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yuta-nakamots · 2 months ago

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Dive Into You - L.Haechan

Pairing - Boyfriend!Haechan x University!AFAB Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Smut, University!AU

Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, reader wears a bikini, slight public sex (more like just public indecency and really heavy petting), dry (wet?) humping, creampie, multiple orgasms, marriage, reader and haechan have a kid

Summary - After a whirlwind semester, Haechan sweeps you away on a surprise getaway after finals are over. Between salty kisses and soft-spoken promises, you both begin to realize that Fridays mark more than just the end of the week, they mark the beginning of something new.

Word Count - 7.5k

Author’s Note - I meant to get this out on his birthday but got caught up in life so I guess happy belated birthday to Haechan haha

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls @dinonuguaegi @tinyzen @fancypeacepersona (join my taglist!)

Written for the Resonance Beach Collab originally hosted by @loeycity. Part of the K-Films Summer Event 2025 hosted by @k-films. Also part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection.

Now playing: Dive Into You - NCT Dream, Bahama - aespa

You first met Haechan in a music theory class halfway through the semester. You were taking it for your degree, as was he, though he hadn’t managed to show up to a class thus far because of his busy idol career. On his day off, he finally attended class for the first time, slipping into the back row of the lecture hall ten minutes late, wearing sunglasses indoors and a hoodie too big for the late-spring weather. Yet no one batted an eye. That’s the thing about university, you could be a celebrity or a sleep-deprived caffeine gremlin and still get away with everything as long as you looked miserable enough.

He sat beside you, even though the rest of the row was empty. “Your notes looked better than mine,” he remarked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you even enrolled in this class?”

He grinned, teeth flashing beneath the shadow of his hood. “Technically.”

“Technically,” you repeated, unimpressed, as you angled your notebook away from him.

“Come on,” he whined, nudging your elbow with his. “The midterm is next week, I haven’t studied, and my manager thinks I’m watching video lectures at home right now. Help a guy out?”

You sighed, already sliding your notes a little closer. “If I get caught helping you cheat, you better buy me lunch.”

“Deal,” he agreed, a little too quickly. “And maybe a song.”

“A song?” You questioned.

“You’ll see.”

Your friendship with Haechan started just like that. A few shared notes, a couple late-night study sessions in the campus café when he had time off in his schedule. He hummed next to you while you worked on your laptop, occasionally changing songs halfway through the phrase just to annoy you. You quickly learned that when he wasn’t on stage, he was a menace with too many inside jokes, an alarming stash of memes, and a knack for making your cheeks hurt from laughing.

The first time you let him into your apartment, he tripped over cables hooked up to music equipment. He made it up to you by immediately assisting in layering harmonies onto the half-finished chorus of a demo track you made. “This would sound so good with a weird falsetto ghost vocal,” he commented, already recording himself singing off your cheap microphone like it was a stadium stage.

Somehow, you didn’t mind because somehow, his chaos just fit with yours. You made music together, half as a joke, half because it felt right. You teased him about his idol life, and he teased you about your messy desktop and how seriously you took your plugins. He never stopped talking, but you never wanted him to. Somewhere between 3AM laughter, breathless studio nights, and his fingers brushing yours over a keyboard, you stopped writing love songs about people who didn’t exist.

One night, when your midterm projects were due and sleep felt like a forgotten luxury, he popped by your apartment with fast food and insisted on ‘helping’ you mix your final track. The ‘help’ amounted to him curling up on a chair next to you with a can of soda and randomly hitting keys on your MIDI keyboard while proclaiming it to be ‘art’.

You swatted his hand away from your laptop for what had to be the tenth time. “You’re going to make me fail.”

“I’m inspiring you,” he countered, leaning over your shoulder to peer at your project window. “See, this part? Needs more chaos.”

“You are chaos.”

He laughed, dropping his chin to your shoulder. “I’m glad you finally noticed.”

You turned to look at him, a comeback ready, but the look on his face made the words freeze in your throat. You didn’t realize until that moment just how badly you wanted to kiss him, his lips looking so full and soft mere inches from you. Your breath caugh,t and Haechan heard, but didn’t move away.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, the usual teasing in his voice softened by something more sincere, “I’m going to think you like me.”

Your eyes flickered to his. “What if I do?”

The words hung there, suspended in the space between your breath and his. You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly the distance didn’t exist. His lips met yours in a kiss that tasted like soda and secrets you didn’t want to keep anymore. It was gentle, slow, and careful, like neither of you wanted to break whatever this was turning into.

When Haechan pulled away, his eyes searched yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his usual bravado stripped away.

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest, and your brain fighting with every reason why this shouldn’t have happened. “Haechan,” you started hesitantly. “You’re…you. And I’m just me. This isn’t right.”

He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you think I don’t know that?” You blinked. “I’ve thought about this, all the reasons it could go wrong. But then I think about how you save lecture notes for me, how you roll your eyes at me, but still tolerate me when I make a bad joke. I think about how I’ve never heard music the same since I first met you.” You looked down at your hands, the weight of reality pressing against the lightness you felt just seconds ago. “Hey.” He reached for your hand. “I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’ll show up. For you, for this, for us.”

Your eyes meet his again. There was no cockiness there, just quiet determination and something you realized had been growing behind all his jokes and late-night harmonies. It was real, terrifying, beautiful affection. You nodded slowly, lips drawing up into a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoed, eyes widening.

“But if I end up in a dating scandal, you better write me a hit breakup song.”

He laughed, his fingers lacing through yours. “Deal. But I’m aiming for a love song first.” And somehow, it felt like the beginning of one.

Your relationship didn’t erupt like the drop of a chorus, it eased in like a warm synth line, subtle but impossible to ignore. Somewhere in the haze of long nights and low battery percentages, between split headphones and shared playlists, Haechan became the rhythm you moved to without even realizing it.

One night, long past midnight, you both sat sprawled on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by tangled cables, empty ramen bowls, and the fading echo of a demo track you’d been layering harmonