan looked amused by the information, but Mingyu could tell immediately—he wasn’t really interested in any of it. His polite smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, Mingyu noticed the way Yaehan’s gaze drifted past him, toward you. You were across the set, laughing with the makeup artist, completely unaware of the conversation happening.

Mingyu’s jaw tensed slightly.

He had been in the force long enough to know how to read people. And right now, it was painfully obvious that Park Yaehan was more interested in you than anything else.

The car ride was quiet at first, just the soft hum of the engine and the distant sound of your manager placing a coffee order outside. You scrolled through your phone absentmindedly until Mingyu, who had been unusually silent since leaving the set, suddenly spoke up.

“So… Park Yaehan,” he started, his tone casual—too casual.

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “What about him?”

“What’s his role in the movie?”

“He’s the male lead.”

Mingyu nodded, as if considering something. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Is there any romantic line?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Like… are you going to kiss?” He kept his eyes on the road, his voice carefully neutral.

Your brows furrowed. “Why do you sound like a detective interrogating a suspect?”

“Just curious,” he shrugged. “So there won’t be any romance between your role?”

You stared at him, confused by his sudden interest in the script details. “No, my character is too busy solving crimes to fall in love,” you answered, then waved your hand dismissively. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Mingyu said a little too quickly.

You narrowed your eyes at him but decided to let it go. Instead, you leaned back in your seat and gave him a playful smirk. “You know, I was actually impressed with your acting today. It’s like you never left the academy. Your expressions, your delivery—it was all so natural. Maybe you should consider making a comeback.”

Mingyu scoffed. “Okay, now I know the director told you to say that.”

You giggled, not even trying to deny it. “Maybe.”

Mingyu groaned, shaking his head. “I knew it. I knew something was up.”

“But you were good,” you insisted, nudging his arm. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it a little.”

He sighed, resting one hand on the steering wheel while rubbing his temple with the other. “This is why I never should’ve agreed to this. Now I have both you and the director scheming against me.”

You grinned. “Welcome back to the industry, Officer Kim.”

The neon sign of the chicken shop flickered against the night sky as your manager pulled into the parking lot. The sight of it made Mingyu’s chest tighten with nostalgia. The three of you had spent so many nights here—eating way too much fried chicken, debating acting techniques, and mapping out futures that, at the time, seemed so certain.

Now, Jaehyun was a rising actor. You were an established actress. And he… well, he had taken a different path.

As the two of you stepped inside, the familiar scent of crispy chicken and spice filled the air. The place hadn’t changed much—same wooden tables, same greasy menus, same ahjumma at the counter who used to tease you three for staying too late, insisting you’d end up marrying each other if you didn’t stop hanging out so much.

“Ah! It’s been a long time!” she beamed upon seeing you. “You two still sticking together?”

You laughed, nudging Mingyu playfully. “Yeah, but now he’s a real-life police officer, not just pretending to be one.”

The old woman gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Aigoo, really? I should be careful around you now, huh?”

Mingyu smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t arrest people for eating too much chicken.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she took your order before leaving you alone at your usual corner booth. Mingyu settled into the seat across from you, glancing around at the familiar space. It felt like stepping back in time, except everything had a slightly faded quality, like an old photograph.

As you scrolled through your phone, Mingyu hesitated before finally asking, “Have you kept in touch with Jaehyun?”

You looked up, a bit surprised by the question. “Not really,” you admitted, tapping idly against the table. “Just a few nods whenever we run into each other… but he’s always busy filming.”

Mingyu nodded, pressing his lips together. He had been meaning to reach out, but time passed too quickly. Before he knew it, years had gone by. Would Jaehyun even pick up his call?

Noticing his hesitation, you leaned forward with a teasing smirk. “Why? Miss him?”

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “I just… I don’t know. It’s been a while. And now, standing in front of a camera again, even just for a cameo, it made me think about everything. About how things could’ve been different.”

You studied him for a moment before your expression softened. “You were really good, you know? Even today, you looked so natural. It’s like you never stopped.”

Mingyu scoffed, leaning back against the seat. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted. “Maybe you should consider giving it another shot. Even if it’s just for fun.”

He shook his head, but the thought lingered.

Before he could respond, your phone buzzed with a message. You checked it, and a small chuckle escaped your lips.

“Speak of the devil. Jaehyun just texted.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “Yeah?”

You tilted the screen toward him.

Jaehyun: I heard from the director that a certain police officer was on set today. Are you two together right now?

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, a small smirk playing on his lips. Maybe it really was time to make that call.

But just as he was about to say something, he caught the way your expression flickered—just for a second. Your thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation settling into your features before you quickly typed a reply. It was subtle, but Mingyu had known you too long to miss it.

“You two okay?” he asked, voice laced with curiosity.

You blinked, as if thrown off by the question. “What? Yeah, of course.”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes slightly. “Did something happen?”

You let out a short breath, setting your phone down. “It’s nothing serious. Just… we don’t talk as much anymore.”

That wasn’t a real answer, and you both knew it.

Mingyu tilted his head. “Not talking and actively avoiding someone are two different things.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Since when did you become a detective?”

He smirked. “Since you started looking at his name like it personally offended you.”

You sighed, fingers tracing patterns on the wooden table. “It’s just—he and I don’t see eye to eye on some things. And I guess we never really fixed it.”

Mingyu frowned slightly. You and Jaehyun had always been in sync, always had each other’s backs. For something to put a real wedge between you meant it wasn’t just some small disagreement.

Before he could press further, your phone buzzed again.

Jaehyun: Call me later?

Mingyu watched as you stared at the message for a moment, then locked your phone without responding.

“Are you going to call him?” he asked.

You let out a slow breath, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I don’t know.”

It was another week, and somehow, Mingyu found himself back on a filming set for the second time in a month. What an achievement.

When he asked Chan to cover his shift today, the younger guy had given him the look—the one that clearly screamed, “Mingyu hyung has a date.”

If only.

No, Mingyu had a shoot. And he wished he could’ve just said that instead of muttering, “My friend is moving out, so I’m helping.”

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic, Kim Mingyu. At this rate, even his excuses were starting to sound like bad drama scripts.

As he adjusted his outfit and took a sip of his coffee, he glanced at the call sheet. The next scene would be with you. And, to his utter delight, Park Yaehan.

Mingyu had almost forgotten about that guy—until today.

Something about him just seemed… off. Like the kind of guy who’d order a burger with no patty and call it a bold choice. Did anyone else notice? Or was Mingyu the only one with a built-in radar for detecting suspiciously annoying people.

But what really boiled his blood was the way Yaehan acted around you.

The guy looked like an uncircumcised sheep meeting a female sheep for the first time. It was ridiculous. His excitement was almost cartoonish—all wide eyes, eager nods, and way-too-excited hand gestures. Was he about to confess his undying love or ask you to join his cult?

The way his lips moved, murmuring something under his breath while his eyes stayed fixed on you, made Mingyu’s fingers twitch. He swore he could land a clean punch. Just one. A tiny one. A warning punch.

Did you notice? Surely, you noticed.

But then again…

A thought struck him, one that gave him equal parts hope and frustration.

You’re an insensitive person.

For once, just this time, please stay that way.

Because while you remained oblivious, Mingyu would handle this for you.

"So, you and Y/n have been friends for a long time? I heard since acting academy?"

Mingyu nodded, shifting in his seat as he waited with Yaehan on set while the director spoke to you. The next scene was simple—yet nerve-wracking.

It wasn’t like this would be his first time seeing you almost naked. Back in the academy, he had seen you nude before during one of those “artistic expression” workshops. He had handled it then, and he could handle it now.

Or so he thought.

Because the real problem here wasn’t you. It was Yaehan.

Mingyu had almost forgotten about this guy until today, and honestly, he wished he could go back to that blissful ignorance. Something about Yaehan just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way he laughed a little too hard at his own jokes. Maybe it was the fact that his hair was suspiciously perfect, even under studio lighting. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the way he kept buzzing around you like an overeager puppy seeing a female dog for the first time.

“It’s been almost ten years, I guess,” Mingyu finally answered, keeping his tone casual. “She’s like family. I treasure her a lot.”

And I hope you watch yourself, Park Yaehan.

Which, of course, he kept to himself.

Across the set, you were practicing lifting your tank top under the director’s guidance, adjusting the speed and movement to make it look natural. Mingyu noticed—because of course he did—that you must’ve been hitting the gym more often lately. Your body looked toned, your movements fluid.

Then, right on cue, Yaehan spoke.

“Looking good, Y/n!”

Mingyu exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to ignore the way Yaehan was visibly vibrating with excitement.

Then came the final straw.

Low. Murmured. Almost imperceptible.

“Her body... delicious.”

Mingyu blinked.

Excuse me?

His head turned so fast he nearly pulled a muscle. He stared at Yaehan, expression unreadable, but internally, his brain was short-circuiting.

This man had three seconds to take that back before Mingyu made sure he needed a dental appointment.

The filming had wrapped days ago, and everyone insisted that Mingyu come to the wrap party. He had tried to get out of it—he really had—but somehow, he found himself here, surrounded by laughter, drinks, and overly enthusiastic co-stars.

You sat beside him, clapping with excitement as the director took the mic. Mingyu was half-listening, nursing his drink, when the next words hit him like a freight train.

“…And I’m happy to announce that Mingyu will appear in my next movie! Not as a cameo, not as an extra, but as a sub-lead!”

The room erupted in cheers.

Mingyu, meanwhile, nearly choked on his drink.

Wait. What?

He wasn’t informed about that.

He had a life. A job. A routine. And acting? Well, that was very different from them. He liked his stable life, his predictable schedule. The most dramatic thing in his daily existence was deciding whether to order fried chicken or ramen after work.

He knew the director had been hinting at something. He had mentioned finding the right actor for a specific role, had even talked about it with a knowing glint in his eye. But Mingyu didn’t expect the “right actor” to be him.

And why were you enjoying this so much? Why were you clapping like you just won the lottery?

Mingyu turned to glare at you, but you only grinned, elbowing him. “Looks like you’re back in the industry, Officer Kim.”

Before he could argue, the director continued, “And also, the other actor for the second lead will be joining us tonight, so make sure the two of you get to know each other. Chemistry is everything!”

Mingyu exhaled slowly.

First, he gets cast in a movie without his knowledge.

Now, he has to socialize.

He really should’ve just stayed home.

As the party buzzed on inside, you pulled Mingyu by the wrist, leading him out onto the quiet balcony. The cool night air brushed against your skin, a welcome contrast to the heat and noise of the celebration.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning against the railing.

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. This all feels... sudden." He paused, staring out at the city lights. "It’s not that I hate it. I just—" He hesitated, pressing his lips together.

"You just what?"

He exhaled sharply. "I don’t know if this is what I really want anymore."

You frowned. "Mingyu, this was your dream."

"Was it, though?" His voice was quiet, thoughtful. "I mean, yeah, back then, I wanted this more than anything. But now... I have a different life. A stable one. And suddenly, I’m just supposed to throw myself back into this world?"

You studied him for a moment before speaking. "Dreams don’t just disappear, Mingyu. They get buried, maybe, or they change shape. But they don’t vanish."

He sighed again, shaking his head. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is," you said, nudging his arm. "You just have to decide if you’re scared of failing again or if you’re scared of actually succeeding."

Mingyu let out a dry chuckle. "Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Say things that make me think."

You smirked. "It’s a gift."

Before he could respond, a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

"Well, well. Never thought I’d see the two of you having a heart-to-heart out here."

Mingyu turned, his expression shifting instantly as Jaehyun stepped onto the balcony, hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

Of all people. Of all times.

Jaehyun’s gaze flickered between you and Mingyu before settling on the latter. "Heard you’re joining the industry. Guess old habits die hard, huh?"

Jaehyun’s smirk lingered as he leaned casually against the railing, the city lights casting a soft glow on his face. Mingyu, ever the friendly one, bumped fists with him in greeting, but you? You just folded your arms and leaned back slightly, eyeing him with the same cautious distance one might have for a cat that scratched them one too many times.

Mingyu, ever oblivious, chuckled. “Man, it’s been a while. Didn’t think I’d be sharing a screen with you.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Yeah, guess fate has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

Your lips twitched into a tight-lipped smile, though the amusement never reached your eyes. “Fate’s got an interesting sense of humor.”

Mingyu noticed the shift in your tone and glanced between the two of you, sensing something he hadn’t before. Jaehyun, for his part, looked completely unbothered. If anything, he seemed to enjoy whatever unspoken thing was happening between you.

“You two good?” Mingyu asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jaehyun let out a light chuckle. “I don’t know. Are we, Y/n?”

You tilted your head, giving him that unreadable look that made men twice as confident as Jaehyun squirm. “I guess that depends,” you said slowly. “Are we being honest these days?”

Mingyu frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaehyun’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened ever so slightly. “Nothing serious. Just an old misunderstanding, right, Y/n?”

You let out a quiet hum, as if debating whether or not you agreed. Mingyu knew you well enough to recognize the way your jaw tightened—there was something there, something you knew that Jaehyun was hoping you’d keep quiet about.

But you didn’t elaborate. And neither did he.

Mingyu, caught in the middle, let out a short laugh, trying to ease the tension. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on? Did Y/n steal your lunch money or something?”

Jaehyun chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. If anything, she’s the one keeping the score.”

Your eyes met his, and for a second, the playful air between you both felt like a carefully crafted act, one that only the two of you understood.

Mingyu sighed, rubbing his temples. “Great. So I get thrown back into acting, and now I have to deal with this weird rivalry too?”

Jaehyun patted his shoulder. “Welcome back to the industry, buddy. It’s never just about the acting.”

You saw it with your own eyes. You heard it with your own ears. Jaehyun’s voice echoed in the empty practice room that night, sharp and certain, as he reported everything to the acting coach.

It had been an accident—you had only come back to grab your bag, the one you had stupidly left behind after practice. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But how could you walk away when you heard your name? When you heard Mingyu’s name?

It was the night you found out Mingyu had been chosen for a debut project. A real opportunity. One that meant he wouldn’t have to pay tuition to stay in the academy. It should’ve been a moment of celebration, a victory for him—for both of you.

But then you heard Jaehyun’s next words.

“Mingyu can’t take it. He’s being forced to stay in the police academy. His family won’t let him act.”

Your stomach dropped. Mingyu never told you that.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, Jaehyun’s voice lowered slightly. “How about Y/n? Can she fill the slot for the female role?”

A beat of silence. Then, the coach’s hesitant response.

“She’s good, but…”

“She needs more practice,” Jaehyun finished smoothly, his voice carrying an air of certainty that left no room for argument.

Your breath hitched.

Of course. Because you needed more practice, right? What a revelation. Apparently, everyone else was born with an innate, flawless acting ability. You, on the other hand, just weren’t quite there yet. But no worries—Jaehyun was a professional, after all. He clearly knew best.

You weren’t good enough?

No. No, this wasn’t just about skill, was it? He knew how much this meant to you. He knew how much it meant to Mingyu. And yet, the next thing you knew, Jaehyun was the one landing his debut project in a drama—your opportunity, Mingyu’s opportunity—snatched away in an instant.

Well, of course. He was clearly the only one who deserved it, right?

The betrayal hit like a punch to the gut. But no worries, Y/n, you just needed more practice. You weren’t bitter, just... improving.

You skipped practice for a week after that. Not because you were sick. Not because you were busy. But because you couldn’t stand to see his face.

And when you finally returned, Jaehyun was already moving on to bigger things, smiling as people congratulated him on his debut.

Like nothing had ever happened. How charming.

"You dated him?"

You turned your head to Mingyu, who was sprawled on your couch, lazily watching the same boring TV show he always put on whenever he wasn’t on shift. You, on the other hand, were staring blankly at the screen, barely paying attention—until his question caught you completely off guard.

"Who? Him?" You pointed at the screen just as Seo Kangjoon’s face appeared, his striking brown eyes practically glowing under the soft lighting of the drama.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "Not him. Jaehyun."

You immediately sat up, feeling inexplicably offended by the accusation. "Excuse me?"

Mingyu, ever the observant one, caught your reaction right away and let out a laugh. "Why so offended? I was just asking."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "What makes you think that?"

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "The way you act around him is weird. And also, you’ve been very clear about disliking him all of a sudden. Which, by the way, is new."

"I told you, I don’t dislike him," you huffed. "We just drifted apart. He got busy with police academy and acting. I got busy improving myself. And you—" you shot him a pointed look, "were too busy trying to be… I don’t know. A good person or whatever. Why do we even have to talk about him?"

Mingyu smirked. "So you never dated him behind my back?"

You sighed, exasperated. "Mingyu, for the last time, I don’t date anyone. I’m too busy for that. Unlike some people—" you shot him a knowing glance, "who somehow always find time to meet a pretty girl and take her on a date."

Mingyu’s brows furrowed, looking personally offended. "Hey—I don’t ‘always’ date!"

You snorted. "Oh, sure. Just occasionally. Like, I don’t know, every other month?"

"That is so inaccurate," he scoffed, crossing his arms. "And honestly? Hurtful."

You smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Officer Kim."

Mingyu scoffed at your remark, shaking his head. “You know, I actually sleep way better when you’re around.”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Oh yeah?"

“Yeah.” He stretched his arms over his head, his smirk lazy and teasing. “Something about your presence just knocks me right out. Like, instant peace. Probably ‘cause you’re so boring—”

"Or," you cut in smoothly, tilting your head slightly, "it’s because you like having me around."

Mingyu froze for a split second, his smirk twitching—just barely—but enough for you to notice. His body stiffened ever so slightly, as if his brain was trying to process what you had just said.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your palm, watching him with quiet amusement. "I mean, it would make sense," you mused, voice light yet edged with something deeper. "You always find excuses to hang out. You like teasing me, but the moment I’m not around, you get all sulky. And now you’re saying you sleep better when I’m with you?" You tilted your head, studying his expression. "Sounds like attachment issues to me, Officer Kim."

Mingyu blinked at you, his confidence slipping for the first time. His usual playful arrogance wavered, replaced with something unreadable—uncertainty, maybe even realization. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if searching for a way to dodge whatever trap you had just laid out for him.

“I—what—no—” He scoffed, tearing his gaze away from yours as he ran a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "That’s not—"

You grinned, catching every subtle shift in his expression. “You’re blushing.”

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his face like he could physically erase the heat creeping up his skin. “I am not blushing.”

“Oh, you so are.”

The way you said it—so smug, so effortlessly—made something in his chest tighten. This was unfair. He was supposed to be the one messing with you, not the other way around. But here you were, turning his own words against him, staring at him with that knowing look that made his heart trip over itself.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, he slumped back against the couch, throwing an arm over his face in utter defeat. “This is exactly why I can’t sleep well when you’re here. You stress me out.”

You gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wait, so now I’m boring and stressful?”

Mingyu peeked at you from under his arm, his lips twitching into a small smile despite himself. "Yeah," he mumbled, his voice softer now, less teasing. "The worst combination."

You watched him for a moment, something warm curling in your chest. He looked different like this—unguarded, just a little bit vulnerable, like he was still trying to figure out what to do with his own emotions.

You reached over and patted his arm, feigning sympathy. “Too late for that, pretty boy.”

Mingyu groaned again, rolling his head to the side to look at you. But despite his exaggerated exasperation, his eyes softened. He shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured.

And yet, even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Mingyu had been exhausted—dead tired, actually. His body ached from the long shift, his uniform felt suffocating, and his mind had already checked out the moment he stepped into his car. All he wanted was to go home, take a hot shower, and sleep until the sun decided to wake him.

Then his phone rang.

Seeing your name on the screen should’ve been a relief. He always had energy for you, no matter how drained he felt. But the second he answered and heard your voice—low, clipped, urgent—something in his chest twisted, shoving the exhaustion away in an instant.

"Mingyu, I need a taser."

His first instinct was to assume you were joking. "What?"

"A taser. Do you have one?"

Now he was sitting up straight, pulse spiking. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

"Why the hell do you need a taser?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, the weight of his concern pressing down on his chest. "Are you gonna go confront your hater or something?"

Silence.

His stomach dropped.

"Y/n." He said your name like a warning, a plea, a demand all at once.

"Just tell me if you have one or not."

That made his skin crawl. Something was wrong. Something was really fucking wrong. You weren’t the type to be vague about things unless you were hiding something.

Mingyu let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. "No. Tell me first. You just called me out of nowhere, sounding like you’re about to fight for your life, asking for a taser, and you expect me to be calm?!"

More silence.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing picking up. He strained to hear anything in the background of your call—were you outside? Were you alone? Was someone with you?

Then, finally, you sighed. "I’m at home."

Mingyu didn’t waste a second. He started the engine, throwing his car into drive. "Stay there. Don’t open the door for anyone. I’m coming."

"Mingyu—"

"I swear if you tell me not to come, I’ll lose my damn mind," he snapped, pressing harder on the gas. "Just wait."

The fact that you didn’t argue made his stomach tighten. You were stubborn as hell—always had been. If this were nothing, you would’ve shut him down already, told him he was overreacting.

But you didn’t.

And that scared him even more.

Mingyu swung your door open the moment he punched in the code, his heart already racing before he even stepped inside. The sight of you sitting at the dining table sent a fresh wave of worry crashing over him.

You didn’t look like yourself. Gone was the usual confidence, the effortless charm that always made you seem untouchable. Instead, you looked... small. Heavy with something dark and unspoken. It didn’t suit you. Mingyu hated seeing you like this—sad, angry, shaken.

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching for your hands. That’s when he noticed it.

You were trembling.

His stomach twisted. Was there someone in your house? A stalker? A threat he couldn’t see?

His lips parted to ask, but you spoke first.

"Someone has a lot of my inappropriate pics."

The words knocked the air from his lungs.

His grip on your hands tightened, his brain scrambling to process what he just heard. "Someone?" His voice came out sharper than he intended. "Who? What the hell are you talking about?"

Your jaw clenched. "And he wants me to come to this hotel room if I want him to delete them."

Mingyu felt something snap inside him.

His entire body went rigid, his pulse hammering in his ears. "Someone is blackmailing you..." The words came out in a low, dangerous murmur, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, confirming what he already knew but desperately wished wasn’t true.

His entire being burned with fury—an all-consuming, violent kind of anger he rarely ever felt. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, his fingers curling into fists.

But beneath the rage, there was something else. Something that made his chest ache.

You weren’t just angry. You were ashamed.

Mingyu hated that more than anything.

Carefully, he reached up, cupping the side of your face, forcing you to look at him. "This is not your fault," he said firmly, his voice softer now but still unshakable.

Your eyes flickered with hesitation. "Mingyu—"

"No." His thumb brushed over your cheek. "I need you to hear me. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. That bastard? He’s the one who’s gonna regret messing with you."

For the briefest second, the tension in your shoulders eased. Just a little.

Mingyu exhaled, standing to his full height. "You’re not going anywhere near that hotel room. We’re handling this my way."

And by his way, he meant the legal way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Because deep down, Kim Mingyu was already thinking of another way. A way that involved him finding this bastard first.

Mingyu immediately reported the blackmailing case to the regional district, his voice firm as he relayed the details. This needed to be handled now—not in a few hours, not tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to wait.

But what truly caught him off guard was the number he had just dialed. His fingers hovered over the dial for only a second before he pressed the button, bringing the phone to his ear.

It barely rang twice before a deep, familiar voice answered.

"Mingyu?"

Mingyu swallowed. "Dad, I need a favor."

He never called his father for help. Not even when things got rough in the academy. But this—this wasn’t about pride. This was about you. And for you, he’d push past anything, even his complicated relationship with the retired regional police chairman.

His father listened quietly as Mingyu explained the situation, his voice calm but urgent. When he was done, there was a long pause before his father finally spoke.

"I'll make a call to the district. They'll handle it immediately. Tell your friend not to respond to anything until the officers take over."

Mingyu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Thank you."

"We’ll talk later." The line went dead.

He didn’t care about the weight of what he’d just done—about dragging his father into something when he’d spent years avoiding relying on him. The only thing that mattered was getting this handled as fast as possible.

And it was all for you.

Because if there was one thing Mingyu knew, it was that he would do anything for you. Even if you never felt the same way.

Mingyu couldn’t remember when it started.

Maybe it was back in the academy, when he used to glance around the practice rooms, always searching for you without even realizing it. Maybe it was during late-night hangouts, when he’d pretend he wasn’t looking forward to hearing you laugh. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself, with that impossible mix of confidence and warmth, making the whole world seem smaller whenever you were near.

Or maybe it was just because you were you.

Mingyu had never struggled to date. Women were attractive, intelligent, interesting. But none of them were you.

And that made all the difference.

So he settled for this. For being the person you felt comfortable around. For being the one you called when you needed help. It was enough.

Or at least, he told himself it was.

Because the truth—the painful, unshakable truth—was that no matter how many times he looked at you, no matter how much he wanted to be the person you saw differently.

He knew he never would be.

Mingyu approached you carefully, his footsteps light but urgent. You sat on the couch, hands wrapped around a cup of tea your manager had made, though it remained untouched. He could see the way your fingers trembled slightly, the way your shoulders curled inward as if trying to make yourself smaller.

Without a word, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs, grounding you. His gaze searched your face, his voice steady but gentle.

“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

You inhaled sharply, your lips parting, but hesitation clouded your expression.

Mingyu noticed immediately. “Y/n,” he pressed, voice soft yet firm. “If you know something, anything, you need to tell me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the ceramic cup. “It’s not that simple.”

“Not that simple?” His brows furrowed. “Someone is blackmailing you with nudes, and you’re worried about it being complicated? Y/n, I need to know who we’re dealing with.”

“I just—” You exhaled, frustration flickering in your eyes before you looked away. “I don’t want to accuse someone without proof.”

“Proof?” Mingyu scoffed. “Y/n, someone is threatening you, and you’re worried about proof?” His grip on your thighs tightened slightly. “Who is it?”

You pressed your lips together, torn. You wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that maybe you were overthinking, but deep down, you knew.

Mingyu watched you struggle with your thoughts, his patience thinning. “Y/n.” His voice dropped lower, softer, but edged with desperation. “Please. Trust me.”

You met his gaze, searching for something—reassurance, maybe. And damn it, Mingyu had never let you down before.

Finally, you swallowed hard and whispered a name.

“Jaehyun.”

Mingyu felt his entire body go rigid the moment the name left your lips. His breath hitched, his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, not with excitement or nervousness—no, this was pure, boiling anger. His fingers twitched against your thighs, the warmth of your skin grounding him just enough to keep his emotions in check.

Jaehyun?

Out of all the people in the world, Jaehyun?

The name repeated in his head like a broken record, each syllable hitting him harder, making his jaw clench so tightly it ached. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

Yet, there you were, sitting in front of him, your hands curled so tightly around your cup of tea that he worried it might crack under the pressure.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “What did you just say?”

You flinched at his tone. It wasn’t loud, but there was something raw in it—something you had never heard from him before. Mingyu was always the one who cracked jokes, who lightened the mood even in tense situations. But right now, there was no humor in his expression. Just tightly coiled fury and disbelief.

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “I called him after the wrap party,” you said, voice quiet, as if saying it any louder would make it more real.

Mingyu’s breath came in uneven exhales. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit something or demand answers from you until everything made sense. Instead, he curled his fists in his lap, trying to suppress the tremor in his fingers.

“And?” His voice was strained, like he was using every ounce of his patience to keep himself from completely losing it.

You hesitated. You had known this would be hard, but seeing Mingyu like this—his entire body tense, his brows drawn together in barely contained rage—made your stomach twist with unease.

“I confronted him about something…” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on your legs before he forced himself to let go, dragging a hand down his face. His mind was racing, piecing together everything you weren’t saying.

“You confronted him?” he echoed, his voice dangerously calm. “Y/n, what the hell did you say to him that led to this?”

You hesitated again, and that hesitation was enough to make something snap inside Mingyu.

He pushed himself to his feet, pacing in front of you with frantic, frustrated energy. “You knew something, didn’t you?” His voice was rising, not in anger toward you, but in sheer frustration. “You knew something about Jaehyun, and that’s why you confronted him.” He stopped pacing and turned to face you again, his eyes burning into yours. “Did he threaten you then?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. His entire body felt hot with rage, but the worst part? The worst part was that you hadn’t told him sooner.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Y/n?” His voice cracked slightly, laced with something deeper than anger—something closer to hurt. “Why did you handle this alone?”

You bit your lip, looking away. “Because I knew you’d react like this,” you admitted, voice soft but weighted.

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Like this?” He gestured to himself, his fingers pressing into his temples as if trying to physically push away his frustration. “You mean like someone who actually cares about you?”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t that simple. You had wanted to handle it on your own, to be strong, to not let him carry the burden of something that was yours to deal with. But now, seeing the raw emotion in Mingyu’s eyes—the way he looked at you like he was hurting just as much—you realized how unfair it was.

You weren’t the only one affected by this.

Mingyu ran a hand down his face again before letting out a shaky exhale. When he finally looked at you, there was something different in his gaze—something softer, but just as intense.

“Y/n,” he murmured, stepping closer again, kneeling down so he was level with you once more. His hands reached out, grasping yours, firm but gentle. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You never have to be.”

His voice wavered slightly, but his grip remained steady, his warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You blinked, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I know,” you whispered, voice finally breaking.

Mingyu squeezed your hands, his own shaking slightly. He wasn’t sure what burned more—the anger of knowing someone had done this to you, or the ache of realizing how much you had tried to bear on your own.

Mingyu walked toward the hotel room with two detectives from the regional office, his jaw set, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The only way to catch the culprit was to confront them directly, and though the plan was risky, it was the best way to ensure your safety. Your label had tried to intervene, worried about the scandal that would erupt if this reached the media. But Mingyu had shut them down without hesitation. How could they care more about their public image than protecting you? They had failed you once already—he wouldn't let it happen again.

The tension in the air was thick as the hotel staff hesitated before unlocking the door. Mingyu braced himself, expecting to see Jaehyun sprawled across the couch, waiting with a smug, taunting grin. A part of him still wanted to believe it wasn’t true—that Jaehyun wouldn’t do this to you. To him. The idea had made his stomach turn, his knuckles itch to land a punch before the law could take its course.

But as the door swung open, the sight before him made his stomach churn.

It wasn’t Jaehyun.

But instead, it was Park Yaehan.

Sitting leisurely on the couch, draped in nothing but a plush hotel robe, swirling a glass of deep red wine in his hand like he had all the time in the world. His lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a sick wave of fury rolling through Mingyu’s chest.

The detectives wasted no time. One of them stepped forward, flashing his badge as his voice rang through the room with authority.

“Park Yaehan, you are under arrest for blackmail, illegal possession of private material, and attempted coercion.”

Mingyu barely heard the rest. His blood was boiling too hot, his vision sharpening to a pinpoint focus on the man before him.

Yaehan barely reacted—if anything, his smirk grew wider. He didn’t resist when one of the officers yanked him up and twisted his arms behind his back, locking the handcuffs in place with a click. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, eyes flickering to Mingyu.

“You’re dramatic,” Yaehan mused, tilting his head slightly. “Did she call you crying?” His tone was taunting, venom laced into every syllable. “Begging for help?”

Mingyu’s fists clenched at his sides so hard he could feel his nails biting into his palms. His breathing was ragged, but he didn’t move—didn’t give Yaehan the satisfaction of a reaction.

The detective shoved him forward. “You have the right to remain silent,” he started, his voice cold, detached—like this was just another day on the job.

Yaehan didn’t fight back. He let himself be pushed toward the door, but not before glancing over his shoulder with one final smirk.

“She was always good at making men come running, wasn’t she?”

That was the last straw.

Mingyu lunged before he could stop himself, grabbing Yaehan by the collar with both fists and slamming him against the nearest wall. The impact shook the lamp on the side table, the wine glass shattering on the floor. The detectives barked at him to stand down, but their voices barely registered.

Mingyu’s entire body was trembling with rage, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. His face was only inches from Yaehan’s, his grip tightening like he could choke the smugness right out of him.

“If you ever—ever—say her name again, I swear to God, I won’t stop at just this,” Mingyu snarled, his voice low, dangerous.

That was when one of the detectives grabbed Mingyu’s shoulder, pulling him back with force. He let go, but not without one last glare, seething with promises of violence he wished he could deliver.

Yaehan was dragged out of the room, his smirk never fading.

Mingyu stood there for a moment, chest heaving, hands shaking. His head was pounding with the weight of everything—your shaken voice on the phone, the way you had curled into yourself earlier, the fear you had tried to mask.

And now, even though the bastard was in cuffs, Mingyu still didn’t feel relief.

Because the damage had already been done.

And he hated that you had ever been afraid in the first place.

Jaehyun immediately drove to your place after receiving Mingyu’s call that morning. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as a heavy feeling settled in his chest. The news had already broken—Park Yaehan, handcuffed and dragged out of a hotel room in the early hours of the morning. But what weighed on Jaehyun’s mind wasn’t just the scandal. It was you.

When he arrived, Mingyu was already at the door, looking exhausted but as sharp as ever. He stepped aside without a word, letting Jaehyun in.

The first thing Jaehyun saw was you, curled up on the couch, fast asleep. A blanket draped over you, barely rising and falling with your soft breaths. You looked… drained. Not the strong, confident person he remembered. A pang of guilt settled deep in his stomach.

"I saw the news," Jaehyun whispered, careful not to wake you. "Park Yaehan was dragged out by the police at 2 AM."

Mingyu motioned for him to move to the dining table. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried an edge of accusation.

"Tell me something I don’t know, Jaehyun. Because she thought it was you."

Jaehyun exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "We argued weeks ago. After the wrap party."

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you argue about that made her think you'd harm her?"

Jaehyun’s hands trembled slightly as he clasped them together, fingers digging into his knuckles. The weight of Mingyu’s stare felt suffocating, pressing down on him like a boulder he couldn’t push away. He had driven here in a rush, his thoughts tangled in confusion and anger, but now, sitting at the dining table under Mingyu’s piercing gaze, all that energy had drained into something colder—guilt, maybe regret.

Across from him, Mingyu was eerily still. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, his entire posture unreadable except for the sharp glint in his eyes. The silence stretched between them like a taut rope, fraying at the edges, threatening to snap. Jaehyun had expected some kind of immediate reaction—a scoff, an angry outburst, even just disbelief—but the silence was worse. It made him feel like he had already been judged, found guilty without trial.

"You stole my debut," Mingyu repeated, voice quiet but firm. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—cold, bitter, but not surprised. He was piecing things together, letting the realization settle in.

Jaehyun swallowed, nodding once. "Yeah."

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, as if scrutinizing him. "And you think that’s why she suspected you? Because of something that happened years ago?"

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing his face with both hands before letting them drop to his lap. "I don’t know. But she was the only one who knew how much it haunted me." His voice faltered for a second, and he glanced toward you, still curled up on the couch, completely unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet away. His throat tightened. "Maybe she never let it go. Maybe she never fully forgave me."

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his bicep in irritation. "Forgiveness isn’t the issue here, Jaehyun. She didn’t just doubt you—she feared you."

Those words stung more than Jaehyun had anticipated. He flinched slightly, his grip on his knees tightening. "I never gave her a reason to be afraid of me."

"But she was," Mingyu shot back, his tone sharper now. "That’s what matters."

Jaehyun clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "I would never hurt her."

"Then why did she think you would?" Mingyu challenged, leaning forward slightly. "Do you even realize what she went through the past twenty-four hours? She was terrified, Jaehyun. And out of everyone, the first name that came to her mind was you."

Jaehyun’s breathing grew uneven, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had thought about that too, ever since Mingyu’s call. Why him? Why would you believe he was capable of something so cruel? Was it really because of his past mistake, or had he done something else—something he wasn’t even aware of—that made you see him that way?

Mingyu studied him for a long moment before shaking his head, his voice quieting just slightly. "If you really cared about her, you’d be asking yourself the same question."

Jaehyun wanted to argue, wanted to say that he had been asking himself that question over and over since he found out. But the truth was, he didn’t have an answer. And that uncertainty felt like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The weight in his chest grew heavier as he finally whispered, "I thought she knew me better than that."

Mingyu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Did you?”

"Mingyu..." Your voice was hoarse from sleep, your throat dry, and your body stiff from spending too many hours curled up on the couch. A dull ache spread across your back, making you wince as you shifted. You had lost track of time, barely aware of when exhaustion had pulled you under. But you remembered Mingyu’s promise—he said he wouldn’t leave you. That was the last thing you clung to before sleep claimed you.

You stirred again, calling his name unconsciously, expecting his presence. But when your eyes fluttered open, it wasn’t Mingyu you saw.

It was him.

"Jung Jaehyun?" Your voice came out weaker than you intended, confusion laced with caution.

Jaehyun sat across from you, his posture relaxed, but his expression was anything but. His lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Your eyes darted around, searching for Mingyu. "How are you here? Where’s Mingyu?"

"He went to the regional office with your manager," Jaehyun answered, his voice measured.

You sighed, nodding as your gaze flickered toward the clock on the wall. The hands pointed to 11. You had been out for nearly six hours. No wonder your body felt sore.

Jaehyun watched you carefully before speaking again. "Mingyu called me about what happened." He hesitated, as if picking his words carefully. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

You shook your head slowly, swallowing against the lump in your throat. "I'm just... glad it wasn't you." Your voice wavered, a mix of relief and guilt. "I'm sorry too."

Jaehyun exhaled, running a hand down his face. "I mean... I'm sorry for everything." His fingers curled into fists against his thighs. "For what happened last night. For what happened in the past. I made a lot of mistakes. I—" He exhaled sharply. "I doubted your potential."

The room fell into a heavy silence. It stretched between you like an invisible wall, thick with words left unsaid.

Finally, you broke it. "Have you apologized to Mingyu?"

Jaehyun’s brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard by your sudden shift in focus.

"You stole his debut," you said simply. There was no accusation in your tone—just quiet acknowledgment of a truth you both knew.

Jaehyun’s lips parted as if to respond, but he hesitated. His shoulders tensed. Then, slowly, he nodded.

But something in his expression shifted. It wasn’t just regret that flickered across his face—it was something heavier, something unresolved. A quiet acceptance that things between him and Mingyu would never be the same again.

Friendships, no matter how deep, had their limits. And Jaehyun was starting to wonder if he had already crossed the line too far to go back.

Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he let out a slow, measured breath. He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to tell you, but then he spoke.

"The director called Mingyu earlier," he said carefully, watching your reaction. "He said he couldn’t help but cancel him as a cast."

Your stomach dropped.

Jaehyun’s voice remained calm, but there was an underlying tension in his words. "He was disappointed… about everything that happened. He didn’t want it to affect the production any further."

You felt a sharp pang in your chest. Mingyu had done nothing wrong. If anything, he had fought for you—protected you when no one else did. And now, he was paying the price for it.

Your fingers clenched the blanket draped over you. "He… got fired?"

Jaehyun didn’t say the word, but his silence was enough of an answer.

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing his temple. "The director didn’t want to make the call, but the producers were insistent. They don’t want any scandals tied to the project."

You swallowed hard. The industry was ruthless, you knew that. But hearing it out loud—seeing how easily they discarded Mingyu after everything—made your blood boil.

"This isn’t fair," you muttered, your voice shaking.

"I know," Jaehyun admitted. "But Mingyu probably knew this was coming."

That didn’t make it any less painful.

You exhaled sharply, your head pounding with frustration. Mingyu had given so much—for you, for this project—only to be thrown aside. You knew he’d act like it didn’t bother him, that he’d brush it off with a grin and say it was fine. But it wasn’t fine.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, you weren’t just angry at the people who hurt you.

You were angry at the industry, at the way it treated the people who gave it everything.

And most of all, you were angry at yourself—because no matter how much you hated it, you knew that you were part of the reason this happened to Mingyu.

Mingyu hadn’t expected to see anyone when he stepped out of his car that night, much less you.

You stood outside his apartment building, shivering slightly in the cold, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The dim streetlight cast a glow over your face, highlighting the way your breath came out in faint, visible puffs against the chilly night air. Your hair was slightly tousled, as if you had been standing there for a while, debating whether or not to go inside.

His chest tightened at the sight. It had been two weeks since the incident—two weeks since your label announced your hiatus, since the fallout of Park Yaehan’s scandal had sent shockwaves through the industry. Two weeks since you had last reached out to him. And now, here you were, waiting for him outside his home in the dead of night.

“Y/n?” Mingyu called, stepping closer. His voice held a mixture of surprise and concern. “What are you doing here? It’s freezing.”

His voice was softer than he intended, but there was an edge of concern underneath. He knew you weren’t supposed to be out in public, not when your name was still floating around in headlines. Not when you should’ve been resting.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your expression unreadable at first. But then, you offered a small, tired smile—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I needed to see you.”

He didn’t press further. Instead, he sighed, pulling off his coat without a second thought and draping it over your shoulders. His warmth lingered in the fabric, and you instinctively pulled it closer.

“Come inside,” he said gently. “You shouldn’t be out here like this.”

You hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of something, before finally nodding. Without another word, Mingyu reached for the door, holding it open for you as you stepped inside.

Mingyu watched you carefully as the two of you stepped inside his apartment. His eyes traced over your face, taking in the subtle hollowness in your cheeks, the way your sweater hung a little looser on your frame. His chest ached at the realization.

“You lost weight,” he murmured, concern lacing his tone. “Do you want me to cook you something?”

You gave a small nod, your gaze drifting to the floor as if the weight of the conversation in your head was too heavy to meet his eyes.

Mingyu turned toward the kitchen, but before he could take a step, your voice stopped him.

“Mingyu.”

He stilled, nodding slightly to let you know he was listening. His heart pounded a little harder beneath his ribs, sensing there was something you weren’t saying yet.

“When I debuted,” you started, voice quieter now, “how did you feel?”

A silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken. Then, finally, Mingyu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I was happy for you,” he admitted simply.

You finally lifted your gaze, searching his face. “And when Jaehyun debuted?”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Why are we talking about things that have already passed?”

But you weren’t letting this go. “Acting was your dream too, Mingyu,” you pressed. “How did it feel to never debut?”

He let out a short chuckle, though there was no humor behind it. “You really want to hear the answer?” His voice held an edge now, not of anger, but of something close to exhaustion. “Fine. It was nothing. Because I forced myself to focus on getting better at something else.”

Your brows furrowed slightly at his response, but before you could say anything, he continued.

“But why are you still so kind to me and Jaehyun?” You finally asked.

Mingyu blinked at you, as if the question itself was absurd. “Because you guys are my friends,” he said simply. “And I have no reason to hate you. Or dislike you.”

Another silence settled between you. This time, it felt heavier.

Mingyu studied your face for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time.

“Is there something specific you want to hear from me?”

“Tell me you hate me,” you whispered, your voice raw with desperation.

Mingyu blinked at you, disbelief flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?” His voice was uneven, edged with confusion and something dangerously close to anger. “Why would I hate you?”

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, your nails digging into your palms. “I— I heard from Jaehyun… the director cut you off.”

Mingyu’s jaw twitched, his fingers flexing at his sides. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—hurt, frustration—but it was gone in a second, masked by indifference. He shrugged, forcing nonchalance into his voice. “So?”

Your breath hitched. “I failed your debut… again.”

Mingyu let out a slow, deliberate exhale, his patience thinning. His voice lowered, calm but edged with warning. “And then?”

The weight of your guilt pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “You should hate me, Mingyu,” you choked out, the words barely making it past your lips. “I crushed your dream.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed, and this time, frustration flickered openly across his face. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he forced them to relax. “No, you didn’t,” he said firmly. “And you never have.”

Your vision blurred slightly, your pulse thrumming painfully in your ears. “I know it was important to you… acting.”

Mingyu inhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. “What are you talking about, Y/n? Nothing is important to me right now. You know that.”

Your throat tightened as you stepped forward, your voice barely steady. “But it was always your dream…”

Mingyu dragged a hand down his face, his frustration palpable. “Yeah, it was. In the past.” He exhaled heavily, his tone quieter but weighted with finality. “Now… I don’t think I suit the acting industry. Not after everything that’s happened—”

“I like you, Mingyu.”

The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, and the shift in the air was immediate—suffocating.

Mingyu froze.

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening slightly as your confession settled between you like an earthquake, shaking the fragile ground you stood on. The tension that had been simmering in the room suddenly felt unbearable, pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

His silence was worse than anything you had imagined.

“I like you…” you repeated, but this time, your voice wavered, thick with uncertainty.

Mingyu just stood there, staring at you as if you had just unraveled something inside him he wasn’t ready to face. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You swallowed hard, feeling the burn of unshed tears prick your eyes. “And knowing that I was the reason for everything that happened—the director cutting you off, your failed debut…” Your voice cracked, and you dropped your gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “I was… I am sorry.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched, his breathing heavy as if he was struggling with something. “Y/n…”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered, the weight of your guilt pressing against your ribcage.

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, frustration laced in every syllable. “Stop saying that.”

You shook your head, stepping back slightly, putting distance between you as if it would somehow lessen the ache in your chest. “It’s the truth. You lost so much because of me, and yet… you’re still here, being kind to me, looking after me.” Your voice broke, raw with emotion. “How can you do that? How can you not hate me?”

Mingyu’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally spoke, his voice low but unwavering. “Because I don’t blame you, Y/n. And I never will.”

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, searching for something—anger, resentment, anything that would make sense of the situation. But all you found was sincerity, unshaken and firm.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because you couldn’t understand how someone could lose so much and still choose to stay.

Mingyu exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair as if trying to ground himself. His frustration was evident, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was at the situation, at the way you refused to see what he had been trying to tell you all along.

"Y/n, do you really think I'm still hung up on debuting?" His voice was quiet but firm. "Do you really think my entire life was ruined just because I didn’t become an actor?"

You couldn’t answer.

Because wasn’t that the truth?

You had spent so long carrying the weight of his dreams on your shoulders, convincing yourself that your success had come at the cost of his, that you never stopped to consider—maybe you weren’t the one who got to decide what he had lost.

Mingyu sighed, stepping closer, his presence warm despite the cold tension in the air. "I never hated you, not once," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "So why do you keep trying to push me away?"

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling around the hem of your coat. "Because…" You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel guilty."

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not a reason to hate someone, Y/n. And it sure as hell isn’t a reason for me to walk away from you."

His words hit deep, unraveling something inside you that had been wound too tight for too long.

Your gaze dropped to the floor. "I just… I don’t know how to make it right."

"You don’t have to."

The certainty in his voice made you look up. Mingyu was watching you, his expression open, unguarded in a way that made your chest tighten.

"You don’t have to make anything right," he repeated. "Because nothing was ever wrong between us."

Silence hung between you again, thick with unspoken feelings, unshed tears, and the weight of too many years spent misunderstanding each other.

And then, in the quiet, Mingyu sighed, tilting his head slightly as if finally acknowledging the other thing lingering between you.

"You like me," he murmured, his voice softer now. It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. "I do."

Mingyu’s lips quirked into the smallest, saddest smile. "And you think you don’t deserve me?"

You nodded hesitantly, unable to meet his gaze.

Mingyu let out a breath, almost like a quiet chuckle, before he reached out—his fingers curling gently around your wrist, his warmth seeping into your skin.

"Y/n," he said, his voice impossibly tender. "You’re the only thing I never regretted."

Your heart clenched.

The air shifted again, this time not with guilt or hesitation, but with something heavier, something deeper.

You had spent so long believing you had ruined his life. And yet, here he was, standing right in front of you, telling you that you were the only thing he never once resented.

Your throat tightened, emotions threatening to spill over. "Mingyu…"

His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, grounding you. "Stop running away from me," he whispered. "If you like me, then just… stay."

Your chest ached, the words hitting you harder than you expected.

Could you?

Could you really let go of the guilt, of the years of overthinking and self-blame?

Could you stay?

Mingyu let out a shaky breath, his grip on your wrist firm but gentle, as if he were afraid you would disappear if he let go. His heart pounded against his ribs, louder than the silence between you.

For years, he had buried this feeling—stuffed it deep into the corners of his heart, convinced that friendship was enough, that he could endure simply standing by your side. But right now, seeing you like this, so raw, so vulnerable, telling him you liked him while carrying a guilt you never should have had to bear…

Something inside him snapped.

No more holding back.

He swallowed hard, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, and he felt the way you tensed under his touch. The hesitation in your eyes, the way your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something—but you didn’t.

For once, Mingyu didn’t give you the space to run.

He leaned in, hesitating just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to stop him if you wanted to. But you didn’t move.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but it wasn’t careful either. It was full of everything he had held back for years—frustration, longing, the silent love he had carried for so long without ever daring to name it.

His lips were warm against yours, the pressure firm yet soft, as if he were trying to tell you with this kiss what he had never been brave enough to say out loud. That he had wanted you all along. That it was never about acting, never about the past—only about you.

You stiffened for a moment, stunned, before your fingers clutched at the fabric of his sweater, grounding yourself. The way your body melted into his just slightly, the way your breath hitched against his lips—it made something deep in Mingyu’s chest ache.

You kissed him back.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss just slightly, enough to let you know—he wasn’t going to let you push him away anymore.

He wasn’t going to let either of you keep pretending.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, the space between you charged with something electric.

"You think you don’t deserve me," he murmured, voice low, warm against your lips. "But, Y/n… I’ve spent years thinking I was the one who didn’t deserve you."

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes fluttering open to meet his. Mingyu’s gaze was soft yet intense, no hesitation left.

"So if we’re both idiots about this," he whispered, "then let’s just stop pretending."

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch steady, grounding. "Stay," he said again, but this time, it wasn’t just a request. It was a promise.

A promise that if you chose him, he wouldn’t let you regret it.

The warm glow of your apartment cast a cozy atmosphere over the small gathering, the scent of takeout and the faint fizz of beer bottles opening filling the air. Mingyu sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped casually behind you, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder. Jaehyun sat across from you both, legs stretched out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

You had been putting this moment off for too long, but tonight—celebrating Mingyu’s promotion to detective at the regional station—it felt right. The weight that had been sitting in your chest for weeks finally eased as you turned to Jaehyun and said, “By the way… Mingyu and I are dating.”

Jaehyun groaned loudly, throwing his head back against the couch. “Finally!”

Mingyu burst into laughter, nudging you playfully. “He must’ve seen this coming.”

Jaehyun scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Yeah! Who didn’t?” He pointed at you. “I mean, come on, Mingyu literally would do anything for you. The guy has had ‘in love with Y/N’ written all over his face for years.”

Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Mingyu, but he just shrugged with an easy grin. “Took us long enough, huh?”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for this announcement since forever. You guys were dancing around each other so much, I was this close—” he held up his fingers an inch apart “—to locking you in a room until you figured it out.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We weren’t that obvious.”

Jaehyun snorted. “Oh, you were.” He turned to Mingyu. “Dude, I’ve seen you drop everything for her without even thinking. If she called you at 3 a.m. because she saw a spider, you’d drive across town just to kill it.”

Mingyu shrugged again, taking a sip of his drink. “Well… yeah.”

Jaehyun shook his head with a fond sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m happy for you guys.” He raised his beer. “To Mingyu’s promotion, and to finally putting an end to all the unnecessary tension.”

You and Mingyu clinked your drinks against his, sharing a glance that held something deeper—a quiet understanding that this, right here, was what mattered. The past, the guilt, the hesitation… none of it had a place in the life you were building together now.

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Mingyu scoffed, setting his drink down with a playful glare in Jaehyun’s direction. “Okay, but why does it sound like I was the only one who was obvious? Like I was pathetically in love while she just—what? Kept me around for convenience?” He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “You really hid it that well, huh?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jaehyun cut in, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t even start with that, Mingyu. You just never paid attention.”

Mingyu frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Remember when she confronted me about your debut? When she found out I got cast instead of you?”

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard. “What about it?”

Jaehyun huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “She came at me like she was ready to burn everything down. I’ve never seen her that angry before. She wasn’t mad that I got the role—she was mad that you didn’t. And when I told her there was nothing she could do, that it was already decided, you know what she said?”

Mingyu swallowed, his chest tightening as he looked at you. “…What did she say?”

Jaehyun turned to you, his expression softening. “She said, ‘It’s not fair. No one works harder than Mingyu. No one deserves it more than him.’” He let out a small chuckle. “And then she told me I should apologize to you. That I owed you that much.”

Mingyu’s lips parted slightly as he looked at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve, nervous under his gaze.

Jaehyun leaned back, crossing his arms. “So yeah, maybe she wasn’t obvious like you, following her around like a lost puppy.” Mingyu glared at him, but Jaehyun just grinned. “But she cared. A lot. Probably more than she even realized.”

Silence settled between the three of you. Mingyu was still staring at you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. Slowly, you glanced up at him, your heart hammering in your chest.

Mingyu let out a small, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So all this time… you really did care that much?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Of course, I did.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a fond, almost exasperated smile. “And you still made me think I was in this alone?”

You bit your lip, but before you could answer, Jaehyun groaned, standing up. “Okay, I’m done being the middleman in your slow-burn romance. You guys figure out the rest.”

With that, he grabbed another drink and headed toward your balcony, giving you and Mingyu some space.

Mingyu watched him leave before turning back to you, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, he reached out, fingers brushing against yours before lacing them together.

“You could’ve told me,” he murmured, voice softer now.

You squeezed his hand lightly. “I was scared.”

Mingyu sighed, bringing your hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “Me too,” he admitted.

For the first time, neither of you had to run, hide, or pretend.

The warmth of laughter filled your apartment as the three of you huddled around the small coffee table, empty bottles and snack wrappers scattered across it. The air was light, no longer weighed down by unspoken words or past regrets. It felt… normal. Like old times, except better—because now, there were no more barriers.

Jaehyun smirked as he laid down his final card. “And that makes me the winner.”

Mingyu groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Again? Are you cheating?”

“You just suck at this game,” Jaehyun shot back, grinning.

You giggled, nudging Mingyu’s arm. “Loser runs the errand. More drinks and snacks, please.”

Mingyu sighed, dragging himself up from the floor. “You guys planned this, didn’t you?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You’re both evil.” But despite his words, Mingyu smiled as he grabbed his jacket and slipped on his shoes.

The cold night air greeted him as he stepped out of your building, his breath visible in the crisp air. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car passing by. He shoved his hands into his pockets, heading toward the convenience store a block away.

But as he approached, he slowed his steps, his brows furrowing.

Sitting in front of the store, illuminated by the glow of the streetlights, was a familiar face. Chan. His colleague.

Mingyu tilted his head. “Isn’t that… the part-timer?” he muttered to himself.

Chan was deep in conversation with a girl, her face half-hidden by her long hair. She laughed at something he said, her hand playfully pushing his shoulder.

Mingyu smirked to himself. “Well, well. What’s this?”

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had a story unfolding tonight.

Shaking his head in amusement, Mingyu stepped into the store, letting the door chime announce his arrival. He still had an errand to run, after all. But now, he had something interesting to bring up to Chan later.

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goldfades · 2 months ago

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family ties | chapter one, DAYLIGHT | burrow⁹

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference!

FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | the youngest kelce has spent her whole life navigating the chaos of her famous last name, always lingering in the background while her brothers took center stage. but when travis falls for taylor swift, she suddenly finds herself feeling like a third wheel in her own family. and after your heartbreak with an nba player, you never thought you'd find love again.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | just normal prologue stuff! kelce family bantering, mentions of jayson tatum, olivia h mention (IT WAS FOR THE PLOT I SWEAR), heartbreak (but no graphic descriptions), nothing else!

⟢ ┈ ev's notes: okay listen guys i had to think of a random basketball player and the first one i thought of was jayson tatum. if ur not attracted to him, just like... imagine someone else but the celtics are not mentioned so... it's fine!!!!! it's a minor little detail but yeah!

also, i might change some stuff that was from the OG fic just because it doesn't fit the plot i've made LOL. enjoy!

You were an accident in every possible way.

Born an astounding eight years after Travis, nearly eleven after Jason, you weren’t exactly planned. By the time you came along, your parents had been convinced they were done, their hands already full with two loud, competitive boys who spent more time wrestling in the backyard than sitting still. And then—there was you.

A baby sister in every sense of the word.

Your brothers treated you like some kind of rare, delicate thing at first, unsure what to do with you other than stare into your crib and poke at your tiny hands. But that didn’t last long. Before you could even walk, Jason was letting you sit on his lap while he played video games, and Travis had appointed himself your unofficial bodyguard, glaring at anyone who so much as breathed in your direction.

You grew up surrounded by chaos—loud dinners, backyard football games that almost always ended in someone getting tackled too hard, and a house full of laughter. Your parents tried their best to raise you with the same principles that had shaped your brothers, but you were different from the start.

Where Jason was responsible and steady, you were restless. Where Travis was loud and the life of the party, you were observant.

It wasn’t that you were quiet—no one raised in a Kelce household could be described as quiet—but you learned early on how to move through the world a little differently. Being the youngest meant you had to be quick-witted, fast on your feet, and always ready to hold your own. If you didn’t, you’d get run over.

By the time you hit high school, you had learned how to use your last name to your advantage. It got you free drinks at parties, easier conversations with teachers, and a built-in reputation before you ever had to prove yourself. But it also came with expectations—the kind that lingered over you like a shadow.

People expected you to be just like your brothers.

Maybe a little wild, maybe a little reckless. Definitely athletic. Definitely loud.

And you were some of those things.

You were an athlete, sure—your dad would’ve had an aneurysm if you weren’t—but not in the way people wanted. You had a sharp competitive streak, but you never cared about being the best. You played because it was fun, because it was expected, because you liked the feeling of winning, but you never had dreams of making it big. Not like Jason. Not like Travis.

And as for being reckless? You were a Kelce, so it was in your blood. But you were also smart. Calculated. Where Travis would throw himself into anything just to see what would happen, you thought three steps ahead. You weren’t scared of getting into trouble, but you were good at avoiding it.

That was the thing about growing up the way you did—watching your brothers carve their paths before you. You learned how to navigate things differently. You let them be the loudest people in the room while you played the long game, slipping through cracks unnoticed until you wanted to be noticed.

You didn’t date much in high school—not seriously, anyway. Not because people didn’t try (being a Kelce came with its perks), but because most boys were too intimidated by the idea of dating Jason and Travis Kelce’s little sister. You never really minded. Most of the guys at your school weren’t worth your time, anyway.

But you did notice the way people looked at you.

The way guys wanted to say they had a shot with you, even if they never tried. The way girls sometimes whispered about you, speculating if you were actually as down-to-earth as you pretended to be. The way teachers expected you to either be a slacker or a prodigy, like there was no in-between.

You weren’t sure when exactly you started feeling like an enigma—like people had decided who you were before you even had a chance to figure it out for yourself.

Maybe it was when your friends started bringing you to parties just because your last name got you through the door. Maybe it was when people started assuming you were only where you were because of your family. Maybe it was when you realized that, no matter what you did, you’d always be compared to the brothers who came before you.

By the time you graduated, you had perfected the art of keeping people at a distance. You knew how to smile just enough to be approachable, how to joke just enough to make people like you. But you also knew how to keep things yours.

And so you did.

You left home with the intention of making a name for yourself—outside of football, outside of the Kelce legacy. You weren’t running away from it, exactly. You just needed something that was yours alone.

And for the most part, you succeeded.

You built a life that had nothing to do with your last name. You found your own friends, your own career, your own world. You managed to exist outside of the NFL bubble, despite how often it tried to pull you back in. And for years, that was enough.

You were nineteen when you met Jayson Tatum.

Nineteen and reckless in the way only someone on the verge of something monumental can be—when success feels inevitable, and the world hasn’t yet taught you how cruel it can be. You had grown up in the shadows of your last name, in the periphery of stadium lights, in the echoes of your brothers’ roaring crowds. But Jayson was the first person who made you feel like the center of something.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what it meant to love someone like him—someone whose name was already in the rafters, whose presence carried weight before he even walked into a room. He was smooth, confident, charming in that way that made you want to believe him. And maybe that was the problem: you did.

It started fast, the way these things always do. Courtside seats, late-night flights, whispered phone calls from different time zones. He made you feel special, called you his “genius,” said he had never met someone like you before. But love with him always came with conditions. He loved you, but he wanted you to fit into his world, to mold yourself into the spaces left between his career, his schedule, his life. And you tried. God, you tried. You sat in the stands, smiled for the cameras, learned the rhythms of his world even when he never bothered to learn yours.

And it was never enough.

It was always push and pull, a constant cycle of breaking and rebuilding. He would tell you he couldn’t do it anymore, that you were too much, that he needed someone who understood his life. And then weeks later, he’d be back, whispering apologies, promising he had figured it out this time. And you—stupid, hopeful, nineteen, then twenty, then twenty-one—kept believing him.

Until December 2022. The last time. The worst time.

You had always been careful, always known how to exist just outside the spotlight, but this time, the breakup wasn’t just yours. It was public. Messy. Everywhere. Headlines dissecting your relationship, tabloids picking apart your heartbreak like it was something they were entitled to. Your face plastered across the internet, grainy photos of you leaving restaurants, ducking into cars, standing alone in a crowd. Strangers speculating about you, about him, about what went wrong, about whether you were as heartbroken as they hoped you’d be.

And the worst part? You were. You just didn’t want them to know it.

You had never cared about fame—not like that, not in the way the world suddenly seemed to demand from you. You weren’t built for it, for the attention, for the scrutiny, for the way people suddenly decided you were interesting now that you were broken.

It was the lowest you had ever been.

After that, you buried yourself in work, in building something no one could take from you. You stopped trusting the cameras, stopped giving interviews, stopped letting people in. And love? Love became something you didn’t have time for. Something you couldn’t afford.

Not until Joe. But that was another story.

⟢ JULY 2023

The Kelces did the Fourth of July the same way they did everything else—loud, chaotic, and with enough food to feed an army.

The backyard was still a mess from the day’s events. Empty plates stacked on tables, beer bottles scattered across the deck, remnants of water balloons forgotten in the grass. The kids had long since crashed, curled up in the living room after a full day of running around, and your parents had finally turned in for the night. That left just the three of you—Jason, Travis, and you—lingering in the kitchen, picking at the last of the food and settling in for what was, by tradition, gossip hour.

Jason was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking half-exhausted, half-amused as he nursed what was probably his final beer of the night. Kylie had gone upstairs an hour ago, throwing a “don’t let him stay up too late” over her shoulder before disappearing. Travis was still riding the high of a long day—barefoot, tanned from the sun, and grinning like he knew something you didn’t.

You, for your part, were perched on the counter, sipping a Coke because you had a feeling one of you needed to remain at least somewhat coherent.

“So, uh,” Travis started, reaching for the last deviled egg on the platter. “Speaking of cool people, guess who I started talking to?”

Jason shot him a tired look. “Oh, here we go.”

You glanced between them. “What do you mean, talking to?”

Travis grinned. “Taylor Swift.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jason groaned, running a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, Trav.”

“What?” Travis said, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s not a big deal.”

You snorted. “You just casually dropped Taylor Swift into the conversation like it’s the weather. That’s not normal.”

Jason pointed at you. “Exactly. Thank you.”

Travis rolled his eyes, shoving the deviled egg into his mouth. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been texting. I shot my shot, and what do you know? The Kelce charm works.”

Jason looked unimpressed. “Define ‘texting.’”

Travis chewed thoughtfully. “Like… texting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Travis.”

He smirked. “Okay, fine. I invited her to a game. She didn’t come, but she thought it was funny. We started talking. She’s cool as hell.”

You stared at him, processing. “Hold on. You shot your shot with Taylor Swift—arguably the biggest pop star in the world—by inviting her to a football game?”

Travis shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

Jason huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I hate that it worked.”

You leaned forward, intrigued now. “Wait, so what do you guys talk about?”

Travis grinned. “Oh, you know. Life. Music. Football. Friendship bracelets.”

Jason made a strangled noise. “I swear to God—”

“I’m serious!” Travis held up his hands. “She thought it was funny! That’s what started it, actually.”

You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. “And how often are you guys texting?”

Travis took a sip of his beer, clearly stalling.

“Travis.”

He sighed dramatically. “Every day. Okay? Happy?”

Jason looked at you, then back at him. “Holy shit. You like her.”

Travis scoffed. “Of course I like her, she’s Taylor fuckin’ Swift.”

“No,” you cut in, pointing at him. “Not just, like, ‘fan’ like her. You actually like her.”

Travis hesitated. And that was all you needed to see.

Jason whistled low, shaking his head. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “Or… it’s gonna be the greatest thing to ever happen to you.”

Travis gave you a look, something half-serious beneath all the usual bravado. “You think?”

You shrugged. “I think you have a long road ahead of you if you actually wanna date Taylor Swift. But if anyone’s got the balls to do it, it’s you.”

Travis sat back, considering that. Then he smirked. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Jason groaned. “Oh God.”

You hopped off the counter, stealing the beer out of Travis’s hand and taking a sip. “I can’t wait for Mom to find out.”

Travis laughed, shaking his head. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

And just like that, the topic shifted—because that was the thing about being a Kelce. No matter how big the news, how crazy the story, at the end of the day, you were just family. Talking shit in the kitchen, making fun of each other, and watching history unfold in real time.

The whole thing kind of unraveled in front of you.

One minute, Travis was dropping Taylor Swift’s name into a conversation like it was nothing, and the next, she was there. Not in a surreal, once-in-a-lifetime, see-her-from-a-distance kind of way—but in the real way. The kind where she was suddenly just… around. Sitting across from you at dinner, feet tucked under her on the couch, sipping a drink at the same backyard parties you had been going to your whole life.

It wasn’t weird, not exactly. It was just happening.

You had been close to fame before, obviously. Jason and Travis had built their careers in the public eye, and you had spent your whole life in and around that world, brushing shoulders with athletes and celebrities who treated your last name like a golden ticket. You knew how to navigate it, how to smile politely and act like it didn’t phase you.

But this was different.

Because this wasn’t just fame. This was Taylor Swift—and she wasn’t just a headline or a name on a stadium marquee. She was here, in your world, existing in it like she belonged. And the strangest part? She kind of did.

You liked her. She was easy to like. Funny, quick-witted, smarter than people probably even realized. She had this way of making everyone feel like they were the only person in the room when she talked to them. Even you, at times, when she wasn’t entirely preoccupied with Travis.

And, well. That was the thing, wasn’t it?

Because she was preoccupied with Travis.

That was the whole point.

She wasn’t your friend. She wasn’t coming around to hang out with you. She was here for him. And that was fine. It was great, actually. You had never seen your brother like this before—completely, stupidly, out-of-his-mind happy. He glowed around her, and you were happy for him.

But somewhere along the way, you started to notice it.

The third wheel feeling.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Not in the beginning, when everything was still so new and exciting and unbelievable.

But then came the dinners where you felt like a spectator to their conversations. The trips where you ended up walking three steps behind them. The inside jokes you weren’t a part of, the glances they shared across rooms like they were in on some secret that you weren’t.

And sure, Travis had always been larger than life. His presence had always been something you had to navigate around. But now? Now, there was them. And you? You were just… there.

It got to the point where even your nieces—who were still young enough to have no filter—started noticing. You’d barely sat down at one of your parents’ Sunday dinners when Wyatt, with all the innocence of a child, looked up at you and asked, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

You had laughed, mostly out of shock, but the sting was still there. And then it happened again. And again.

And that was how Elliot became your best friend.

At just over a year old, she was the only one who didn’t ask why you were always alone, or where your mystery boyfriend was, or when you were going to bring someone home like Travis had. Instead, she was just happy to exist beside you, happy to let you carry her around like a little security blanket when you needed an excuse to step away from them.

You spent more time with her than you did with the adults most nights, letting her babble nonsense at you while you tuned out the rest of the room.

Joe Burrow wasn’t born into greatness.

He was born into a world where nothing was guaranteed, where talent didn’t always mean success, where hard work didn’t always lead to the dream. He grew up watching his father grind his way through the football world, moving from coaching job to coaching job, never staying anywhere long enough to feel settled. He understood from a young age that football wasn’t just a game—it was survival. It was everything.

But for most of his life, Joe wasn’t the guy. He wasn’t the five-star recruit, the kid whose name carried weight before he even stepped on the field. He was good—great, even—but great didn’t always mean enough. Ohio State was supposed to be his shot, his moment, the place where he proved himself. Instead, it was where he sat on the bench, waiting for a chance that never came, watching other guys take the field while he tried to convince himself it wasn’t slipping away from him.

There were nights he thought about giving it up. That maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. That maybe football had already given him all it was going to. But he wasn’t built to quit, and when LSU came calling, he took the leap.

That was the moment everything changed.

LSU wasn’t just an opportunity—it was a resurrection. It was the first time he felt like the guy, like he wasn’t just taking up space on a roster but actually belonged there. The game slowed down, the doubt faded, and for the first time in his life, he thought: Maybe I can actually do this. Maybe I can be great.

Then came 2019. The season. The Heisman. The national championship. The moment his life shifted from maybe to inevitable. He went from overlooked to undeniable, from backup to first overall pick, from fighting for a shot to standing at the top of the football world.

And somewhere in all of that, there was Olivia.

She had been there from Ohio State, through the struggles, through the late nights spent questioning everything. She was safe, steady, someone who knew him before everything changed. And for a while, that was enough. They built a life together in the in-between spaces of his career—through the transfer, through LSU, through the draft, through the move to Cincinnati.

But something had shifted along the way. Maybe it was the fame, the pressure, the way football consumed everything in its path. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent so long chasing this dream that he didn’t know how to slow down, didn’t know how to be the kind of man who could put something else—someone else—first.

Or maybe they had just grown into different people.

The love had been real. That was never a question. But real didn’t always mean forever, and when the cracks started to show, neither of them could ignore them. The long distance, the late nights, the feeling of being together but not really together. Football had always been his first love, and Olivia had always understood that. But understanding didn’t make it easier.

By the time the breakup happened, it felt inevitable. A quiet ending, no messy headlines, no dramatic fallout. Just two people who had spent years trying to make something work, finally realizing it wasn’t meant to.

Joe had never been one for public spectacle, had never been the guy who wanted his love life picked apart. But that didn’t stop people from talking. From wondering when he’d date again, who he’d be seen with, what kind of woman would fit into the world he had built.

But he wasn’t looking. Football was still everything, still the thing that took up all the space in his life.

At least, until you.

#( daylight | joe x kelce!reader )#joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joey b #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x y/n #bengals

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mysnoopyvalentine · 14 days ago

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can't help myself

kim doyoung x reader

word count: 12.3k

genre: soulmates!au, fluff, parallel universes, strangers to lovers (ish)

warnings: implied sex, kissing, swearing

playlist: Can’t Help Myself (NCT 127), I’m In Love with You (the 1975), Say Yes (Loco, Punch)

summary: In a skeptical culture where soulmates don’t always live happily ever after, you begin dreaming of your ideal man long past the average age of soulmate visions. You may love Doyoung in every universe, but does that really mean you’re meant to be? Even when the Doyoung of your reality is an idol?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It happens when you least expect it.

You get ready for bed early on New Year’s Eve without the intention of staying up late to ring in the new year.

Your phone vibrates on the nightstand, displaying the contact picture of your best friend Meg.

It would be easier to ignore it and pretend like you’re busy, but you know that Meg is nosy enough to check your location. She’ll see you’re at home in an instant and call you a million times anyway.

“Hey,” you feign ignorance as you pick up. “What’s up?”

“I know that your ass is not at home right now,” she groans. “You should’ve told me! I would’ve taken you out with me and David!”

“Come on, you know I don’t really go out for New Year’s anymore.”

You stopped doing so a couple of years back due to the fact that it just made you feel more hopeless for the upcoming year. You have plenty of luck in your career and general day-to-day life, but the men you encounter in the dating pool are horrendous. New Year’s was just one of those holidays that made you feel lonely even in the midst of a fulfilling life.

“I know you hate third wheeling on New Year’s Eve, but I still feel like it’s a good opportunity to try meeting someone. Come out and meet us downtown!” Meg insists.

You look at the clock. 9:59PM. That’s not nearly enough time to get ready, uber downtown, and desperately try to ensure a New Year’s Kiss. You don’t have the energy to flirt with strangers these days, anyway. “Hell no. I’m good.”

Meg tries to persuade you for the next five minutes, but no amount of free drinks, food, or money can convince you to leave your place. At the end of it all, she finally concedes. “Fine, stay home.”

“That was the plan,” you say coolly. You love her, but her persistence in treating your singleness as a condition to be cured grates on your nerves.

“Want me to manifest a soulmate vision for you tonight instead of a New Year’s kiss?”

You snort. “Now you’re really being delusional. I don’t think my soulmate exists, considering that I’ve never had a single soulmate vision in all these years.”

The concept of your soulmate was the fallback argument of most people as a last-ditch effort to prevent you from giving up on dating. Usually it comes off disingenuous, like they’re just dangling a carrot above your head for romantic motivation. Meg and David, however, are soulmates—meaning they serve as a genuine reminder that soulmates do work out. Sometimes.

Everyone knows the common signs of a soulmate bond. First, the visions: 90% of all soulmate pairs report experiencing a series of visions about a stranger. They don’t appear as a background person either—soulmate visions are vivid experiences characterized by their extreme detail. Most of the time each soulmate experiences the other’s memories. Rarer, some soulmates would even share visions, allowing them to interact before meeting in the real world.

Dreams are the most common manifestation of this phenomenon, but there’s enough people that don’t have theirs linked to sleep to justify the term ‘vision’ instead. Most pairs start seeing their other half during their teenage years; others, like Meg, meet their soulmate so early that they barely experience any visions at all.

For those who do experience them, one fact is absolute across the board: all accounts of soulmate visions end once you see them in person.

The second, less pleasant aspect of having a soulmate is the intense physical reaction towards seeing them physically for the first time. Symptoms appear spontaneously with fainting, vomiting, and migraines being the most common. Around 30% of soulmate encounters end up with at least one party requiring some form of medical attention.

On this night, experiencing dreams of a stranger or feeling violently ill don’t sound like the most appealing things on the planet. You’ll pass.

Meg says your name, snapping you to attention. “…You really don’t have to ice me out for a soulmate joke, I can just stop.”

“No, you’re good. The soulmate thing is funny.” You force out a laugh. “If I happen to have a soulmate vision on New Year’s Eve, maybe that’s a sign that things will actually work out.”

“Oh, shut up, there’s no way for him to resist if you do have one.”

If. The word bounces around in your head. Of all people, even Meg wasn’t sure that you had a karmic link waiting for you.

“Well, you shouldn’t let my singleness ruin your night with David. I’ll talk to you guys later.” You hang up the phone before she can answer.

You see a text notification pop up on your phone, but you place your phone facedown on the nightstand instead. You lean onto your side and turn off your lamp.

The quiet of your apartment has your mind churning. Even if you do have a soulmate, would it even work out?

While a good number of the population encounters their soulmate in real life, the amount of successful relationships resulting from that encounter are surprisingly low. Confidence in soulmate pairings had lowered with the younger generations, especially with researchers studying the science behind soulmate dreams and reactions. Hopeless romantics believed wholeheartedly in soulmate pairs, while more pragmatic people posed the same question—if scientists are able to explain why dreams and physical reactions happen between two people, is there anything truly fated about it?

You’re not certain where you stand on the matter. Scientists aren’t close to discovering anything concrete anyway, so you deal with this big philosophical question in the best way you know: ignoring it.

No use thinking about it anyway, when you’re long past the average age of experiencing initial soulmate dreams.

You let your mind wander elsewhere as you close your eyes and drift slowly to sleep.

That’s when he appears.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Flowers surround you in an open field. The sunlight warms your face, and the breeze carries the soft, fresh scents of springtime. You balk as you look down at your hands; you’re holding an artist palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.

An easel right at the edge of your vision catches your eye. You turn towards it in hopes of making sense of the situation—maybe this dream was fulfilling a brief childhood dream of becoming a landscape artist—but you feel your heart drop.

The painting lacks any landscape at all. Instead, it depicts a near-finished portrait of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

His eyes, dark but warm, catch your attention first. Combined with his pouty lips and slender face, he’s the epitome of your type. What’s the most striking to you, however, is the gentle nature captured in his expression. The pose you’ve chosen depicts his shoulders turned away from the viewer, yet his gaze stares at you directly. His lips are curved slightly upwards in a playful smile, as if he’s just teased the viewer. Unequivocally handsome features softened in all the right places.

There’s a quiet sound of shoes shuffling on the grass. A tuft of black hair peeks up from over the canvas.

“Do you need anything else from me?”

After a beat of silence, a full head pokes out from the side of the easel, and everything stops. It’s the man from the painting in front of you—smooth skin, soft smile, and perfect everything in all. He says your name once in the tone of a question, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Is everything okay? Are you upset because I moved?”

You open your mouth to speak—to clarify that no, everything is not okay and ask who are you, anyway? —but something else emerges from your lips entirely.

“You can move. I’m almost done. Do you want to see it?”

The words are yours, technically. You feel and hear yourself saying them, but your thoughts and emotions are completely disconnected from your body. The same goes for your movements; this artistic version of you mixes paint absentmindedly.

The man from the painting fully emerges from behind the canvas, revealing his full height. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple white button-up. His face in the spring daylight looks otherworldly; it’s clear why you’d chosen to paint him in this lighting. You’re certain that you’ve never seen him before, in your real life, but something about him feels familiar. Comfortable. He walks up beside you, peering at his likeness from over your shoulder.

You shift your weight from left to right. “Do you like it?”

He hums. “Well…”

You scoff. “You can be honest.”

“I’m kidding,” he laughs. It’s the kind of good-natured laugh that’s both contagious and friendly.

You’re about to say something else when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“You know I think you’re a genius,” he says softly in your ear. “That’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead as you feel your dream fade away to consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Light passes through a gap in your curtains and warms your face, waking you up from your springtime dream.

You sit up, blinking out the sleep from your eyes.

Your phone is in your hand and Meg’s number is dialed before you can even think by yourself.

“Happy New Year, bitch!” Meg’s voice chirps over the phone. “What’s up?”

“I think I just had a soulmate dream,” you say, breathless.

Silence. Then, her scream peaks the mic on her phone and nearly makes your ears bleed. You wince and move your phone away from your face to put her on speakerphone instead.

“You’re messing with me!” She shrieks. “There’s no way!”

“That’s the thing.” You rub at your temple, as if that will stop the ringing in your ears. “I’m not completely sure. Most people see their partner’s past memories, right?”

There’s some clicking on her end. “I wouldn’t really know, but I can look it up for you.”

“Most soulmate visions involve seeing past memories from your soulmate’s perspective,” she reads. “However, at least 20% of soulmate bonds report experiencing a vision of their futures instead. Does this sound like you? Did it seem like you were seeing something from the future?”

“Not unless I suddenly gain enough art skill to become an artist.”

For once, Meg is speechless. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding. I was painting his portrait. A very well done, professional looking portrait.”

“That’s crazy,” she snorts. Like you, she doesn’t even try to entertain the delusion that it could be a future version of yourself. You can barely draw a stick figure. “Well, some people see parallel versions of themselves, apparently?”

“Parallel versions?” You echo.

“Apparently some pairs claim that they see each other, but in other versions of reality,” she reports. “Sounds kind of romantic to me.”

“What’s the percentage of that?”

“No official numbers on it because it’s so rare. Mostly anecdotal stories.”

You snort. “Yeah, right. Sorry to get your hopes up. All that soulmate talk before bed probably just made my brain a little overactive.”

Meg’s line is quiet. “Well, I don’t think we can really rule it out yet.”

You don’t let yourself dwell on it. As many soulmate skeptics as there are, there’s an equal amount of people embellishing stories to try to strongarm others into believing. You’d believe in the idea of parallel universes when there’s something more than an online reddit thread to go off of.

“You can hold out hope. I’m moving on.” You rack your brain for other topics. “I still have that date tomorrow with that guy, if that makes you feel better.”

Meg floods you with questions—What are you wearing? Where did you decide? Can you send me his profile? You would normally regret opening yourself to too much questioning prior to any date, but you’re just relieved to steer her away from the concept of your soulmate.

The rest of your day goes by normally. You’re a little more fatigued than usual, but with the day off from work you’re able to finish all of your errands with extra time to rest.

You’re relaxing in your room as you watch YouTube videos on your TV with a face mask cooling your face. You open your laptop absentmindedly to parse through your emails.

One promotional ad catches your eye – Try a Spring Art Class for Free! You click it; the ad is for a local crafts store that you’d visited for a friend’s birthday gift. The store lists five promotional classes. You hover your cursor over a hyperlink titled Fundamentals of Portrait Drawing.

You nearly slam your laptop closed as you come back to your senses. One beginner class wasn’t going to turn you into an artist. You don’t have time to balance a whole craft with the demands of your full-time job, anyway.

Your phone vibrates. It’s Evan—your second date for tomorrow.

Excited to see you! He texts.

You type back a similarly empty message before turning off your phone. Your first date with him had been fun enough to warrant a second, but you don’t expect much this time around. That was a recurring issue Meg didn’t let you live down—every person you talked to seemed to be lacking in at least one area. Your ideal partner needed to be communicative and emotionally intelligent. They also needed to be ambitious with their own goals and community. All while having romantic chemistry with yourself.

Evan was lacking in the communication department, and you’d felt your interest wane since the first date. You wouldn’t have even considered the second date if it wasn’t for Meg in your ear to nag that your standards were too high. Sometimes, although you’d never admit it out loud, you wondered if you were even capable of a romantic love like that. It seemed too easy for everyone else.

At least your time with Evan would be mindless and relatively expectation-free. With that in mind, you drift off into an easy sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Lips brush against your forehead as light as a feather. “Are you awake?”

You grunt your assent without opening your eyes.

A huff of laughter followed by another peck. “Very convincing.”

You blink your eyes open at that. A pair of dark brown eyes gaze back at you in the dim light. Your heartbeat, already strangely fast for someone asleep, quickens in your chest at the sight.

It’s the man from the painting. He’s propped his head up on one arm as he smiles down at you in open affection. His bangs are pushed away from his forehead, although the black hairs still cling slightly to his skin. His bare chest heaves as he breathes in deeply.

You sigh. “See? I’m awake.”

He laughs louder this time. His eyes crinkle when he laughs and his smile—his real smile—exposes a faint pink line of gums over his teeth. You understand why another version of you would be compelled to capture his likeness through art. You couldn’t explain it to someone if you tried; there’s something about his presence that’s ethereal.

“Why are you smiling?” He asks.

You kind of look like a rabbit, you want to tease, but, again, you’re unable to move your mouth on its own accord.

“Just looking at you,” your voice responds nonchalantly.

His smile softens at that. He reaches his free arm over and caresses the side of your face. His hand follows the length of your neck before travelling further down your back. Your bare back. It dawns on you that, underneath the silk covers, you are completely naked.

Your breath catches as his hand rests on the curve of your hip. His thumb draws small circles around the skin, which makes the nerves underneath electric to his touch.

“Hey now,” you laugh shakily. “What are you trying to do?”

He only raises an eyebrow before pressing light kisses down your neck. “What do you think?”

Your heart flutters. Against your thoughts, your mouth mutters, “I think I’m going to be extra tired taking care of the kids tomorrow morning.”

His kisses drift back up and stop with a final peck behind your ear. “I’ll look after them in the morning. You sleep in.”

“That may be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He huffs a laugh but pulls away from you.

You lean forward to re-close the space and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m joking. What’s wrong?”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Do you need me to pick up more things around the house? Leave work earlier? I know having two under the age of five is rough already…”

Your heart warms. You run a hand through his hair, smiling as he leans into your touch. “I love you and our kids more than I’ve ever loved anything else. Our life together is perfect.”

He presses a kiss into your open palm. His eyes turn playful. “You know what could make it more perfect?”

“What?”

He catches your lips in his, kissing you deeply. Your lips move against each other in a way that’s clearly familiar—soft to the touch but intense enough to take your breath away.

“Well...” He murmurs against your lips in between kisses. “What do you say we turn two into three?”

You’re pulled out of the scene before you can hear yourself respond.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You hear the wind rattling against your office windows as you leave for the day. It’s a chore to even get outside in the first place, on account of the wind pushing back on the lobby door. When you finally manage to exit the building, the wind threatens to blow you over with each gust.

You curse under your breath. It’s just another inconvenience added to today.

You’d shot out of bed with your heart pounding through your chest. Even someone like you couldn’t deny the obvious truth of the situation—you had officially experienced soulmate visions. While it’s unclear why your visions manifest this way, you cannot ignore the magnetic pull and strange familiarity tugging at your core whenever you see him. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

And you hate the idea that people might be right; that someone’s entire universe could halt and re-align at the drop of a hat with no rhyme or reason. Bitterness lines this worldview for you—clearly, you had been able to make a name for yourself without the promise of a fated partner. You love your job, you love your friends, and you’re at peace. All possible because of the time and effort you invested into yourself.

You’ve considered cancelling your date with Evan multiple times to fully sort out your emotions, but you push on. Your date with him feels like something bigger–a loose end that might tie all the chaos in your life together in a cohesive picture.

Evan leans against the brick walls of the restaurant. He straightens his posture as you approach. He’s much taller than you remember; you’d basically been sitting the entire time during your first date, and honestly you’d begun to forget specific features about him.

“Hey!” He grins as he holds the door open for you. “How have you been?”

“Pretty decent, all things considered,” you say as you duck under his arm. “Same old stuff.”

He laughs at that–a little too hard, considering what you said was not meant to be funny at all. “Come on. Nothing exciting on your side of the city?”

Yeah, let me tell you about the sensual yet also incredibly domestic dream I had about another man, you think. He’s probably my soulmate too, by the way.

“That weather is probably the most exciting thing about my week,” you lie with a pinched smile.

Evan lets out a laugh that’s again too loud as he pulls out your chair for you.

Throughout all of the small talk and pleasantries, you can’t really fault Evan for anything specific. He’s polite, relatively cute, and likeable. He actively listens and remembers the small details from your stories while also contributing to the conversation. He also seems really into you; his gaze lingers on your features and hangs on to every word you say.

You try to be an attentive date, but your mind keeps drifting elsewhere. You order another drink, but each sip of alcohol seems to make your mind swirl away even farther.

What do you say we make two into three?

Considering you don’t have a serious partner, you hadn’t thought about the possibility of kids in a long time. The caring tone that he used towards you still makes your heart race when you think about it.

Our life together is perfect.

Your own voice feels like a weapon stabbing at you over and over. It’s one thing to exist in these visions already; experiencing them without free will seems to shove all the possible outcomes down your throat. Is there really someone out there that can make you feel that way?

“Ready to head out?”

You snap back into attention as Evan stands by, waiting to pull your chair out for you. You appreciate his acts of chivalry even when you don’t deserve it.

Partially out of guilt, you let him take your hand as he walks with you through some nearby Christmas lights that the city has failed to take down. The atmosphere is perfect; there’s hardly any other people nearby, the weather has calmed down, and your date is kind and attentive.

Yet everything still feels wrong.

When you draw closer to your initial meeting point, he strokes the top of your hand with his thumb. “May I kiss you?”

Under normal circumstances, you would not kiss him right now. But another part of you urges you to try it. You technically know Evan more than the mystery man from your dreams. The likelihood of you feeling something with him should be just as high.

You nod with a swallow. Evan leans forward and presses his lips to yours. It moves too quickly, at first–he’s so nervous that he nearly misses your mouth, and you’re so on edge that you almost forget to reciprocate.

All to say that your first real kiss in forever is a complete dud. You move your lips mindlessly and calmly against his until you withdraw with a polite smile. Evan, for his part, looks mesmerized.

“Thanks for today,” you say with a smile.

“I…” He runs a hand through his hair. “My offer to drive is still on the table, you know. I could drive you back to your place. Or mine.”

Your stomach drops. “I–”

You must have a look on your face because Evan cuts you off before you can say anything else. “I’m just joking.”

It’s not a joke, clearly, but you accept the out. “I have some errands to run, and I don’t want to make you go all over the place for me.”

“Right,” Evan says after a pause.

The moment lingers another beat too long.

“Today was a lot of fun,” you lie. “I’ll talk to you later!”

You turn on your heel and walk away casually until you turn the corner. Then, you duck into the nearest convenience store and call an Uber.

Later, you hear the disappointment dripping from Meg’s voice.

“No, it was the right call to do what was comfortable for you,” she hums. “But did you really have to be thinking about your soulmate the entire time?”

“It’s hard not to when I just found out that I actually have one!” You frown, as if she can see you. “I tried.”

“I know,” Meg sighs. “Well, let’s hope you see him in your dreams again soon.”

An entire month passes. Specifics about the contours of your soulmate’s face and details of his body start to blur from your memory, but what you remember most is the kindness dancing in his eyes. The care in which he spoke about you and your little family. You fall asleep early each night in anticipation only to be let down in the morning.

Instead, it happens next on an irrelevant day. Your shoes are kicked off after a long day of work, and you’re halfway across your living room when a bright light sears behind your eyelids. You throw yourself onto the couch with what little consciousness you have left before plunging into darkness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meg brushes a stray hair into place. “There you go.”

The soft tones of a piano drift through the glass doors in front of you. You see the blur of a crowd outside, although it’s hard to discern through the frosted glass panes.

“Does everything look okay?” Your throat feels tight and your voice comes out breathy.

“Beautiful.”

“I’m scared,” you hear yourself whisper. “What if I’m believing in soulmates too blindly?”

Meg snorts. “A little late for that, don’t you think? If anything, you’re giving me the hope that I’ll meet my person. The two of you are absolutely disgusting together; if this doesn’t work out then all the rest of us are fucked.”

You don’t respond.

Meg rolls her eyes, tugging your arm to turn you to the left. A floor length mirror leans against the wall. It contains a lettered seating chart for all your guests with some names familiar and some foreign. You swallow at your reflection through the text.

It's truly an image out of a dream. Fabric drapes and hugs you in the ways you’ve always wanted. Your bouquet is made of elegant white flowers apart from a few blossoms popping out in shades of light pink. You’d so long put romance in the back of your mind that it’s jarring to see yourself like this. You smile at your reflection, embodying the image of elegance.

“It’s time then,” your voice rings, more confident than before.

The doors open in front of you, causing the crowd outside to rise from their seats. The piano transitions into a slow melody. The flower girl, waiting by the entrance with her mother, steps a few paces in front of you to begin dropping pink petals.

You walk down the aisle with your head held high. If you’re still shaken by your cold feet minutes prior, it doesn’t show anymore.

You’re not surprised to see a familiar lean figure at the end of the aisle. You are surprised, however, when he sees you for the first time.

His face lights up in pure elation. His smile broadens so big and wide that his gums peek out a little. There’s a light shine to his eyes that makes your heart clench. It’s as much your reaction as it is for this version of you. It’s almost too much to bear. He already looks ridiculously handsome in his wedding tuxedo, but the open emotion in his face (for you) makes him all the more mesmerizing.

You stop in front of him. This version of you has grown a little shy; your face warms as you raise your eyes up slowly to meet his.

You barely hear the officiant over the sound of your pounding heart. It’s only once the vows start that you catch what’s being said. What he’s saying.

“One thing I want to start off with is saying that we weren’t supposed to meet that day. I was helping my best friend, Taeyong, who was too hungover to pick up his phone that he’d left at a girl’s house…”

There’s a slight pause as a chuckle passes through the crowd. One groomsman—presumably Taeyong—rolls his eyes with a smile. It’s clearly a story that everyone knows well.

“The last thing I ever expected was for the girl’s very cute roommate to open the door. Let alone have the realization that they were the soulmate I’d been seeing in my dreams.” His eyes lift up, sparkling and happy. “Meeting you that day changed the entire course of my life. You are the best thing to happen to me…my best friend, confidant, and greatest love. Your love and endless faith make me a better man. I promise to protect you and be there by your side when things get hard. I promise to show up for you in all of the little moments—not just the big ones. I choose to love you in this lifetime and all the others that may be. I love you.”

You feel your mouth moving, but your mind races from the realization. This lifetime. All the others that may be.

This, like the dream of yourself as an artist, was not your life. Was Meg right? Were these glimpses into other versions of yourself?

You’d been completely different in the first vision. There is no chance of you becoming an advanced artist at this point, that’s for sure. The second dream had no identifying differences, other than the fact that you had two children with this man. This version of you seemed more like yourself, but Meg was the biggest outlier. She clearly hadn’t met David and doesn’t even fully believe in soulmates. Additionally, you’d been out of college for years—meeting him during school could not be a future possibility. Soulmate visions of other universes seemed so rare and far-fetched that you’d found it easy to dismiss it as a tall tale, but you didn’t know what else could explain this.

“I…” You startle back into this reality as you speak your own name. “…vow to take you, Doyoung, as my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

Doyoung, you think as he slips the ring onto your finger. I finally know his name.

“By the power vested in me by the support of this community and strength of your love, I now pronounce you wed. You may kiss.”

Doyoung squares his shoulders to yours. He’s a little too stiff in the movement, which makes you giggle. The sound of your laugh relaxes a smile to his face. He tilts your chin up with his hand so that your eyes meet his.

“I love you,” he whispers before pulling you, finally, into a deep kiss.

His lips are velvet soft and fit perfectly to yours. The crowd erupts into whoops and cheers that begin to fade into the background.

Not now, you think, distantly. It would be nice to stay here. For a while.

You’re pulled out against your will. You let yourself be lost in Doyoung’s touch until the end.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You type and erase strings of characters on your phone.

“…I enjoyed our time together, but I think we should see other people,” you read aloud. “Too dramatic?”

Meg waves a hand dismissively. “Who cares? You’re not seeing him again.”

“He’s a nice guy, Meg.”

“He’s boring, and you’re being toonice,” she replies. “Just send it.”

You do a quick onceover of your message before pressing the send button. You immediately turn your phone off and flip it upside down.

“Now that was dramatic.”

You glare at Meg from your position on your couch. She sits on the other side, scrolling through something on her laptop.

“So!” She says with a flourish. “What’s the plan?”

“…The plan?”

“Do you want to meet Doyoung?”

You’d had a handful more soulmate visions since learning Doyoung’s name. Your lives together spanned endless locations intertwined with different professions—from what you gathered from your visions, other versions of you had met Doyoung through school, work, and even a particularly strange meet-cute of being his regular barista. The peek into these various lifetimes left you curious and a little bit weary; each subsequent vision was harder to leave than before, and you’d experienced so many that slipping in and out of these other realities felt like second nature.

Without fail, however, Doyoung stays the same. Each version contains the same kindhearted nature you’d glimpsed ever since the first. You’ve never seen the same version of Doyoung twice, but you feel like you’ve known him your entire life.

Yet even so, the idea of hunting down your Doyoung sends a wave of uncertainty through you. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you.

“I…don’t know if I want to meet him,” you admit out loud.

You expect the worst reaction from Meg—a shriek, gasp, or even straight up shouting—but instead, she purses her lips. “Why?”

“I’m not sure he’ll be very impressed with me,” you say. You try to pick up your phone to look busy, but you glimpse Evan’s name on your screen instead.

Thanks for letting me know. I hope you find—

You put your phone back down.

Meg stares at you. “You think he’s going to be unimpressed because you have your shit together?”

“Well—”

“What if he’s a loser?”

“He’s not!” You shriek. In truth, you have no idea what your Doyoung does or where he is.

“Then what do you know about the Doyoung here that’s so larger than life?”

You don’t answer.

Understanding flickers across Meg’s face. She groans. “You didn’t even look him up?!”

You cross your arms. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“You’re so impossible,” she types furiously into her computer. “Do…young…”

You roll your eyes. “Like you’re gonna find him by googling his first name only.”

“It’s unique enough,” she protests, whirling her laptop screen around toward you. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Imagine if a guy this hot appeared in your dreams?”

Everything muscle in your body freezes. A strangled noise rips out of your throat.

Meg’s jaw drops, and she looks between you and the screen with open disbelief. “You’re fucking shitting me right now.”

Doyoung’s picture smiles at you clear as day from Meg’s laptop. Singer and Actor.

Wordlessly, you reach over and click the images tab. Pictures of Doyoung—your Doyoung—flood the entire page. He’s photographed in various styles, even modeling with big brands. You’d known that he was ridiculously good-looking, but you hadn’t expected something like this. You even recognize his friends Taeyong and Johnny that you’d seen in some visions; they’re clearly friends in this universe too, seeing as they’re posing in many group pictures together.

“That’s him…” you whisper.

“Holy shit.” Meg regains her senses and starts clicking through different website links rapidly. “Holy shit, dude! He’s famous!”

“I can see that!” You say as panic rises up your chest. Of all the perfectly normal Doyoungs you’d seen, your Doyoung had to be a celebrity?

“I was going to tell you to find him anyway, but this is insane!” More clicking. Meg shows you a digital tour poster that reads NCT 127 – THE MOMENTUM. “Dude. They’re touring. I’m buying tickets.”

Your head spins. You’d meet him by buying tickets amongst all of his fans. Your soulmate has a fanbase.

“Don’t,” you choke out.

“How else are you going to find him? Stalk him?”

She’s right. Regardless, you feel tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. Your voice comes out so quiet that it’s barely audible. “I’m scared.”

Meg’s expression softens. She sets her laptop aside as she envelops you into a hug. “I know. Let me just buy the tickets for you for now, and then we can think about it more. It’s in two months, so you have some time.”

You nod with a sniffle.

“Besides,” Meg smiles as she pulls back. “All of your visions have pretty much been sickly sweet, right? I doubt anything will change now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung pulls you out of a restaurant through a gathering crowd. Flashes go off all around you.

Most of the group is made up of women shoving their cameras in your faces while completely hiding their own. There’s a slight murmur amongst them that’s still eerily quiet.

You pull the brim of your hat down lower, the fabric of your mask higher as you try to shield yourself from the attention.

Security opens the door to the black SUV first, ushering Doyoung inside first. It’s a brief pause that’s long enough for a fan to get you within her sights while security is distracted.

“Ugly whore!” She screams as she arches her arm back. You react too late as a plastic cup hits the back of your head. A cold liquid drenches you starting from your face and drips down your entire shirt.

You stand there in shock. Flashes and shutters sound off rapidly around you. The only thing that moves you, finally, is the security staff member physically lifting you into the backseat. The door slams after you, drowning you in silence.

The driver turns to hand you a towel, which you accept with trembling hands.

“Looks like our whereabouts got leaked, again,” you laugh, but the sound falls flat into the silence.

Doyoung’s eyes rake over your appearance. His expression contorts into hurt.

You want to massage the deep frown from his face, but you can already feel the tears threatening to surface. Instead, you dab at your clothing to dry what you can. The fan must have thrown a soft drink of some kind, since the drink leaves behind a sticky residue on your clothing and skin.

Doyoung looks like he’s on the brink of tears himself. “This is my fault,” he says simply.

You expect your voice to come out weepy, but it comes out hard instead. “It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not! This is the work of people who don’t understand boundaries! You should be able to enjoy your free time without being stalked!”

It’s clearly a point of contention that’s been hashed out before. He settles into silence for the entire drive. The car eventually stops in front of a high rise building that the two of you walk into together. It’s clearly your shared apartment, traces of him and you strewn throughout the space.

“You should go shower and clean yourself off,” he says absentmindedly as he types something into his phone. “I’m going to make a quick call.”

You still hear Doyoung’s voice through the door when you emerge from the shower.

“Right. I was just hoping….yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to…No, that won’t be necessary. Thanks.”

You pull on your clothes and exit your bathroom into your master bedroom in the most nonchalant way you can manage. You falter still when you see Doyoung sitting at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

You join him on the edge of the bed. “Doyoung?”

He looks up at you; his eyes are rimmed with red. “Hey.”

“You talked to your manager? How was it?”

“As expected,” Doyoung says while avoiding your gaze.

“Is your company going to take any action?”

He frowns, then takes a deep breath. “They said they’ll do what they can.”

“Which means?”

“Just that. They’ll ‘do what they can,’” Doyoung's voice drips with sarcasm, “but it’s unlikely to actually deter anyone. These things might still happen to you as long as you’re with me.”

As long as you’re with me. Alarm bells ring in your head.

“Don’t.” The you of this reality must pick up something more because your concern swiftly rushes into anger. “I know this fuck-ass company is recommending you some fuck-ass solution. I thought we said that we would handle this together. We survived the leaked photos in the media—we can handle this.”

Doyoung doesn’t look at you. “It’s my idea.”

For the first time, the weight of this reality’s emotions flood over your own. You feel her shock down to your core, which is quickly replaced by raw heart ache. Your throat is so tight that you’re barely able to choke out the words. “Okay. Say it, then.”

“I can’t keep watching this happen to you because of who I am. There’s still three years before my contract ends. Who would want to go through any of this for that long?”

“I would,” you say quietly, “I will for you. What we have is too special to throw it all away.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Doyoung’s shaking his head. “It’s not fair to you.”

“Who decides what’s fair to me? Isn’t that my choice?” You snap, your temper flaring up again. “It’s pretty unfair that you’re disregarding my entire opinion in this.”

“We’re soulmates,” he murmurs. “Meaning you felt a biological pull when we met.”

Your heart drops. “What the hell are you saying?”

“You didn’t have much of a choice but to be drawn to me. Despite my lifestyle.”

“You don’t believe that. You believe in soulmates more than anyone.”

He avoids your eyes by opting to stare at the ceiling instead. “Well, maybe I’m starting to think differently.”

“So this is it, then?" Your voice trembles. “After all it took to just find each other in the first place?”

“I’m leaving tonight." He still doesn't meet your eyes. "This apartment is yours, but I won’t be coming back.”

You’re still absorbing his words when he rises toward the door.

“Doyoung.” Your voice is laced with despair. Still, you force out the words. “Say you don’t want me.”

“What?” His brow furrows.

You stalk after him, only stopping when your noses are nearly touching. “Say you don’t want me. Say that all of this was a mistake, and you don’t need us anymore. If you’re going to end it like this then you need to take ownership of it.”

Doyoung's mouth flattens and his bottom lip quivers. He takes a deep breath before exhaling and meeting your gaze. “We might be soulmates, but I no longer think that we belong together in this life. I wish the best for you, and the best for both of us is separating.”

It’s the worst he could say. Agony swirls in your chest. You collapse to the ground in a mess of sobs before he’s even left, but he continues out the door without looking back.

This version of you haunts the rooms of your house in a broken haze. You take to combing through every drawer, cabinet, and shelf as you search for anything that belongs to Doyoung. Nothing is safe; everything from clothing to picture frames get thrown onto the ground between bouts of hysterical crying.

Internally, panic courses through you. You’ve never felt stuck in a vision like this. Or felt the emotions of a vision so strongly. Everything about this vision is too real; this version of you feels everything so poignantly that you struggle to differentiate between your emotions and the emotions of this reality. You can barely think for yourself. Every sob comes equally from your soul.

Finally, when it’s deep into the night and your eyes can’t swell up any further from crying, you’re released from this nightmare. The you of this reality is left alone in a dreamless sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That’s only the first of a month-long string of visions. You’re thrown into visions at least once every day. They change between elated moments of intimacy to tormenting heartbreak at the flip of a coin. Destined to be together one day, doomed to fail the next. It gives you karmic whiplash.

The hardest part is dealing with the other versions of you. It’s increasingly difficult to separate your thoughts and emotions from whichever reality you’ve entered. Sometimes you stay so long that you think that you’ll be trapped in another body forever. Even when you finally return, all of the emotions follow you out.

After the latest nightmare, you wake up gasping for air. Not real, you remind yourself. You dig a nail into your palm until it bleeds, just to confirm that you’re in control of this body. Not my Doyoung.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes, pausing as the back of your hand comes back wet. God, were you crying?

Shaking your head, you get up despite the heavy ache of your muscles. Your neck is so tight that you feel like it could snap off your shoulders.

Your phone lists a barrage of text and missed call notifications from Meg. A series from an hour ago that starts with a brunch request and ends with I’m coming over.

Sure enough, Meg sits at your dining table. There’s some take out containers on the table in front of her along with two cups of coffee.

“Sorry I missed your calls,” you sigh while taking your seat across from her. “Visions.”

Her eyes scan over everything from the deep bags under your eyes to the gaunt lines underneath your cheekbones. You ignore it and bite into a piece of toast.

“I’m worried about you,” Meg says.

You grunt and take a swig of coffee. “Why?”

“You look like you haven’t slept in ages.”

Your tone comes out too harsh. “Well, no one told me that soulmate visions during nighttime actually take away from any REM sleep. I’ve been having them almost every night for the past, you know, two months, so I don’t think I’ve really slept in a while.”

“I never really had many,” Meg mumbles from her spot. “So I didn’t know.”

“Sorry.” You know that you’re behaving like a colossal asshole, but you can’t help it. You’re haunted by what could come next. Visions of Doyoung plague you night and day. You still have yet to achieve full autonomy within a vision, which means that you’re trapped inside another’s body as you witness interactions that you will never have—different people, different universes, and different outcomes. It’s terrifying.

“There is a way to end it,” Meg starts again. “I have the tickets.”

You tighten your hand on your cup. “No.”

“Why not?”

You slam your hand down on the table. “Because sometimes it doesn’t work out, Meg!”

Her eyes widen.

“I’ve seen so many universes where it does work, but I’ve seen the pain and hurt that’s possible when it doesn’t,” you continue. “I love him in all of them, but better versions of me still fail to make it work. There’s no way that I stand a chance when Doyoung’s literally an idol with a million options at his fingertips.”

“You never know,” she reminds you softly. “He could be seeing you too, for all we know.”

“And with his infinite number of resources, he’s never tried to find me?”

That shuts her up.

“I’m starting to lose it, Meg,” your voice is barely louder than a hush. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not half of the time because of these visions—it’s like my soul is fighting to be outside of this reality. Isn’t that a sign? All these other versions of me have so much more to offer. I’m the worst version of myself, and he’s the best.”

Meg reaches to grab your hand. “You’re not the worst. Not even by a landslide. Your soul is just trying to be helpful by showing your amazing connection.”

“For this life it’s only an amazing outcome for me,” you say, sourness oozing back into your voice. “I can’t do that to him.”

“You can’t do this to yourself, either. Have you considered that you’re already doing something to him?”

This time, she’s lost you. “What do you mean?”

Meg sighs, a sure sign of her patience finally running out with you. “There’s no way in hell that he’s not experiencing some sort of vision himself. Isn’t that worse for him, since he’s touring? You’re probably disturbing his practice and rest time.”

You’ve been so caught up in living these alternate lives that, admittedly, you hadn’t considered the insane work demands of an idol. For all you know, he could be experiencing all of these visions at the same time. You had no way of knowing if your Doyoung was also witnessing everything without a chance to speak for himself.

“It’s definitely worse for him,” you mumble.

“Exactly! And what’s the way to relieve you both of this? Meeting! Taking the chance of this concert in our city to let you both free!”

You hang your head in your hands. “Why do I have to ambush him like that? Isn’t that a lot?”

“You…” Meg stabs a finger in your direction. “…are not a celebrity.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Doyoung…” Meg pulls up the promotional images of him to show you on her phone. “…is an idol with crazy fans. He doesn’t know where to find you. I’m more than sure he has fans all up in his DMs claiming to be his soulmate on the daily. This is the only way you won’t get tackled by his security guards.”

You consider it. Even if he was guaranteed to not want you, even if he is universes above your league, you could at least free the both of you from these relentless interruptions.

I’ll miss it, a small part of you thinks. Being able to feel what we could be. What we are, just in different lives.

You push those thoughts to the back of your head. “Fine. Let’s end it.”

“Finally,” Meg exhales.

“You do realize that we’ll have to fight all of these fans to be as close as possible, right?”

“Don’t worry,” your friend says with an evil smile. “I have my ways.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meg lives up to her word. After a series of begging and bribes to other fans, you’re at barricade on the far right. To your horror, she’s brought a sign with your name on it in bright neon green letters. You’d try to dissuade her, since there’s no guarantee that Doyoung’s even seen you in visions, let alone heard your name, but she refused to back down.

“Maybe it’s so strange that it’ll catch one of their eyes,” she argues.

It’s certainly catching the eyes of other concertgoers, who glare at you.

Past the surrounding people, you find it hard to remove your anxiety from the situation. You’d tried to influence the tone of your visions leading up to the concert by consuming NCT 127 variety content and their overall discography. In reality, it made the visions worse. Watching Doyoung’s public image in action grated at your psyche; instead of heartwarming, it reminded you painfully of the talent disparity between you two. Not only did it make your visions more taxing, but it also made them more likely to occur. With any hope, even if he didn’t see you, you wouldn’t go unconscious into a soulmate vision.

Your heart hums with anticipation as the lights dim and the low bass reverberates through your body. The monitor displays a brief, pre-recorded video of the members wearing and removing gas masks. The scene switches to the faces of the six members in a row. You lock onto Doyoung’s image on the screen.

The fans around you scream at the top of their lungs. Your ears ring and numb your senses. Amidst all of the energy you suddenly feel a panicked flush of shame.

Had you really paid this much money for this experience based on what could be hallucinations? Wasn’t it a little…egotistical to assume a man at this unattainable level of fame could be your soulmate?

You swallow the lump in your throat as the big screen splits to reveal the members standing in glass boxes. The box closest to you is Jungwoo on the far-right side of the stage. Your eyes scan down the line, skipping over Mark, Yuta, Johnny, then—

Doyoung

Your first kiss, different every time, yet always leaving sweet fulfillment.

Torn apart by circumstances outside your control.

Finding each other despite all odds.

A soft breeze as you say I do.

Kids, seemingly in every timeline—

It’s as if the world stops. You nearly fall over in place as memories flood your head. They’re both yours and not; movies of past lives—together, good and bad—superimpose over the other. It’s much, much more than what you’ve experienced in your visions. No one has properly prepared you for the feeling. Your head spins and throbs as the memories tuck and cram themselves into any available space.

It’s as physical as it is emotional. Your body writhes as your head feels like it will explode at any second. You’re panicked, overrun by the happiness and sorrow and confusion clouding your judgment. You can’t even tell which of these emotions are yours or theirs. The bright, flashing lights make it so much worse. Bile climbs up your throat before you force it back down with a swallow.

“Hey!” Meg pulls at your forearm. “Are you alright?”

“…Yeah,” you stammer, gasping for air.

She pats the top of your hand, which is paling from the intense grip on the barricade metal. You release your hands and rub at your tender palms.

She processes your appearance for a brief moment before her eyes widen. “No way.”

You nod, too exhausted to reply.

“We were right? Holy shit!” She screams, which ignites the searing pain behind your eyes.

You sway a little. “Did he react at all?”

“I couldn’t tell because of the smoke,” she frowned. “It seemed like he came out a little late.”

Doyoung performs on the stage in front of you. He doesn’t seem disoriented in the slightest. You do notice his eyes flit over the crowd occasionally, but it seems in line with what the other members are doing.

She quickly drapes your arm over her shoulders to stabilize you. “So what, now is the time for the sign?”

You don’t answer; regardless, she unfurls the poster. Her attempt to massage out the wrinkles are largely unnecessary—it’s already past the point of no return—but you can appreciate the effort. You’re barely able to stand up without her help.

Nearly half of the concert passes without any progress. Doyoung has stayed mostly away from your side of the stage, and when he is on your side his line of vision seems to skip right over you.

“How does he not fucking see you?” Meg shouts.

You shrug. Strangely enough, this is the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks. It’s as if all of your usual nerves have left straight on vacation.

All the snippets of memories are too much to sort through now, but there’s now two sentiments that are finally crystal clear to you throughout all lifetimes.

First: Doyoung must want you too. Either of you can choose to not pursue this connection.

Second: If it is meant to be, love will find a way.

Clearly, your Doyoung exists in an entirely different plane of existence from you. Sure, you might be soulmates, but that didn’t mean that he would choose you. That was his right, as was yours. At this point, you’re ready to accept any outcome.

Still, when the unit has transitioned to a series of ballads, you feel a flicker of annoyance. While your chances of being with him are slim to none, a small part of you craves that acknowledgement.

Can’t Help Myself, your favorite from the album, starts playing. You’ve thrown all expectation to the wind and start singing to the lyrics, even as Doyoung crosses back to your side of the stage.

Meg, on the other hand, raises the sign even higher while she screams Doyoung’s name in a way that is completely inappropriate to the tone of the song. It’s incredibly embarrassing but also endearing.

You’re half-laughing, half-cringing, until it works. Doyoung’s eyes rake over the sign, squint at Meg, then drift over from her to lock onto you.

Mine, your mind says.

Doyoung collapses onstage.

You’re even less prepared for this than you were before. The memories return and suppress all other thoughts. The terrified cries and shock of the crowd completely overtake your senses. It’s all too much.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your body folds over the barricade and hangs there like a ragdoll.

“HELP!” Meg’s voice screams over all the others. “PLEASE, MY FRIEND NEEDS SOME HELP!”

You feel someone grasp your shoulders and pluck your body out of the crowd. Then, you lose consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung sits on your living room carpet with your daughter in his lap. He flips through the thick pages of a children’s picture book, sounding out words for her and pointing at each picture.

You stare at his side profile. You’re not under any other will; you’re completely you, from the present day, down to the neon green outfit. The same version of you that’s presumably passed out at his concert. Most importantly, visions should stop once you’ve finally seen your soulmate in person. You shouldn’t be here at all.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Doyoung mumbles.

You startle. Then, you blurt: “Are you real?”

He laughs softly. “Am I real?”

Cautiously, you settle down to sit on the floor next to him. He says nothing, stroking your daughter’s hair as he waits for you to speak first.

The fact that you can speak unsettles you. After months of visions, why is this the vision that lets you have full autonomy? Why in a moment like this, with Doyoung and your daughter relaxing in the living room?

“How did we meet?” You ask suspiciously.

He raises an eyebrow, but answers regardless. “Through work.”

“Which is?”

Thankfully, he’s much more patient. “Well, I was a trainee,” he starts, “and you were about midway through your rookie year.”

Your mind goes completely blank. “Me, an idol?”

Your daughter rests her head in Doyoung’s lap, eyelids fluttering with sleepiness. Doyoung puts a finger up to his lips.

“Am I your soulmate?” you ask in a lower tone, even though you already know the answer.

“Yes.”

“Was it always obvious that we would end up…like this? Together?”

He snorts. “We broke up after I didn’t debut.”

Your heart stops. “You didn’t become an idol?”

“We were broken up for six months before you reached out to me again.” His slightly sour expression softens. “You were going through a lot of things at the time. There’s no resentment there. You asked me for a month to get to know each other again as friends, then the rest is history.”

“Weren’t you mad that I ditched you once I debuted?”

“No.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe at first. We all know that line of work is demanding, and you continued to show up after we worked everything out. You proved to me that you’d choose us over everything, and we haven’t looked back since.”

“Choose this, choose that…” You grumble as irritation pricks at you. Then, you hang your head back and wail like a child. “I’m so confused! I don’t know what all these visions are trying to tell me…”

Doyoung doesn’t respond.

“I’m not sure where I end and their memories and feelings begin,” you confess, as if this Doyoung will know what you’re talking about. “They’re not really mine, but they feel like a part of me. I’m scared that I’m getting swept away by the soulmate bond. How am I supposed to choose? What if the skeptics are right, and this whole thing has been a physiological or psychological reaction that can be explained by science?”

You expect him to be offended; by now, you know that his deep belief in destiny and timing are at the core of his being.

Instead, he says, “What if it is?”

You blink. “I don’t think a soulmate is supposed to say that.”

“Well, when we’ve talked about this before, it always comes down to the same last questions.” He thinks for a moment. “Say we get to the end of our lives and find out that the concept of ‘soulmate’ can just be explained as a physical reaction. Will you feel like you wasted your time? Your life?”

“God.” Your eyes flit to your sleeping daughter. “That’s heavy.”

Doyoung shrugs. “That’s kind of what it boils down to. What do you want to happen, regardless of fate?”

“I don’t know. I just want to be happy.”

“I see,” he says noncommittally. Doyoung’s expression is neutral. Your daughter has other ideas as she whimpers a soft cry in her sleep, which prompts him to pick up your child and cuddle her in his arms. “Do you think I can make you happy?”

The sight makes your heart clench. It triggers an ache for a life that isn’t yours; you feel guilty for intruding on this version of life. This Doyoung doesn’t belong to you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the dream lightens and fades around you. This Doyoung smiles at you one last time before you’re ripped out of this reality.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung’s first soulmate vision occurs on his eighteenth birthday. It’s something that he can’t forget even if he tries. A dream of the two of you, childhood best friends, experiencing the flutter of a first kiss. He remembers the shyness in your face along with the grounded sense of familiarity; even at eighteen, he feels that he’s known you for his entire life.

Doyoung holds your existence close to his chest. He’s already teased enough for being a romantic as it is, and he treasures your connection too much to let others weigh in. It’s only deep into his trainee period that he even divulges anything to Taeyong and Johnny in the late hours of the night.

Visions of you shimmer in and out of his life in ephemeral flashes. Sometimes you’re the only thing holding him together when his throat burns from vocal training and his muscles ache from dancing. He clings to the borrowed memories from these other lives like a promise. There’s no doubt in Doyoung's mind that your life will touch his eventually–it’s not if, it’s when.

Then his visions stop right before the tour. You’ve been such a constant in his life for the past decade that the absence of you leaves a gaping hole behind. He misses you. He’s always tried to find you, but with only your first name to go off it’s nearly impossible. Added onto the fact that, as an idol, maintaining his privacy is of the utmost importance. He doesn’t want to even think about the entities that would exploit the knowledge of Kim Doyoung’s soulmate.

He retains his professionalism while panicking on the side. What did it mean for his visions to disappear? The disappearance on New Year’s Eve specifically feels like an omen–Doyoung swears to himself that he’ll find you once and for all when the tour ends. All his performances are dedicated in his heart to you and your safety.

So when he registers a poster with only your name on it, he can hardly believe his eyes. The girl attached to the poster is certainly not you, so he keeps looking.

When Doyoung sees you for the first time–finally, sees you in this life for the first time–all he feels is relief and elation. You found him.

Then a wave of nausea overtakes him, and he collapses on stage.

After the fact, staff tell him that he laid unconscious for ten minutes. To him, he spends lifetimes.

He’s inundated with visions of this reality, for once. Doyoung sits through the nightmares with you and sees your health deteriorate with each one. It pains him to see you so overwhelmed. Sure, he had the occasional vision where the two of you didn’t work out, but ten years had given him more than enough time to parse through the philosophical questions of it all. He can’t imagine experiencing this sudden influx so late or needing to decide so quickly. There’s a rush of guilt in knowing that you’ve experienced far more negative visions of him than positive.

It’s his first time seeing you in this universe, too. You’re different from all the other versions, of course, but the core things that make up your identity are as clear to him as ever. Your ambition and drive to make things work despite all odds. Your tenacity. Your deep loyalty and care to your loved ones.

Doyoung feels at peace. It’s still you.

He wakes up with the wide eyes of the staff all around him. They immediately have someone check him out, and even the medic is perplexed when his only symptom is a mild headache.

“So strange,” he frowns. “Someone in the front row of the crowd fainted around the same time.”

Doyoung's heart races. “Are they alright?”

“I believe the patient is being held in one of the medical tents.”

When he’s cleared to perform, Doyoung pops a painkiller, drinks some water, and adjusts his outfit to go out there and finish the show. Before he leaves, however, he pulls his manager aside to whisper some instructions in his ear. He raises an eyebrow but then nods.

Be there soon, Doyoung thinks as he runs to join the others.

Doyoung leaves it all out on the stage. It’s his best, most earnest performance to date.

It’s easier than usual to slip away from the main group, since today’s show had been particularly exhausting. Most of them assumed that Doyoung felt sick and told him to go rest. It’s only Johnny who eyes him sidelong, but he doesn’t say anything in the moment as he heads out to eat.

Doyoung’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he paces in front of your hotel room. He’d met Meg, thanked her for the sign, and questioned her relentlessly on your condition. Meg, from what he could tell, seemed amused as she answered each of his questions. No, you weren’t awake. Yes, the medic said all of your vitals were normal. Yes, it was likely just a fainting spell similar to his own. Yes, you would probably want to see him.

Meg emerges from the hotel room with a nod. Doyoung’s chest tightens as he takes a deep breath to open the door.

You’re sitting upright in one of the hotel beds while focusing on alarm clock next to your nightstand.

“Meg, this is much nicer than something you’d usually choose–” You stop mid-sentence as you turn your head to find Doyoung in Meg’s place instead. “Doyoung.”

Sure, he’s heard you say his name before but hearing it in the flesh makes goosebumps prick up along the surface of his skin. “Hi,” he breathes your name out loud for the first time.

Your expression is wide and dazed in shock as you stare at him. “Is this a vision? Or am I dead?”

He feels tension between his shoulder blades relax as he laughs. “We’re both very much alive. Together,” he adds at the last minute.

You look down at your hands. “...I see.”

Your sudden shyness reminds him so much of his first soulmate vision that he wants to gather you into his arms and never let go. Instead, he asks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you pause. “How were you after collapsing?”

“I was only out for a bit, then I woke up pretty much good as new.” He leaves out the part about seeing your entire soulmate realization journey. “Did you see any vision while out?” He sits in the hotel-provided office chair and rolls it forward so he’s hovering next to your side of the bed.

You grow shy again, this time at his proximity. “I did.”

“Me too,” he admits. “It’s hard to believe that we won’t see any more.”

You snort. “Not that we saw them for very long to begin with.”

Doyoung’s breath catches. He knew the differences between your visions but explaining it out loud to you in person feels extremely different. “...I actually saw my first one just over ten years ago.”

“Ten years ago?” You nearly shout.

“Frequency of them is on and off, but I started getting them when I was eighteen.”

He watches your face twist in different expressions as you process the information. Shock and confusion appear first before it settles into something resembling guilt. He lets you get lost in thought. To Doyoung this is just a part of his story that he’s long since accepted, but he knows all of this is brand new for you.

When you finally speak, it’s something that he doesn’t expect. “I’m sorry!” You blurt out. “I hope you know that I don’t expect anything from you.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “Expect anything from me?”

“I would’ve tried to find you even if you weren’t famous,” you’re talking so fast now that your mouth can barely keep up. “I’m not trying to take advantage of your fame.”

“I didn’t think that.” Doyoung’s taken aback. Did you see him as the kind of person who would assume the worst? “I tried to find you a few times, but the visions weren’t exactly helpful in finding specific details about you. Meg’s sign was the first time I’d seen your full name.”

“Oh.”

Your nervousness is palpable. He wishes he could transfer all your bad experiences to himself. Anything to take your pain away.

“Would you prefer it if I left?” He asks softly. “I can give you more time to— “

“No,” you cut him off firmly. You hesitate, just for a second, before reaching for his hand.

Now you’re both embarrassed, but you force your words out. “I don’t really understand what any of this means, still. I also don’t hold it against you if you’re disappointed. There are probably a million more interesting versions of me.”

If anything, he’s disappointed that you feel the need to self-deprecate. He sorts through his mind for a way to encompass how he’s felt about you for the past ten years, but it all seems too long winded.

Finally, he settles for a simple squeeze of your hand. “I’m happy it’s you.”

You squeeze his hand back. “I’m happy it’s you, too.”

Doyoung feels the blush blooming onto his face. The space between you is warm yet fragile. Through the haze of his giddiness, he tries to reign himself in before he scares you away. “I know this is still a lot for you, so I can meet you wherever you need me to be.”

The edges of your mouth twitch upwards in amusement. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

He blinks. “It is?”

“You’re the one who’s seen soulmate visions for ten years with no closure, but you’re more concerned about me,” you lean forward, eyes sparkling like you’re withholding a secret. “Even though I’m the reason why you collapsed at your own concert.”

“It’s not your fault!” He huffs, but you’re already laughing at his pouting. “It’s not!”

You wipe a tear from your eye. “It just made me feel relieved that it’s really you. I’m happy.” After recovering from your laughing fit, there’s a streak of makeup smudged along your upper cheekbone.

“You said that already.” Without thinking, Doyoung wipes the mark away with the pad of his thumb.

Your breath hitches. Doyoung freezes, which means that his hand effectively freezes on your cheek in turn. Then, finally, you turn your head toward his hand and press your lips on the skin. You smile.

The bashfulness in the air is replaced with something thicker and more intense than before. Doyoung’s eyes drift down to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” The words come out low and raspy. It’s surprising to even him. It’s probably too soon. He should have more self-control, damn it, but he can’t help himself. Every cell in his body craves to be closer, closer, closer.

Instead of a reply, you close the distance between you.

He’s lost track of how many first kisses he’s witnessed through other versions of himself, but this one tastes sweeter than all the rest. It’s more than just a kiss; it’s acceptance. As you lose yourselves in the other’s touch, it feels like a vow.

“Doyoung,” you mutter between kisses.

“Mhmm?”

“Doyoung!” You pull back briefly, chest heaving for breath. “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

His heart drops. He knows this risk-averse and self-sabotaging behavior of yours. If not addressed, you’ll convince yourself to choose the safest route to protect yourself. It’s now or never.

He clears his throat. “As I said, I will meet you wherever you need me to be. It’s okay if we start off slow or just as friends. Regardless, I would love to finally get to know you. This you.” He clears his throat. “So I hope you’ll consider it.”

“Of course I want to get to know you,”you say without hesitating. You bite your lip. “Without a doubt, I know that I can care for you and fall in love with you. The last few months have convinced me of that, but I’ve also seen that love can only carry us so far. You want to try pursuing something, even knowing that other versions of us have failed?”

“We won’t fail,” he says with a calm confidence.

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m choosing you—this reality with you. I will do everything in my power to take care of you.” His voice drops to a low tone. “So please trust me. Choose me too.”

With those words, you’re a goner. Truth be told, you aren’t sure if you stood a chance in the first place. He’s too easy to trust and fall into. Doyoung is everything you’ve dreamt of and more.

“Okay,” you say with a smile. “I’ll choose us too. As long as you’re really sure you want to be stuck with me.”

To know you is to love you. Doyoung’s decision was made from the moment he first saw you in his dreams.

“Of course I want to,” Doyoung says as he pulls you into another kiss. “I’ve loved you in every lifetime.”

#nct 127 #kim doyoung #doyoung x reader #nct x reader #doyoung fluff #doyoung scenario #nct doyoung #doyoung nct #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct fanfic #im so fake for posting a doyoung fic first #this is a gift for my friend she just doesn’t know it yet #nct scenario #soulmates au

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simpjaes · 1 year ago

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take the back-seat. (p.js & s.jy)

What’s the point in being a third wheel if Jake can’t watch anyway? or the one where jay lets jake watch him get his dick wet.

minors do not interact, otherwise― pls reblog my works

PARING ― jay x afab reader | jake sim x afab reader

WC ― 8.5k

TAGS ― exhibitionist jay, voyeur jake, dangerous driving (do not do this), jealousy, mentions of cleaning up clumped cum in a gas station bathroom lmao

A/N ― what’s that? you’ve read this before??? yeah that’s bc i wrote it on my other blog and now i want to shamelessly read it as jay and jake thanks!!!! (i am the original author: ncteez, this work is not stolen)

– read part two here!

smut tags under cut::

SMUT TAGS ― THICK DICK JAY, daddy long dick jake, exhibitionism, voyeurism car sex, dangerous driving, unprotected sex, voyeurism, jerking off lmao, jake being embarrassed and Jay enjoying it, jealous jay, jealous jake

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake was used to it at this point, walking in to see you being, quite literally, fucked senseless by his best friend. Each time he had managed to barge into the room when the two of you were going at it, he was lucky to slip away unnoticed and embarrassed for the both of you. He never brought it up, never really thought about it after the embarrassment died down, and never wondered when it would happen again.

Still, though, it kept happening.

What Jake didn’t know is that it was intentional. Both you and Jay were aware each time he would walk into a room, stop in shock, and then shuffle away. It was something Jay enjoyed much more than you did at first but, you’ve grown to love it as well, maybe even more than your boyfriend does.

Jay liked to be almost caught on some days, other days he wanted to be caught. What he wants most of all though? That’s to be watched. To have someone turned on by what he can do to you, to have them feel jealous of him or even stare in awe at how good he is when he fucks you.

When Jake moved in, Jay hadn’t really thought about letting him watch or even catch the action in the process. Jay’s big thing was doing it at parties or clubs when everyone was too drunk to care if they were watching or not. However, the first time Jake saw them was a genuine accident on both sides.

It happened shortly after Jake moved in with the two of you (for financial purposes of course.) Neither of you had issues with having a roommate, considering the spare room and all. It was a small place but it easily managed the three of you.

Jay was so in his head that day when he had you against the kitchen counter, breakfast plans long forgotten when he noticed that your ass looked particularly good in the lighting. He was so in his head that, well, he might have forgotten that Jake could walk in at any moment.

A clatter of bowls full of ingredients hit the floor as soon as Jay made eye contact with his best friend coming through the doorway, your leg was wrapped around his waist as he was attempting a deep thrust into you. Unfortunately, instead of that deep thrust, he panicked and pulled out of you so quickly that you lost balance and sent the ingredients flying straight to spoilage. Jake just looked at him, then at you, and then at Jay’s very exposed cock that still managed to stay hard under the circumstances before he turned on his heel and paced back to his room.

That was the first and only time it was an accident on Jay’s part. Sure, he was into that kind of thing before Jake moved in, but it didn’t even cross his mind to include Jake in the fun until that day, at least.

That night, Jay sat you down in the silence of your shared room and discussed that he will most definitely be fucking you in all areas of the apartment regardless of whether Jake was there or not and that he wouldn’t mind in the slightest if he wanted to watch.

You reluctantly agreed in the silence of your bedroom, only after mentioning that you didn’t want to make Jake feel weird about it, that you didn’t want him to act differently around the two of you. But Jay didn’t relent, assuring you that it would be fine.

It was fine for the most part, even you started to get a kick out of it from time to time when you pretended to not see Jake stare for a little longer on some days before leaving the room.

Jake just shakes it off each time though. Because of course, it’s hot. Multiple times a week it’s like he’s walking straight into a porn film before having to excuse himself, and it gets really frustrating sometimes, considering he isn’t the one getting laid. All he gets are glimpses of the two of you, the sounds he hears through the walls, and the utter joy the two of you seem to have despite his presence.

He’s learned to accept that neither of you seems to care what he sees, so he decides he won’t either.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a warm day in July. All three of you are packing bags and blankets into the back of Jake’s car for the trip ahead, and all three of you are entirely too thankful to whatever god allowed your schedules to line up in order to have a five-day weekend at the beach. It’s a long drive, 12 to 13 hours at least, but Jake and Jay agreed to drive in shifts so that makes it a lot more bearable.

“Did we get everything?” Jay asks as he throws himself into the driver's seat of the car and pats the passenger seat as if it were an honor to be invited to ride shotgun by him.

You nod to him, admiring his slender fingers against the steering wheel and realizing it has been a long while since he had driven you anywhere. In fact, the two of you mostly walked or got an uber for your outings simply because traffic is a nightmare in this city.

“Wait!” Jake shouts, throwing himself out of the open back door of the car. “I forgot my phone charger!” He exclaims as he runs back to the apartment building door.

And then it’s silent.

“He’s a really good actor.” Jay laughs, looking over at you and then steering his attention to the console buttons so that he can connect your phone for aux privileges. “A true sport, that guy.” He shakes his head this time, flicking his eyes up at you.

It’s pretty normal, actually, for Jay to find reasons to talk about it. Still, you don’t think you’ve ever gotten used to the way he looks at you when he’s clearly thinking of something mischievous, but you always did love what his plans lead to—so you nod at him with a polite smile.

“What’re you getting at?” You say, reaching over to grab his hand in yours. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

He smirks at you, quickly giving you a kiss on the lips before pulling back to adjust the mirror in front of him, mostly for the purpose of Jake getting a good view later. Jake is a bit shorter than him, so he adjusts the mirror in a way that it won't be dangerous when he starts his driving shift. Plus, this mirror is only half of the fun. Just wait until Jake gets to the beach rental.

At this point, Jake is already rushing back out of the door with his charger in hand, smiling at the two of you and mouthing a small ‘sorry’ before placing himself in the back seat. He is quick to make himself comfortable, leaving himself unbuckled as he lays his legs across the seat and sighs out.

“Any song requests?” You peek back at him when Jay reverses the car and carefully listens to the GPS that cuts through the speakers.

“Oh, yeah actually!” Jake claps with another one of his well-loved fond smiles.

From that point forward, the three of you take turns picking songs to listen to. The GPS would sometimes interrupt the best part of a song to alert Jay on where he needs to drive, but honestly, it was going quite well.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Hours go by when Jay finally pulls into a gas station for a break, the road trip vibes died about two hours after you left the house. Songs were being sung less, the windows were being rolled up so that the air conditioning could take over, and Jake had even fallen asleep with the warm sun hitting his face against the window.

He was pulled out of his sleep when Jay opened the back door so that the man could quite literally fall out of it. Which is funny, you admit when you head over to slap Jay on the back of the head for it.

“Jake, it’s your turn to drive,” Jay says, already opening the gas tank and preparing to fill it up for him. “If you need a bathroom, I suggest you go now.”

Jake nods his head and then rubs his eyes so that they can adjust to the bright lights of the gas station. The sun is going down and now he realizes why Jay preferred to drive during the daytime hours. It’s definitely going to be a rough next six hours but, he thinks the sandy beaches and colorful shaved ice will be worth it all in the end.

He lets out a long and loud yawn before heading inside the gas station to relieve himself and find a couple of snacks. By the time he got to the snack aisle, he crowds up beside you and asks for help in debating on if he wanted salty or sweet.

“You can get both, y’know.” You say, looking up at him with your own handful of snacks for both you and your very hungry boyfriend.

Jake looks down at you with sleepy eyes and then moves his gaze to the crinkled bags of candies and chips.

“Oh! Sick!” He yells, suddenly very awake. “They got frosted animal crackers! I haven’t had these since I was a kid!”

You chuckle in endearment at him, nodding at his selection.

“Don’t forget to grab something to drink to wash all of that sugar down.” You clap with him because his joy always seems to seep into your own mood. Still, you were ready to free your hands up from these snacks so the small joyous moment doesn’t last for too long.

You slink away from him with ease, leaving him to debate on if he wants one packet or two packets of frosted animal crackers as you make your way to the cash register.

After purchasing your snacks you’re quick to head back to the car where Jay raises a brow at you when you attempt to get back into the passenger seat.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” He asks, flicking his head to the back seat as if to tell you he wants shotgun. You shrug in response, piling into the back with ease and without question, feeling more comfortable with the space it has to offer anyway.

But, when Jay finishes gassing up the car, he doesn’t get into the passenger’s seat. He, instead, scoots into the seat next to you and leans forward between the two front seats in order to adjust the mirror a little bit more.

“Fuck yeah.” He says with a snide voice, peeking over at you as he leans back to get himself comfortable. You look at him with curiosity, wondering why the fuck he keeps messing with the mirror.

“What are you scheming? For real this time, tell me.”

Jay darts his eyes to the window of the gas station to look for Jake, and thankfully he’s still at the cash register paying for his stuff—probably because the dude likes to make conversation and refuses to read the signals of people just wanting to do their job and not hear about what his plans are for this trip. Then he leans in close to you, placing one hand on your thigh and the other against the nape of your neck.

If anyone else were looking at the two of you, it would look as if he’s about to make out with you—which would be fine, but he isn’t.

“Jake’s not gonna be able to run away this time.” Jay whispers as if the man inside the gas station can hear him. You furrow your brows a bit at his words before smiling with the same evil grin he gives to you.

“And did you not think to ask me if I even wanted to?” You shrug him off, pressing him away from you and turning to face the window, still smiling.

You’re definitely in on it but this isn’t exactly the safest way to do this. Still, your boyfriend has always been an adventurous one. Plus, you’re still gonna be a brat about it. Jay likes when you’re being difficult, and for the most part, knows you’d genuinely stop him if it were something you didn’t want to partake in.

“Of course you want to, I see the way you watch him when he sees us—” Jay gripes, glaring at you. “He can’t have you, but he can watch.”

You shrug at him again, acting as if you could care much less about this plan of his, but he can see that glint in your eye and the smile on your face.

“This is why I love you.” He says in a simple voice at the obvious confirmation on your face, and then he looks back to see that Jake is making his way back to the car.

“Don’t you think we should ask him first though? What if he doesn’t want to watch?” You quickly let out, knowing you’re down for the plan but still wanting Jake to be comfortable.

Jay is quick to shake his head at you. He knows his best friend is a fucking pervert.

“Relax, he pops a boner every time he sees us.”

You nod because he definitely does.

“If he says to stop, we can stop, okay?” Jay goes to reassure you again, but the conversation is cut short by Jake parking himself into the driver’s seat with a questionable look towards the two of you.

“No one is going to sit up front with me?”

Honestly, the way he says it seems so sad that you almost wanna say fuck the plan just to keep him company.

“I want to sit with my girlfriend since I haven’t gotten to in the past six hours?” Jay argues, kicking the back of Jake’s seat playfully.

“Bullshit! You were sitting up here with her the whole time! Who is gonna sit up here and keep me awake?!”

Jay is very well aware that Jake will definitely be able to stay awake. No question about it.

“I want to look at my girlfriend since I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the road for the past six hours. Stop complaining.”

Jake looks at Jay through the mirror, aware that it’s been positioned differently. Internally, he thanks his friend for not only adjusting the mirror for him, but the seat too. Less work on his part, honestly.

“You guys are the worst.” He complains, starting up the car and connecting his own phone to the system in order to continue the navigation and music on his own accord.

Then it’s silent. Jake starts to gently hum songs to himself as he gets into the groove of driving and you are in the back, with your boyfriend close by silently talking about god knows what. Jake feels comfortable despite the fact that he knew he would be the third wheel during this entire trip. Still, he really did think one of you would sit up front to keep him company.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Several hours later, Jake begins to feel sleepy again just as Jay wakes up from his own nap. You managed to stay awake the entire time because honestly, it wasn’t exactly easy to fall asleep with Jake up there grabbing into his loud-ass bag of animal crackers.

You just sat there in silence with your boyfriend using your legs as a pillow as he made his attempts at a comfortable nap, and you could tell he did manage that because of the way he fell asleep with his mouth open. You loved seeing him like this though, comfortable and warm against you. It’s really the only time it’s ever quiet when the two of you are together anyway, so you find the silence in this aspect quite enjoyable.

Typically, Jay is a quiet person. Not when he’s with you though, and certainly not when he’s with Jake.

Around you and Jake, he can typically be found forcing an argument about some bullshit he’s decided to be passionate about on that particular day, or perhaps talking shit about other people that, more than likely, didn’t mean to step on his toes. Other times, he’s dirty talking to you with such a booming and confident voice that Jake has no choice but to hear it through the walls.

Jay isn’t a quiet person ever when he’s within his own friend group, save for when he is asleep and that’s why, when he peeks an eye open and stretches in the cramped space against you, you become hyper-aware of the plan the two of you spoke about earlier.

You’ve been thinking about it the whole time since Jake started driving actually, realizing that the mirror is positioned in a way that would give him a perfect view of the backseat and the street behind him. All he has to do is adjust his eyes to where he wants the priority to be.

Surely, with Jay awake now, the priorities will change.

It’s dark now, rarely passing by another car every ten to twenty minutes you can guess. The music is still silently playing and the GPS is cutting in less and less with the long stretches of highways it has navigated the three of you to.

The car is smooth, there are no bumps in the road, no clouds in the sky to keep the moonlight from coming in, and no cars to distract Jake from what’s surely going to happen next.

And you were right. You knew you would be.

“Baby,” Jay lifts up and whispers in your ear, quiet enough to where Jake can’t hear him. “He looks a little tired—”

You look over at Jay with warm cheeks, already feeling the excitement and anticipation of what’s to come. He’s always so ready after a nap if you’re being honest.

“He does, doesn’t he?” You confirm to him, a little louder this time. Jake doesn’t falter or look back at the two of you through your hushed conversation though. Instead, he turns his music up a little more so that the two of you can discuss whatever it is you’re whispering about without him intruding.

“Should we wake him up a little bit?” Jay chuckles out through another whisper, already glancing down at your thighs. They’re bare in the loose pajama shorts you chose to wear for the car ride.

“Yeah?” He asks again, this time reaching over and hooking two fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

All you do is nod at him because any time he wants it, your body immediately reacts in the way it should. It’s almost like he’s managed to train your body to warm itself up the moment he even suggests sex.

Jay is very quick to take that nod as the green light to get to work. He palms himself gently with one hand to work himself up and uses the other hand to pull you against him. He makes it obvious that it’s a show when he positions both of you in the middle of the back seat, but doesn’t care if it looks dumb considering Jake likely won't be paying attention to where you’re sitting but, more worried about what it is you’re doing.

He palms at himself until his cock is restrained against his sweatpants, eyes concentrated on you where his fingers trace back and forth under your waist band. It really doesn’t take much for either of you, the small touch alone always gets you to start squeezing your thighs together.

“Yeah” He raises a brow at you, wanting that last little confirmation from you and glancing down at his bulge beneath his pants.

You look back at him with an eager and small smile, replacing his hand with yours.

“Yeah.”

“I’m ready when you are, baby—” He whispers out to you this time, more gently, and more for you than for Jake to eventually notice. Feeling the way your hands softly prod and press against his bulge with a sense of…nervousness.

You look at him, and then down at his bulge—for some reason, it looks more delicious in a moving car being illuminated by moonlight than it does in your apartment. Jake is barely in your thoughts now when you reach a hand over to pull it out, stroking it little by little until you can hear him gasp quietly to himself at the friction.

You jerk him off for a few minutes before he reaches over to touch you, only because he knows that you get wetter after you’ve been touching him for a while without any friction of your own—and he’s definitely right about that.

Side by side, your hand is slowly picking up the pace, circling around his length and twisting your wrist at the head. Only then does he let his hand slide into your shorts, straight down to where you, by now, actually need his fingers.

He can feel the slick almost instantly when he reaches your folds and firmly presses his palm against your clit. There’s somewhat of a groan that’s pulled out of his throat at that. The act alone is enough to get him hot and bothered, but knowing you’re already so fucking wet only amplifies the way his cock twitches in your hand.

Jake doesn’t notice a thing until he hears you breathe out loudly, mostly because Jay didn’t quite enjoy the fact that he hasn’t noticed yet. That sound you just made was solely to get Jake to look, and Jay pulled it out of you by plunging two fingers into you without warning, pressing his palm tight against your clit without warning.

It sends shivers down your spine, momentarily forgetting the small space you’re restricted by when you kick your legs out only to be met with the resistance of the back of the seats. Jay loves it. The way you spread your legs out at the intrusion, squeezing your eyes shut, clenching said fingers.

He picks up the pace, feeling a dribble of his pre-cum spill against your stilled hand on his cock. And then? He glances up into the mirror to note that, yes, Jake is absolutely fucking watching. His sleepy eyes adjusting to the way your hand is wrapped around a cock a bit too thick to let you close your hand around it entirely, and, well, those spread legs, of course.

And then? Jake shifts his eyes away the second he notes Jay glancing up.

Oh. So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Jay internally hates the fact that the two of you can be so absolutely shameless like he isn’t even here. That he can and fucking will just have a go at you right in front of him like this when he has nowhere to run, yet, Jake still pretends it’s not happening, even with his eyes practically boring holes into the two of you.

Jake turns his music up more now, drowning out the small gasps the two of you are letting out and trying to keep his focus on the road. He can just pretend this isn’t happening, after all, it’s really not his place to like, watch what’s happening.

No matter how much he wants to.

And when Jay hears the music turn up, he knows that Jake still hasn’t caught on and smirks over at you, plunging a third finger in and watching you gasp a little louder this time. He does it again, with more force, and then again, and again, until you’re almost whining and rolling your hips forward against his fingers so you can receive more pressure. So you, in your own little world, can force his fingers to reach ever deeper inside of you.

Then, it stops. Your head spins at the emptiness within you when you snap your head to your boyfriend.

There’s a low chuckle from Jay’s throat when he pulls his fingers out of you and swipes your hand away from his cock—he leans forward quickly and kisses you. You already feel overheated in this small cramped space, but feeling Jay’s lips against yours right now only makes it feel hotter, especially when he licks against your tongue in a way that shows you how much he wants you.

You kiss back with the same energy and he knows exactly what it means, just like you. The two of you know exactly what each other’s cues are. When the green lights go and the red lights flash—you’re both entirely in tune every fucking time.

Jay is quick with his hands, keeping his lips connected with yours when he pulls at you, trying to drag you onto his lap where his cock stands tall and glistening from the precum. You squeak out a small sound at him, turning your back to the front seat and easily throwing your leg over Jay to sit exactly where he wants you.

“Should we let him see more?” He leans in to look at you, but honestly can’t really contain himself from doing it anyway.

This is the first time he has ever done this sort of thing with you in a car, and it’s the first time Jake has nowhere to run so that he can act like he doesn’t like watching. Jake should be thanking him, honestly. There are no morals at this moment and Jay thinks it may be the hottest thing he’s ever done.

“I don’t think I can wait—” Jay chokes out now, answering himself when he feels you lean down to kiss against his neck with a humming sound coming from your throat. He’s already grinding up against you and releasing his own groans at this point, unable to ignore the fact that he needs to be inside of you right now, simply because this is his fantasy.

He quickly hooks his fingers into the crotch of your loose shorts, pulling both the shorts and panties to the side with ease before pressing up, you match his actions and sink down, feeling his length stretch you open inch by inch. The girth of his cock is always a struggle to fit at such a quick pace, still, he fills you to the brim when you struggle to sit further down. Thrusting up while simultaneously pressing you down by the hips.

It feels more desperate this time. Usually, the touching can last for upwards of an hour —but your boyfriend is looking so desperate and so good right now that you can’t really bare to resist him or his harsh thrust into you. Mostly because he always manages to make you feel just as fucked up as he does in any given situation. Enough to forget where you are. Enough to forget anyone is watching at all.

And as Jay feels your cunt squeeze around him, slowly beginning to spill your own wet onto his balls, he glances up into the mirror again—lips slack as he gasps out for you, a small and wordless praise at how tight you are, and then he smirks because there is Jake’s eyes, looking directly back at him, struggling now to keep his gaze where it belongs: on the road.

Right then and there, Jay makes a point to thrust into you for the first time with full force just so Jake knows that he’s aware that he’s watching, and he wants him to watch. For Jake, one could even say.

When he does it, you immediately gasp out at his cock tearing you open with that one tight thrust. You’ve barely managed to adjust fully, but goddamn is he deeper than usual at this angle. You can feel his length pulse inside of you which was enough already to have you panting against him, but now? As he slowly thrusts in and out, holding you up by your hips?

“God, Jay.” You groan, dropping your head to his shoulder as you see stars just from the lack of adjusting.

At those words, he’s only inclined to fuck a bit faster, sending a tingle of pain and pleasure straight through you as your jaw falls slack against him.

Jay hold your hips, helping you stay slightly elevated above him so that he can drive his cock into you, again and again, stretching you out and dragging against your walls at such a quick pace you literally can barely take in a breath—and when he moves a hand up to pull up to his lips by the back of the neck, his eyes are dark when you finally look at him.

He lips are still parted, he is out of breath and his eyes are hooded, still fucking up and into you with so much stamina. Too much stamina, actually, after his six hour driving shift.

“He’s watching,” He whispers against your lips, catching them just for a moment in a heated kiss before he continues. “Show him how much you love me.”

That alone causes you to moan out, the very idea of Jake watching hitting you directly in your stomach more than it ever did before, back when he was so quick to leave the room.

“Jay—I wanna see,” You stammer out in a small hiccup as he continues to practically fuck himself as hard as he can into you.

He only smirks with a breath at your request, gripping your hips even tighter before pressing you down, forcing his leaking cock into you ever deeper. He intentionally flexes it inside of you, smiling at the wince on your face at that constant stretch he always gives to you.

“You wanna see Jake watch you get fucked?” He asks in a smug and breathy voice, leaning to lick a stripe against your neck. “You’re so dirty—” He adds in a half-moan, releasing your hips and pulling back to look at you again when you immediately lift on your knees for relief.

“Turn around then.”

You do, carefully pulling him out of you with a wince of relief and shuffling your way around to sink back down on him again, this time with your back to his chest. Mostly so you can make direct eye contact with Jake this time, now that you know he’s watching.

You’re a little nervous but your thoughts are spinning so quickly that you don’t really care about any of that right now. If things are awkward after the car ride, it’ll be because Jake won't admit to liking it.

Which he clearly does, when you see his eyes flicking from the road back to the mirror with furrowed brows. You make a point to keep your eyes on him when you slide back down on Jay’s cock, leaning yourself against his chest and resting the back of your head on his shoulder.

This time, Jay keeps his hands at your thighs, one spreading your legs and the other hooking your shorts and panties to the side—holding them in place so that Jake could get a full view of his cock stuffing you entirely.

He can imagine how painful the stretch must look. Damn, your pussy always does grip when he’s burying himself into you. He’s almost jealous of the view.

That’s when you physically see Jake shiver as he darts his eyes down to what you presume to be the very spot Jay is displaying for him right now but, your attention is very quickly pulled away when Jay thrusts up, placing his chin on your shoulder and gripping your thigh even tighter to keep your legs open.

“Look at him—” Jay demands in a whisper when he bucks into you again, turning his head only slightly to whisper this time. “He’s loving this.”

And he is, as unfortunate as it is.

Jake is unable to drown out the sound of your moans with his music, he doesn’t even want to drown them out at this point. He could barely pull his attention from the mirror at first, but now? He definitely can’t now. Jake is keeping his eyes on the road only to glance back up and see a full view of your face staring back at him, your pussy pulsing around his own best’s friend’s cock—It’s a bit much, he will admit but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been when watching the two of you.

Mostly because, this doesn’t feel accidental now. With the way you’re either moaning and rolling your eyes back before looking dead at his eyes in the mirror, or you’re reaching down to spread your pussy out even more for him to see. Wiggling and wincing at the way Jay’s cock forever stretches you past your own limit.

Jake feels like he’s going fucking insane watching this, unable to bring himself to outwardly groan at the image just yet.

Unfortunately, that happens anyway. Against his will, even. His throat forces a groan out of him when he notices your blown pupils staring back at him as you gently bounce behind him. He can fucking hear how wet you are as you bounce, he can hear the desperate breaths and the pornographic moans—it’s taking everything in him not to pull this car over right now and take Jay’s place.

But he can’t. You’re not his to share. And while he can’t pull over to take over—he can, at the very least, attempt to release his own tension.

He is trying to be sly when he moves one hand from the steering wheel down to his own pining and jealous cock, palming himself through the soft fabric. He moans at the sensation without intention at the same time you do. Forcing his eyes to darken as you stare at him in the mirror.

You’re maintaining as much eye contact with him as you can, but it’s becoming difficult each time Jay whispers small praises in your ear.

“You must look so good from his angle, I’m so fucking jealous—” Jay grunts out against you, now holding you down again and taking over by thrusting into you with powerful, tight thrusts. “Are you spreading it out for him?”

You nod against Jay, finally allowing yourself to throw your head back against his shoulder again, this time swirling your own hips against him and using your fingers to spread your lips out impossibly wide for Jake.

Jay hums out at that, relaxing his body beneath you so that you could work your magic on him for his best friend. He holds onto your hips for a moment before glancing up again at the mirror.

He can see that Jake is driving one-handed and smirks to himself about that.

“Is he getting off right now?” Jay chuckles quietly as he moves your hair from the side of his face and uses the other hand to grip your chin and forces your eyes back to the mirror to witness what he’s witnessing himself.

You just moan at the sight, not only noticing that Jake is clearly still watching, but he’s moving too, his shoulder moving in a very obvious way in which would tell practically anyone that he’s fucking his fist as best he can right now.

“Talk to him.” Jay demands this time, wincing at the way immediately you pull yourself up and prop yourself on the center console, head peeking far enough past the seats to see exactly what Jake is doing and startling him enough that he swerves the car only a little bit in panic.

Jay stays leaned back in his seat, staring down at your ass and the way you bounce, forcing his cock in and out at such a beautiful pace at this point, no more pain in regards to his thickness. Just full on stretched pussy gripping him with each slide.

God, the view is always so fucking good.

You’re easily riding him now, perched up so that you can dirty talk his best friend just to get a rise out of him, Jay is loving it as he reaches a hand forward to spread your pussy out around his cock before pressing down on your back so that you sit against him harder.

You moan out next to Jake, attempting to keep your composure when you look down at his length pressing heavily against his pants. “Are you watching us?” You ask, wetting your bottom lip with your tongue.

Jake can see your body moving even though he can only see your face in his peripheral vision, unable to face you completely—it’s kind of killing him that you’re just talking to him while getting fucked. He’s embarrassed, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do?!

“It’s okay, Jakey—” You coo out, the pet name coming out like honey against your tongue. “We want you to watch.” You urge him on, seeing him immediately move his hand back to his cock.

You stare down at it, wondering how big it is and how good he is with his hands, but you know your boyfriend probably wouldn’t appreciate that much.

So, you whisper very quietly, leaning a bit more towards Jake as you watch his fingers grip his cock tighter than they were gripping the steering wheel earlier. “Why don’t you pull it out?”

Jay heard it, and honestly, he would normally be jealous because he will not share you with anyone under any circumstance, but the fact that he wants his own best friend to watch kind of calls for at least letting him cum right? By his own hand though, no more, no less.

You feel Jay thrust a little harder into you this time, pushing and holding you down by your hips. Knowing he’s kind of become the third wheel himself, despite actively fucking into you.

He fits himself into you with a force that tells you not to push it with Jake any further though, and you listen to his body language the same way you would with his words.

“Jay is okay with it, but you can only watch—okay?”

Your sweet voice hits Jake's ears, slightly moaning with each word. He knows you’re feeling good right now and he can’t contain it anymore. He can no longer pretend like he doesn’t think about watching the two of you like he doesn’t go and rub one out in his room each time he sees it.

That’s when he finally uses one hand to pull his sweats down with one tug, eyes fixated on the road as he listens to you. He knows you’re watching him, and doesn’t know what else to think about aside from the fact that his cock is springing out and leaking heavily against his t-shirt. Showing you how badly he fucking wants it.

“Oh—” You gasp, and Jake isn’t sure if it’s for him or for Jay.

You would never admit that it’s because of how much bigger he is in length compared to Jay, and how perfectly it fits into his hand, with those long and pretty fingers.

Jay is becoming increasingly jealous though, especially with the way you begin to bounce against his cock as if Jake is doing something that really gets to you, but goddamn it feels so good that he can’t bear to stop you. Hoping to god that Jake doesn’t manage to steal his girl from him while he’s literally balls deep.

He throws his head back this time and just lets you fuck yourself on him as you talk to Jake. You’re unable to stop yourself from riding Jay in a way that seems entirely too out of character for you. But when you look back, your boyfriend seems to really be enjoying himself.

You turn your attention back to the front, seeing now that Jake is moving his hand much quicker, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he desperately attempts to drive the speed limit at the very least.

“I bet you wish it was you, don’t you?” You urge him on, watching his reaction each time you speak to him. “Bet you wish you could feel how wet I am, Jakey, right?”

Jake can’t even contain his nod, moving his fist up his length at a quicker pace than before.

“Show me how you’d d—” You’re cut off with a moan when Jay reaches forward and grips your hips again, taking over for you and aggressively fucking into you at a pace that shows you that he’s either pissed or about to cum.

“Show me how you’d do it, ” You repeat through the thumping of the thick cock inside of you, attempting to keep a level voice as Jay aggressively spreads and grips your ass, grunting through each thrust.

Jake finally turns to look at you for a moment, a very short moment, and then intentionally fucks up into his hand once, twice, and then a third time before shooting his eyes back to the road in a panted groan.

He wants to show you just how hard he would fuck you right now if he were given the chance.

The way he moans throws you for a loop, much deeper sounding than your own boyfriend’s but the sound of it hits your core and spreads heat throughout your body.

You instantly reach down with one hand to circle your clit, clenching around Jay as he attempts to pull you back to him—but you stay in place, eyes trained on Jake’s cock being pumped relentlessly. You know he’s showing you the way he would fuck you, and goddamn he would probably be so good at it.

“Shit—” Jay chokes out. “Baby—” He warns this time.

You’re not sure if your boyfriend is telling you to pull off to prevent orgasm, or simply warning you that he’s absolutely about to fucking obliterate your cunt as best he can, all for Jake to watch.

Jay can tell you’re rubbing your clit, at least, but fuck you’re so goddamn wet. His cock slides in and out of you so much easier compared to some days and it feels so good to him. Warm and wet walls hugging him, pleading for his cock to keep going, and going, and fucking going.

He feels so good inside of you right now, more than usual, in this tiny space that the car offers. With your pretty moans, and maybe even Jake’s moans on top of it all. It’s a bit overwhelming, Jay can admit, as he suddenly, and desperately wants all three of you to cum with him.

Thankfully for Jay, you also desperately want to see Jake cum, and you hate to say that it’s kind of Jay’s fault for prompting all of this. Including the fact that you’re only pressed between these fucking seats watching him work himself because your boyfriend told you to talk him through it.

“Are you going to make me cum?” You ask out to Jake suddenly, sighing between your words and wondering why the fuck you just said that but, it sets off a fire in the man with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping his cock.

It gives him the illusion that he is fucking you, and that he will make you cum.

“Come on, Jakey, Jay’s close too.“’

And just like that Jake is squeezing himself so tightly, dragging his hand only once up his length before he’s nearly slamming his foot on the breaks. He lets his foot off of the gas instead, thankful that there is not a single car on this street when he cums. Visibly shaking and attempting to hold in his moans as he hears you directly next to him being fucked senseless.

“Oh my god–” Jake half-moans, unable to keep his eyes from rolling back as he stutters his body through the pulses of cum shooting out of him.

You praise him for it, wanting nothing more than to reach over and kiss him for looking so fucking erotic doing what he just did, but you opt to just compliment him.

The image of Jake breathing his way through his orgasm, keeping the three of you safe in this car throughout all of it, and obviously wanting to fuck you has you nearing your own climax as Jay’s hips stutter against you.

Your fingers against your clit grow increasingly aggressive as you finally allow yourself to fall back against Jay, taking over for his tired hips as you attempt to work him up to his orgasm.

Honestly, you feel like the sexiest person alive right now, two men unable to contain themselves over you—it feels so good.

And when Jay growls against you with an audible ‘never talk to him like that again’, you release, surprisingly, before Jay does. Cumming around his thick cock and gripping against the seats in front of you as your ears ring and your eyes begin to see colors.

Something about your boyfriend being jealous is just entirely too hot, you might just have to absolutely talk to Jake like that again. Only so you can feel the way he grips you possessively and mumbles strings of both praise and arguments against you when he finally hits his own orgasm.

Words like “what the fuck was he doing up there for you to get so wet, huh?” and “don’t ever use that voice on him again–”

When it’s all said and done, the car is a mess and Jake is immediately taking the next exit to the closest gas station. Partially so he can hide in the bathroom and cry before shamefully cleaning his juices off of the damn windshield (this is an exaggeration), but mostly so you could get cleaned up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake is standing in the bathroom staring at himself, opting to give up on cleaning the cum off of his shirt because this gas station appears to have the hottest water known to man and it only clumped up against the fabric.

He’s sighing to himself, realizing how much of an absolute freak he must seem to you and Jay when, speak of the fucking devil, the man himself walks into the bathroom and crosses his arms at Jake.

“Yknow—” Jay starts with a glare. “I could have sworn for a full ten minutes you were going to take my girlfriend away from me.”

Jake’s eyes widen in embarrassment, because in all honestly, he would have fucking tried if you’d have let him.

“It’s not like that.” Jake stutters, backing away from the mirror and forgetting that Jay is actually right behind him, so he ends up bumping into him. He very quickly twists around and properly backs away from him this time.

“Oh my god, relax.” Jay steps forwards and claps him on the shoulder. “I was the one who suggested we even do this, just like—watch what you’re doing.”

Jake nods, looking down.

“What do you mean?” Jake questions, still looking at the floor.

“What? You thought we could do all of this and expect you not to stay the next time you walk in on us?”

Jake blushes, fixing his eyes on the soiled spot of his shirt.

“I’m embarrassed—I didn’t know what I was supposed to do so I just, did what she suggested?”

“That’s good.” Jay pats him on the shoulder again and forces him to look at him. “Jake, if you don’t touch her, you can do whatever you want with your cock—just know that I don’t share.”

Something inside of Jake both shatters and swells up. Yeah, part of him wondered if all of this would lead to a beach vacation threesome, but it doesn’t appear that way. Nevertheless, Jay is still offering up a pretty sweet deal.

“Is she okay with that?” Jake asks.

“More than okay. I couldn’t tell if she came for me or for you, which pisses me off, not gonna lie.” Jay pulls away from Jake and pulls his length out casually, dabbing it with a napkin before attempting to wet the paper towel.

“Fuck! Why is the water so hot!?” He exclaims, jumping back and looking over at Jake.

“This is too weird—” Jake says to himself with heated cheeks, and then turns his back to Jay. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line, it won't happen again, honestly,”

Jay just shrugs, allowing his paper towel to cool down like an actual smart person before dabbing away the dried cum. It’s not like he didn’t rent out a single-roomed beach house in order to prompt Jake to watch during this vacation.

“She’s the one in trouble for that one. But we already talked. So we’re cool, just letting you know the boundaries, that’s all.”

Jay had specifically asked you not to dirty talk Jake the way you did or to call him by any sort of nickname. But you had urged that it was honestly the hottest thing Jay has ever done for you, though it was supposed to be for Jake.

He guessed you might be more into the whole being watched thing than he is, and that’s fair considering you never so much as tried anything kinky before meeting him. The two of you compromised. You’re only allowed to praise and talk to Jake that way if Jay is allowed to absolutely humiliate him at the same time. They’re not even sure if Jake is into that sort of thing, but you’d both stop the moment he felt uncomfortable.

“Okay, so… “ Jake says, waiting for Jay to finish his cleanup. “Is this gonna be a normal thing then?”

“Maybe, if you keep wanting to catch us, that is.”

“I swear, I never did that intentionally!” Jake defends himself but finally looks over at Jay who has his pants pulled up now.

“Oh, I know. It was also my idea to have you catch us all the time. You definitely liked watching though.” Jay winks at Jake knowingly, but before he could even attempt to respond there’s a toilet flushing and a burly man walking out of the furthest stall in the back.

Both men stare at each other, too stunned to move based on the fact that this man had been sitting on the toilet listening to the entire conversation and hearing them clean cum off of themselves. Honestly. If there was a hole nearby, Jake would probably bury himself in it (no pun intended).

“Gentlemen.” The burly man says with a solemn tone, and all Jake can do is turn around and walk the fuck out of there as quickly as he can.

“Uh—” Jay says to the man, pointing behind him with his thumb and an awkward smile before turning on his heel and pacing out directly after Jake.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

– read part two here!

#enhypen smut #sim jaeyun smut #park jongseong smut #jake smut #jay smut #enha smut

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hannieehaee · 4 months ago

Note

HI!! how are you??

do you mind doing a poly seventeen relationship with vernon and chan and they spoil her alot?? (smut tho)

thank you!! i love you and your blog <3

18+ / mdi

content: bf!vernon and bf!chan, smut, afab reader, oral (f receiving), handjob, mentions of m receiving oral, mentions of shower sex, etc.

wc: 886

a/n: i couldn't help but write them bickering bc i i just know they totally would in real life.

masterlist

"dude, what the fuck? i thought you guys were going to work today. hyung, you literally have a solo song coming up!"

chan's whines were not enough to get you to stop kissing vernon's neck as you cuddled into him on the couch, nor where they enough for vernon, apparently. his hands were very intent on feeling every inch of your tits, something which you did not want chan to take away from you.

"just did some recording from the home studio," was all vernon said in reply, hands now reaching your ass to pull you on top of him, lips finding yours in a kiss.

"i will not be a third wheel in my own home," he grumbled, "move over, you've had her all day."

he made his way to the couch, sitting on the other side of you as he fought vernon for your attention. after a bit of back and forth, vernon gave you one last kiss before leaving you in chan's arms, pleased enough to have had you to himself all day.

it's not like chan and vernon never shared you at the same time, but they just so happened to both be a little possessive. they preferred to take turns to ensure they could each be fully satisfied. and you? you had no complaints.

"i'm gonna go make some hoco. want some, baby?" he asked as he headed to the kitchen.

"mm, yes, nonnie," you interrupted a heady kiss from chan to respond.

"for me too!," said the aforementioned boy before kissing you again.

vernon chuckled and shook his head as he left, taking note that he should probably ask you to shower with him later. he wanted the last word after chan had his way with you.

"oh, but this is fine? weren't you complaining we took a day off without you literally yesterday?"

now it was vernon's turn to walk in on you and chan. however, this time you were located in the bedroom, with chan deep between your legs as you sat at the edge of the bed.

"sorry, baby. i might've convinced him to stay home since you'd be gone today," you mumbled in between gasps.

"c'mere, baby. my hand is all yours," you gestured him to sit next to you as your other hand held onto chan's head, leading his movements against your cunt.

vernon needed no further encouragement, undoing his pants as he walked over to bed and took a seat next to you, kissing you and letting his hands feel up your tits as you began working him with your own hand — god, he really was a boob guy.

"mmm, missed you today," he hummed between kisses.

"me more, nonn- ah! sorry, channie, fuck, you're being so good for me, baby."

wordlessly, he had demanded for attention while his tongue was deep in you. it was the classic competition for your affection.

"fuck, baby, keep doing that. gonna fuck you later, okay? fuck you to sleep, shit, yeah?", mumbled vernon against your lips. his orgasm was close, you could hear it in his voice. he must've been tired from practicing all day.

"mhm, shit. please," you pleaded before turning your attention to the other boy, "channie, shit, 'm gonna cum soon."

he murmured incoherent words into your folds, nose nudging a particularly sensitive spot as he sped up. you were so into your own pleasure you hadn't realized the poor boy had been using your shoe to hump in order to release his own tension.

you hoped he wouldn't cum from it. you had way better plans for him as soon as you got vernon off with your hand.

a high pitched cry was the last thing you voiced against vernon's lips, soon followed by his own grunts of pleasure as he dirtied your hand with his spunk. he was insistent in kissing you throughout both your orgasms, sometimes not even landing on your lips, but still within the ballpark. it was a disorganized mess, as it usually was with vernon.

chan waited patiently until the two of you got a fill of each other. he'd been enjoying the show you and vernon gave him, lip caught in his teeth up until he reached up to you and stole you away from vernon, instead giving you a taste of yourself through the remnants of his lips.

"stop, i'm the one you should be kissing right now," he complained as vernon chuckled beside you, getting up to get a rag to clean himself with.

"i know, channie," you coo'd, "i'll make it up to you, okay, baby?"

getting up, you held out your hand for him with a smile, leading him to the restroom connected to your room. before entering, you turned back to vernon, nodding at him to follow along and giggling when he lit up at the invitation.

"i'll suck off whoever washes my hair," you proposed once in the bathroom.

you were met with a whiny back and forth between both men, insisting they were the best at washing your hair and that the other had already gotten more than enough attention from you.

in the end, it didn't really matter. you had more than enough in you to satisfy both of them. you just liked to see them bicker over you.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt oneshot #vernon imagines #vernon fanfic #vernon x reader #vernon smut #dino oneshot #dino x reader #dino fanfic #dino smut #dino imagines

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pseudowho · 1 year ago

Text

The Rebounds

When your boyfriend dumps you, Maki and Yuuta know exactly how to cheer you up.

I don't normally write "aged up" fics but...here we go.

Warnings: 18+, soft!Dom Yuuta and less-soft!Dom Maki (bit of a drill sergeant really), lingerie, sex toys, threesome, double-penetration, alcohol use

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"You're...breaking up with me? After everything I've done for you-- don't you dare hang up-- bastard!"

You flung your phone across the sofa, burying your face in your hands, barely suppressing a tearful, infuriated scream. He was shit, but he was yours, and he had the audacity to toss you out like yesterday's newspaper--

A knock on your door. Not caring who it was, you snapped, shouting.

"Fuck off! I'm not home."

"Hey! Lose the attitude." Your door swept open with a bang, rattling against the wall. Maki stepped in without apology, dropping a bagged Cursed weapon on your doorstep, "You're the one who asked me to bring this--...what's up with you? Are you crying?"

Yuuta peered in behind Maki, dark hangdog eyes spotting you, concerned; "Crying? Hey, what's happened?" Yuuta nudged past Maki, stepping over to you, and grasping your shoulders, soft calloused hands surprisingly strong against your skin.

Arms around your knees, you hid your face, ashamed for being such a blotchy mess; "He dumped me. Just...called me up, and dumped me. Like I'm trash."

Yuuta's face crumpled for you, the briefest flash of anger, overlaid with sympathy. He opened his mouth to speak, Maki interrupting.

"Finally. That piece of shit was never worth yo--"

"Maki," chided Yuuta, still stroking your shoulders, gripping and possessive. Maki tsked, arms folded, turning aside, hovering between you and the door.

"...you shouldn't waste your time worrying about that guy," Maki offered, voice tight but softer now. She was silent for a moment, and Yuuta looked to her, silent agreement passing between them.

"She's right," offered Yuuta, bright, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, cupping your tearstained face. Yuuta looked to Maki again, a glint of something odd in his eyes. Maki nodded, barely perceptible.

"...in fact, you should come with us. We're going out! Dinner, drinks...we'll show you a good time instead, yeah?"

You prickled with shame again, eyes squeezing shut as Yuuta shushed you, pulling you to your feet, pushing you to Maki who began to bustle you to your bedroom while you argued weakly; "--...no, guys, I-- I'm not third wheeling, I don't need you to take me with you out of pity-- I'm interrupting--"

They spoke over you, Yuuta still holding you by the shoulders from behind while Maki perused your wardrobe.

"--'third wheeling', psh--"

"How could we ever pity our lovely friend--'

"--not interrupting anything, what do you think this is, huh--"

"Just some drinks, some dinner, maybe a bit of shopping..."

Maki held up a little red dress, looking to Yuuta; Yuuta nodded. Maki flicked her hand at Yuuta, banishing him from the room, before stepping to you, brandishing the dress.

"Get changed," she ordered, "or I'll do it for you."

You pouted, grumbling, beginning to strip while Maki rummaged for shoes. She pulled out some trainers, comparing them to your dress. Her eyes narrowed at you, half dressed, turning aside again and holding the shoes out to you.

"These. You'll look...cute." You scoffed, brushing your hair, making yourself presentable.

When you stepped out, Yuuta looked you up and down approvingly, catching Maki's eye again with that same unreadable glint; "His loss! You're our pretty girl for today then, huh?" You blushed, churlish that their attempts to cheer you up were working.

And treat you well they did, knowing you as only old friends do. Within a few hours, you found yourself smiling again, laughing alongside them as you ate, all of you handsy and affectionate; Maki, feeding you as Yuuta took photos of you both, eyes soft and full of love; Yuuta, reaching over to whirl little circles on your inner wrist; both of them, leaning in close, pressing against you as you broke down, sobbing quietly into your soju.

You hiccuped, the floral alcohol cut with your salty tears; "I just...I just don't understand why...why I'm not good enough..." you gulped, knocking back another shot.

"You're beautiful," Maki snipped, bluntly refilling all of your glasses, "and he couldn't see that." She slipped an arm round you from behind, her fine slim fingers coiling over your hip, stroking you.

"But we can," Yuuta cooed, "and we'll treat you like you deserve to be treated...because you are beautiful." His fingers continued to draw soft circles on your palm, your inner wrist, heading up your soft sensitive forearm. You shivered, the alcohol making your nerves electric, receptive. Yuuta smiled at your shiver, face leaned on one palm, eyes dark as they trailed, intoxicated, down your body. He sighed.

"I don't think she believes us, you know," he said to Maki. Maki huffed, her fingertips kneading at your hip as she tugged you closer. She took another shot, refilling her glass and pressing it to your lips.

"Open up," she commanded, smirking as you swallowed, some of the sweet wine dripping down your neck and breasts in your haste. You felt Maki's breath catch as her eyes followed the droplet.

"You're all sticky," Maki chastised, her finger grazing the drop away, pressing into your mouth so you could suck it off her finger, "...messy girl." Your skin burned, feeling like forbidden fruit beneath their touch. Yuuta watched you suck the soju off Maki's finger, the strange glimmer in his eyes growing deeper as his head dipped downwards, fringe flicking forward over his eyes.

"You're right," he hummed to Maki, whirling his glass, eyes still dipped and flinty as he took in Maki's arm around your waist; the way she pressed a kiss to your temple; how you slumped against her, supple and seeking warmth; how your fingers twitched as his drew hearts over your inner arm.

"She is messy," Yuuta continued, finishing the last of the soju, "we should...get her cleaned up, huh?" Maki smiled into your hair, humming, laughing as you trembled under her warm, botanical breath.

"Guys," you hummed, swoopy and warm with the drink, "you don't have to do this--"

"Have to?" Yuuta laughed, pulling you forwards by the forearm so you were nose to nose with him for a moment, close enough that his lips brushed against yours as he spoke, farqq enough to almost be an accident; "We don't have to...we want to. You deserve the best date. Right, Maki?"

Maki was already up, a smile at the corner of her mouth as she helped you to stand. You blushed, sputtering.

"--a date, I--guys--"

"Friends can go on dates," Maki insisted, her arm round your waist as Yuuta loped beside you, bopping his forehead to your shoulder, "but while we're here...there's something I'd like to get. Come on."

You were steered into a lingerie shop, suddenly surrounded by fragrant musk, silk, lace and erotica. You laughed as Yuuta gripped you by the waist, twirling you in the low lights. He smiled, pulling you into his deceptive softness, penetrating your defences. He dipped you back to some unheard tune, leaning down to bracket you, whispering;

"See anything you like?"

With his gaze fixed firmly on you, your eyes caressed the bras, chemises, the beautiful indulgent treasures. Yuuta saw your eyes linger on a set, and nosed your jaw;

"That one, huh? You're so pretty anyway, and that one would be..." Yuuta left the sentence unfinished, and you became acutely aware of his closeness, body flush to his lean strength, something so dangerously hypnotic about him. You felt undressed, already, in his arms.

Maki had reappeared, a subtle paper bag in her hands. She communicated wordlessly with Yuuta, again, following your gaze. Rifling through the rails, and casting an appraising eye over your body, Maki settled and headed to pay. Opening your mouth to argue again, your breath caught as Yuuta pulled you up from your dip, the drink and attention rushing to your head once more, feeling so loved, so wanted. Maki cast her eyes up and down you both, slow, predatory.

"Home?" So much unspoken promise, from just one word. Maki's eyes lapped at your body, enough to make you tremble. Yuuta and Maki held you between them. You could hardly remember the journey home, their touches edging you somewhere between uncertainty and euphoria. You accepted it without question, as you had always accepted their love.

Stepping into your apartment, Yuuta closed the door behind you. He stayed with his back to you, fingers tapping against the door handle. You had leaned, head tipped back against the wall, sighing, softly drunk, heartbeat between your legs. You tipped your head to look at Yuuta questioningly as he spoke, his voice quiet and measured.

"Hey, Maki...go and get set up, yeah? I don't...I don't think I can wait any longer," he finished weakly, laughter on his breath. Maki smirked, her burns like a bed of rose petals in the low light.

"Alright." Maki leaned in, pressing lingering kisses to your forehead, your nose, hovering just so above your lips. Her fingertips brushed your jaw, and she whispered; "Yuuta's gonna get you warmed up, okay baby?"

Maki walked away, taking your breath with her. Yuuta filled the gap, and you burned alive under their attentions, his hands pressed to the wall either side of you, trapping you in his gravity.

"What do you deserve, pretty girl?" He whispered, shaky with restraint. All the wrong answers tried to claw their way out of you; Yuuta's eyes beseeched you to choose better for yourself, his lips achingly close to yours. You bit, to Yuuta's satisfied smile, choosing better.

"Y-you," you stuttered, meltingly desperate, "I deserve you."

Yuuta responded with a kiss; his self-restraint snapped, and he overlaid your body with his against the wall, melding to you as his hands tangled into your hair and his mouth to yours. You could taste the soju on his tongue, and you moaned softly, opening your mouth to him. Yuuta responded in kind, tilting your head to the side, his palms cupping your face, lips wet and trembling.

You could feel the breaths caught in his chest as his tongue stroked against yours, fingernails scratching at your scalp, hot and needy. Yuuta shunted his knee forward between your thighs, pinning you against the wall, one hand dropping to your hip, brushing under the hem of your dress to yank you down, pussy flush against his wiry thigh.

Pulling back, panting, Yuuta squeezed your cheeks in one hand, forcing your lips into a pout. Gritting his teeth, growling softly through them, he gave your face a gentle affectionate shake; "You taste like peaches, cutie, I always knew you would."

You squirmed, rutting yourself on his thigh, eager for relief in your aching core. Still squeezing your cheeks, giving them one soft slap, Yuuta tipped your face so you looked down at his thigh, his cock straining against the material of his trousers.

"I'll be honest...we've been waiting for you to break up with him. Even better that he ditched you...should we send him some pictures? Huh?" Reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone, Yuuta turned your squished pouting face to the camera, and, pressing his lips hard to your puffy cheek, took a photo.

Yuuta groaned to feel you still humping him, desperate for friction. His hands dropped to your hips, rutting you against his thigh. He bit his lip, breathless, shaky as he tucked up your dress, watching your wet underwear barely covering your pussy, sliding against him. He laughed, soft, barely holding himself back from lifting you up and taking you against the wall.

"Oh baby," he teased, "not like this-- you deserve better--...and Maki's feeling left out, right?"

You jumped to hear Maki's voice to your right, head tipping as Yuuta lapped lazily at the fabric covering your nipples, spit seeping through, warm and wet; "I dunno...you two are putting on quite a show. Come to the bedroom. Date's not over yet." Yuuta moaned against your breasts, feeling their plush heave against his lips, his cock jumping against his thigh.

"Come on, peaches," he whispered, breath cooling your spit-wet breasts, "You've got a pretty outfit...it's Maki's turn with you...and I wanna watch."

Yuuta drew back from you, panting, gripping his cock through the light fabric of his trousers. If Maki hadn't stepped in, lifting you, wrapping your legs round her waist, your trembling knees would surely have given out. Nuzzling her nose against your mouth, stealing light kisses along the way, Maki chuckled, smirking; "You taste like Yuuta." You bit your lip, suddenly shy, nuzzling your face into Maki's neck as she laid you down softly onto your bed.

The room flickered with dulcet candlelight, smelling something fruity and familiar. Maki stood over you, taking a sip from a bottle as Yuuta crept in behind you, settling in an armchair beside the bed, still pawing at his aching cock.

"Wait-- Maki-- don't swallow...you should let her have a taste," Yuuta pressed, watching with hungry, hooded eyes as Maki hummed, smiling down at you. She leaned over you, one knee pressed between your thighs, one arm over your head, and pressed her pursed lips to yours. Kissing deeply and forming a seal, Maki slowly eked her tongue between your lips, drops of warm peach soju moving from her mouth to yours.

The body-warmed fumes rose up your nose, filling you with sweet botanical delight, bringing you back to the hazy drunk warmth you had felt during dinner, as Yuuta had stroked your arm so sweetly. Maki deepened the kiss, thrumming with excitement as she heard Yuuta unbuckle and unzip himself, letting his cock fall, hard and twitching, onto his belly.

Maki pulled your dress down your shoulders, trapping your arms for a moment, until they released, the red fabric sliding all the way down and pooling over your lap. Maki grasped your underwear with it, shooting Yuuta a wicked look; "Don't look-- she isn't dressed yet."

Yuuta laughed, one hand lazily pumping his cock, and he brought the other up over his eyes, still grinning. You couldn't take your eyes off him, stroking himself to Maki kissing peaches into you, masturbating to her rolling your clothes down off your body. Yuuta listened instead, his hearing piqued to the soft fabric rustle of your dress hitting the floor, and Maki lifting the dusty-rose chemise out of the bag.

"Taste like a peach...look like a peach," she pressed, brushing the chemise over your bare breasts, mouth watering at how your nipples pebbled and peaked under the sheer chiffon. Maki leaned into you again, ghosting her lips over yours; she caught your eyes, dragging your gaze over to Yuuta, biting her lip-- "If you think Yuuta's cock looks pretty now...wait until you're all dressed up."

"Maki!" Yuuta whined, his cock pre-cum-wet and twitching in his fist, his eyes still covered, "Stop. You'll make me blush." He paused, his hand and breath hesitant, "Is she...is she watching me?"

Maki grinned, wicked; "mmmmmhm." Yuuta groaned, long and anguished, squeezing the base of his cock again to stop himself from spilling over his lap, squeezing the hand over his eyes. Maki only laughed, standing back, pacing like an animal as you slipped into the pink chemise, split at the front, lighter than blossoms.

"Oh, Yuuta...you should see her," Maki praised, and you blushed, feeling so much more desirable under the gaze of a beautiful woman over a man, "she really is lovely." Yuuta had slowly dropped his hand from his eyes, hand cupping his cockhead with a shiver as he drank you in, supple and glassy-eyed beneath Maki, who rolled two pink rubber buds between her fingers.

Taking another sip of her soju, leaning in to kiss you again, you felt Maki graze something over the barely-there fabric covering your nipples. Suddenly so thirsty, lifting your hands to tangle in her short hair, Maki moaned into you as you kissed harder, drinking from her, desperate for more. Finally, you spoke.

"Maki, I-- don't leave me like this, give me something," you whimpered, your clit throbbing and needy, knowing you needed the barest of touches to bring you to completion.

"Don't be a brat," Maki chastised, making you blush and bite your lip up at her, "Or can you not wait? Do you want me to stop? Yuuta, shall I stop?"

"No!" You cried, you and Yuuta simultaneous in your desperation, him edging his weeping cock so fervently, you thrumming with the need for release, the day's little touches and promises and drink, all rolling into the slowest orgasm you had ever had built.

Maki smirked, and abruptly clamped two rubbery clips over your nipples, pinched hard beneath rosy fabric. You squealed, and cried out, bucking as she switched them on, sharp vibrations shooting through your nipples, tugging like a fishing line, making your clit throb with need.

Maki watched you writhe, slowly stripping her own clothes, hesitating for a moment as her burns became bare in the candlelight. Yuuta felt her, shaking with closely controlled restraint as he looked at her and you, eyes sticky-sweet.

"--my two beautiful girls, huh?" He grinned, circling his cockhead with a wet thumb, "...how did I...ever get so lucky?" Maki blushed, biting her lip as she finished stripping, looking down at you, mewling and squirming, in awe. She knelt down over you, smiling, a long, vibrating dildo at her fingertips.

"Yeah...you're right. We struck gold." Maki watched you, captivated as you babbled, whimpering, begging, tears streaming down into your hair. Yuuta felt a drip of sweat run down his chest, unbuttoning himself, letting his top sit open, releasing his cock with clenched knuckles, eager not to spend himself until he could be inside you.

Maki squeezed lube onto your glistening pussy, making you jolt and shiver with the sudden cold, until Maki shushed you again, kissing you firmly; "Be patient...I'll warm it up." You and Yuuta moaned, both twisting in divine bliss as Maki slipped her slim fingers between your folds, finding your clit with the expert precision of another woman, circling it with two delicate fingers, alternating pressure, toying with you.

"Inside," Yuuta barked, authoritative in his desperation, huffing, his cock twitching against his belly, "--tell me-- tell me how she feels, Maki." Maki obliged, her fingers dipping lower, grazing over your entrance, covering you with cum-slick lube.

"...silky..." Maki described, to Yuuta's chipped groans, "...and..." Maki hit your knees with her own, spreading your thighs wide, baring you to her, and she plunged two fingers deep inside your fluttering cunt, gasping with delight, "...tight...like wet velvet."

Yuuta cursed under his breath, his head tipped back, hand clasped over his mouth as he began to pump his cock again, jerking himself back to the edge. Maki pumped her fingers into your sloppy pussy, bringing one thumb up to work on your clit.

You came embarrassingly fast, the accumulated touches throughout the course of the day too much, and you felt your arousal trickle out over Maki's fingers. Her eyes furious with focus, Maki continued to thrust her fingers in and out of you, her thumb moving to stimulate your clit from another angle, expert in her gentle overstimulation.

Maki bit her lip, thrilled by her own unmet need, throbbing under Yuuta's obsessive stare. The self-denial while watching you fall apart beneath her was delicious. You cried out, clutching her arms, trying to wiggle your hips away from her as she yanked you back to her, hushing you.

"Come on, baby," she pushed, "just one more...then you can have Yuuta's cock, 'cos he can't last any longer." One sideways glance to Yuuta, arched backwards and serene with the edge of his orgasm, sent you over the edge again, and he gripped the base of his cock once more as you arched, crying out, lights popping in your vision and fizzing down your body.

"Maki--" Yuuta urged, voice brittle with need, "--my turn-- need her now--" Maki huffed at Yuuta's lack of self-restraint, smirking at him, whining, hand wet with pre-cum. Maki lifted you up off the bed, soft and floppy, knees still hanging over the edge, and Yuuta slipped underneath you, mirroring your position, eagerly lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance. As he moved to push into you, his arms gripping you from behind, an arresting clasp across your chest and belly, Maki gripped him by the cock, stopping him as he cried out, voice hoarse.

"Hey, did I say she was ready?" Maki sniped, rolling her eyes as you and Yuuta moaned and argued with her. Her hands still covered in lube, she took the vibrating dildo she'd been fingering for so long, rolling it in lube and your generous, sticky cum. You trembled, reading Maki's intent immediately.

"Maki, I-- they won't-- won't both fit," you squeaked, Maki humming at your meagre protests as she rubbed the dildo at your entrance, switching on the vibration and edging it slowly past your swollen, puffy entrance.

"I dunno," she mused, "I wanna see how fast Yuuta cums like this." Yuuta shuddered, his cock still gripped in Maki's hand, Yuuta squeezing you harder above him as you trembled and shook, the dildo hitting your cervix, sending vibrations deep into your belly.

Maki stroked Yuuta's cock, throbbing in her hand as he bucked, teeth gritted, sweating with restraint; "Maki," he snapped, "let me fuck her-- I swear to god I'll kick your--"

"--careful special grade. Don't threaten me with a good time." Yuuta coughed, tormented, blinkered by his own impending orgasm as you writhed, blinded by your own pleasure in his arms. Maki was almost overcome by the sight of you both in blissful agony beneath her, almost cumming untouched, the tension of the build-up so much better than the payoff.

Maki finally released him, dropping to her knees between yours and Yuuta's. She lifted your legs, draping them over Yuuta's thighs, and pushed Yuuta's knees, forcing your legs to spread. She kept the dildo vibrating inside you, juddering with incoordinate twitches now, floating above yourself.

Finally released, Yuuta bit into your shoulder, groaning in your ear as his cock started to press into you alongside the vibrating dildo, stretching your pussy more than it had ever been stretched, so full, from cunt to belly; "Just hold onto me, peaches, yeah?"

In one swift thrust, Yuuta bottomed out, shouting and cursing, his cock gripped by the slick, impossibly tight heat of your pussy, the dildo vibrating relentlessly against the underside of his length.

"--oh my--shit, Maki, 's too muc, fuck! Ohhh fuck-- fuck-- fuck--"

Maki leaned in, two fingers rolling over her clit as she lapped yours into her mouth, flicking her tongue across you, sucking, nipping, tasting the peach lube she had covered you with. Lost in this semi-drunk haze, she continued to edge herself to the sight of you, spasming in forced orgasm after orgasm, under her mouth.

Yuuta rutted up into you helplessly, arms shaking around you. His seed spattered your cervix and the dildo white, cumming so violently that he curled in on himself beneath you, forcing you to curl with him. Maki watched it all, pupils blown, stroking her clit just enough to keep herself from orgasm.

You continued to pant and whimper, still so full, your pussy clenching urgently, wildly overstimulated. Maki took pity on you both, switching the dildo off, slipping it out of you and letting it drop with a wet cum-splatter. It pulled Yuuta's dripping cock out with it, and you whined, suddenly so empty, Yuuta nuzzling and kissing your cheeks, trying to bring you both down from your high. He chuckled, breathless in your ear

"What a date, huh? You should get dumped again, sometime."

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no-144444 · 6 months ago

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mi señora - f.colapinto

Day 7 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: you and franco barely know each other, yet he's obsessed with you. could this turn into a budding romance?

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!wolff!reader

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Franco was flirty. You’d been warned before he even joined the paddock that he was. Never did you think it would be so annoying. Day in, day out, he’s sitting there fucking with you, trying to make you laugh or swoon or, whatever. It never worked, obviously. It didn’t matter either way, you tried not to notice it.

“He’s in love with you,” Alex chuckled as he leaned on your desk in the garage.

“We met last week-”

“He’s in love with you!”

“We’ve barely spoken!”

“You’re my race engineer,” he laughed. “You two speak all the time!” “Yeah, about racing. How could he even know what I’m like?”

“Y/n!” Franco’s voice rang out in the garage. It was late, you didn’t know why anyone would still be here except you and Alex to run some last minute checks, well, because Singapore was unforgiving at the best of times. “I was looking for you.”

He rested a hand on the back of your chair, smiling at you. “Hi,” he grinned, his eyes boring into yours.

“Hi,” you smiled back. “Everything alright?”

Alex smirked as he watched your exchange. It was so clear that Franco had a crush on you, and you didn’t even notice.

“When are you heading back to hospitality? I can walk with you, no?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “In a few minutes, just helping Alex with some last minute stuff. You can join us walking back if you want-”

“Count me out, I’m not listening to your third wheeling,” Alex smirked before leaving the garage.

“Well, I guess it is just you and me then,” he smiled.

“Just you and me,” you sighed, nodding. You shutdown your computer and grabbed your bag (only for him to take it off of you immediately and hold it for you), and the 3 minute walk to hospitality began.

“So, what do you like to do outside of racing?” he asked.

“Well, I like to read, I like to ride my dirtbike, I like playing tennis, I like mountain biking” you listed. “That’s kind of it,” you shrugged.

“You have a dirtbike?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Danny got it for me when I was a teenager, I was always around the paddock with my dad so he just decided to get me one, and we usually go out together. It’s a nice way to de-stress after the season,” you explained.

“Are you and Danny close?”

“Yeah, he’s like a dad to me,” you nodded. “What about you? What do you like to do outside of racing?”

“Well, I like to hike, I like to watch movies, and I like your company,” he smirked. You laughed.

“You need to stop doing that,” you chuckled. “People will think we’re together or something.”

“And being with me would be so bad?” he feigned hurt as you laughed.

“No, but it would ruin your chances of getting an actual girlfriend,” you teased.

He scoffed. “The only ‘actual girlfriend’ I want is you.”

You were quiet for a minute. Why had he said that? Why did he feel the need to say that? Why was he so pretty and perfect and smooth and charming? Why would he put you in this awful predicament?

He turned to you and you both stopped walking.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but it is true, I really like you. If you want me to stop I will stop,” he told you.

“I don't want you to stop,” you answered, your eyes stuck to his like glue.

He broke out into his perfect smile and nodded. “Alright,” he blushed. “So you’ll go out with me?”

“I’ll go out with you,” you chuckled.

He stared at you for a moment longer, then pressed his lips to yours in a soft, comfortable kiss.

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francocolapinto

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, and 876,938 others

francocolapinto: mi señora

comments

merecedesamgf1team: Come to my office right now- toto. -> user35: HAHAAHAAH -> fernandoalonso: he just wants to talk I'm sure

user56: WHEN IS IT MY TURN TO BE HAPPY?

landonorris: SINCE WHEN? -> francocolapinto: last night? -> charlesleclerc: that was fast.

y/ny/l/n: ❤️

alexalbon: I FUCKING KNEW IT

lilymhe: cuties ❤️

danielriccardo: shit now i have to meet him!!!! -> y/ny/l/n: YAY DANNY COME TO THE WILLIAMS GARAGE PLEASE

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto fic #franco colapinto social media au #franco colapinto smau #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 social media au #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fanfic

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cartierre · 1 year ago

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AGORA HILLS | ln4

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU lando norris x fem!russell!reader

side note: i'm depressed and the f1 season is starting soon again so here we go. side note pt2: this is kinda short and the ending feels rushed but oh well

♡ liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 14,293 others

tagged: landonorris

y/n_russell permanent shenanigans

view all 475 comments

user1 oh that's not-

user2 oh she didn't- yes she did

user3 y/n getting a lando norris tramp stamp was not on my 2023 bingo card ⤷ user4 i don't think it was ever on anyone's bingo card

landonorris mine ⤷ y/n_russell yours 🤞

user5 i can't decide if it's cringe or a major slay

georgerussell63 i don't know if i should strangle you or norris ⤷ y/n_russell maybe neither of us?

♡ liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 13,293 others

tagged: yourfriend, yourotherfriend, landonorris

y/n_russell pizza boy always knows how to capture my heart

view all 361 comments

user6 lando and y/n being in their hot couple era was not on my 2024 bingo card ⤷ user7 no couple does it like y/n and lando

user8 i'm a bit concerned about their recent behaviour, ngl

landonorris i'm a professional pizza boy off season ⤷ y/n_russell earning some extra money to spoil your girl? ⤷ user9 so you admit you use lando for his money? ⤷ y/n_russell sorry your partner apparently doesn't know how to treat you. i'd be bitter as well if i were you

user10 y/n being totally unhinged is my favourite type of media ⤷ user11 george being the emotionally older sibling and y/n being the unbothered younger sibling makes so much sense

♡ liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 16,938 others

tagged: landonorris, georgerussell63

y/n_russell to clear some things up: obviously george isn't always happy with how lando and i present our relationship (online or not) but that doesn't mean he hates lando?! i'm his little sister, it's natural he doesn't always enjoy what lando and i do. nonetheless, lando and george have been friends for ages! this was literally them on our shared holiday in '23! carmen and i were third-wheeling the whole time lol. george can sometimes be a little cold but that's just how he processes things, it doesn't mean he's not supportive of my relationship with lando. please respect that.

comments have been disabled for this post

♡ liked by landonorris, georgerussell63, danielricciardo and 16,292 others

y/n_russell accurate representation of how i felt after watching george and lando's "drama" on drive to survive. now i understand why y'all blew this whole situation up.

view all 364 comments

user12 now she knows how we all felt watching that episode

user13 me when i watch dts in general

user14 me when i hear the dutch national anthem yet again

user15 me when i think of charles not winning wdc because ferrari literally sucks

landonorris me when i realise y/n won't attend every race ⤷ y/n_russell um excuse me i'm a working gyal

user16 me when life

♡ liked by landonorris, georgerussell63, mclaren and 17,293 others

tagged: mclaren, mercedesamgf1

y/n_russell maybe i should become lando's and george's pr manager when it means getting flowers from their teams

view all 437 comments

user17 no cuz that is so cute that they sent her flowers cuz she solved the whole lando-george drama

user18 that's why they both are my favourite teams

mclaren the contract is ready to be signed! ⤷ mercedesamgf1 not if she choses us first! after all, blood is thicker than water

user19 not mclaren and mercedes fighting over y/n

user20 i wonder which flowers are from who

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 fluff #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lano norris smau #lando norris fluff

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drewswifeeee · 1 month ago

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Ice Cream shop

Summary: Rafe & Y/n go on a ice cream date but Sarah crashes it by third wheeling... or so Rafe thought. Warnings: Making out, nipple sucking, Rafe getting pissed off, ass slapping, use of petnames like "bunny, baby, Sweetgirl, good girl, and daddy's girl(I'm pretty sure that's it, if not lmk)

You walk into TannyHill looking around for Rafe, that's when Sarah pops out of nowhere "boo, bitch!" she exclaimed as you jump back holding your chest, "Damnit Sar!" You gasp glaring at her as she raises her eyebrow at you "yeah... never cuss again" she says since you never swear, only on rare occasions.

"Sarah quit messing with bunny" Rafe comes out his room rolling his eyes as he walks over and his eyes meet yours "there's my sweet girl, hm" he says leaning down pecking your lips "hi rayray" you mumble and smile against his lips, "ew you guys are sickingly cute" Sarah grimaces.

"Ready for that ice cream dat-" Sarah cuts rafe off yelling as she clumsily slips her shoes on "IM READY!" You jump as your eyes widen as she yells, grabbing her purse."Sarah, you're not going" Rafe grumbles as you furrow your eyebrows. "Baby, just let her come, plus it'll be fun since you're a.. boring person, no offense. "

That's how rafe found himself being more like the third-wheel than Sarah, Y/n and Sarah are sitting on the bench in the ice cream store laughing and talking as they eat our ice cream and rafe.. well, he's sitting next to you, glaring at Sarah as his hand possessively rubs up and down your thigh "I'll be back, I'm gonna use the girls room" you cut rafe out of his trance as you get up leaving and going to the bathroom.

You’re in the bathroom exiting the stall when you feel rafe push you up against the bathroom wall “did we really have to invite her?” he mumbles kissing down you’re neck “Mm, Rafe we’re in a public restroom” you moan softly as he slips your small pink tank top off looking at you’re braless perky nipples

“cmon pretty girl let daddy have his girls” he murmurs and before you can answer his lips latch around your perky nipple as you moan softly, your head falls back against the cold tile as your back arches. You grip his hair pulling his face away from your breast and kiss his lips sloppily and needy.

You bite you’re bottom lip as he lowers to his knees and his head disappears under your skirt as he licks a strip up your slit “ra- ray” you gasp and moan as your hand flys to his head putting one leg over his shoulder “Mm, who’s daddy’s good girl?” You don’t answer right away and whimper as he slaps your ass “be a good girl, use your words” he whispers against your clit “I- I’m daddy’s girl” you gasp and moan as he sucks on your clit.

“Ray I- I’m gonna-“ before you could finish your orgasm crashes over you as you moan softly, you grind up against his face as he drowns himself in my cunt.

After some time you both walk out the restroom as you fix your top and hair as Rafe follows behind you fixing your skirt, you walk over to Sarah “hey sar, we’re probably gonna cut the “date” short” you say scratching the back of your neck as as Sarah puts two and two together “okay ok probably go stay with Kiara” you nod as she says bye and leaves to go stay with Kiara.

“Get that little ass in there” Rafe shakes his head smacking your ass “I’m going! I’m going!” You giggle running inside the house as he locks his truck doors coming in the house sitting his keys on the table next to the front door.

You’re in the bedroom putting on your night clothes as he comes in the room staring at you “you know we could’ve had a whole day to ourselves if you didn’t invite Sarah on OUR date” he says taking off his clothes “I know baby I’m sorry, she just didn’t have anyone to hangout with” you say walking over to him on the bed as you shut off the bedside table lamp.

You crawl up into bed laying your head down on his chest as he covers both of you up “how about we just go on a date tomorrow night, just us.. me and you?” You hum closing your eyes “yeah, alright baby go to sleep” he whispers kissing you’re lips before you both drift off to sleep.

PLEASE DO NOT RE-EDIT OR COPY THIS POST

This is like my second story I’ve made so please give an honest review. Lmk if I should make a taglist!!!

#outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x you #Rafe Cameron X sweetheart!reader #drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 6 months ago

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A little something of Simon Riley x Bookworm!Reader

A/n: Did you guys miss this format? So do I, hope you guys are doing well because I would not wish my suffering on my worst enemy, for the first time in a while, school makes me want to self exit. These days have been the busiest for me and I doubt that it will get better from here. I'm just exhausted from life but never from you guys <3

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @duck-a-doodle @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

My CoD Masterlist <3

My Simon "Ghost" Riley Playlist <3

Simon Riley who absolutely adores your reactions when you read, a little bored on a lazy day in bed with him with your reading material in hand. The way you squeal and wiggle your feet made him want to peek onto what you were reading but he didn't need to, the moment you notice him curiously trail on you when you've finished a chapter or a moment you can't help but rant about.

Simon Riley who absolutely adores the way you get passionate about romantic stories, sometimes it motivates him to get a little creative with date ideas although you insist that simple dates are just fine.

Simon Riley who loves sneaking up behind you to peek at what you're reading, to see if you hide it while all flustered or if you bolt so he could playfully chase and pin you down.

Simon Riley who actually picks up an interest in reading because of you, he loved the idea that he's able to be more connected to you, having heated sessions of ranting together, dissing on annoying characters and such.

Simon Riley who was thankful you for introducing him to audiobooks, he was usually busy with some of the repairing and some maintenance of your shared home whenever he comes home after months. It gives him time to catch up while doing something productive so you can have your book review sessions.

Simon Riley who likes it when you look for him in the house after he went to do chores while you immerse yourself in another world. The sound of his name being called over and over by you is the best to him, sometimes waiting for you to say his name a little more before responding.

Simon Riley who builds you your very own bookshelf at your third anniversary, he went through the effort of finding a wood color that he knew you'd like and crafted the intricate bookshelf with a matching ladder that had wheels at the bottom so you could slide down like belle in that scene from beauty and the beast.

Simon Riley who gifts you reading material that you told him you were dying to read, your birthdays and other special occasions, even merch of hyper fixations you have, the same ones you use to decorate the bookshelf he made.

Simon Riley who likes to experiment in the bedroom based on what you've noted and annotated scenes on the spicy romance novels you've kept. He does it in his absolute spare time, sometimes when you aren't home, he likes to see what turns you on, so you'll come home to a surprise.

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

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I know what they call you.

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao.

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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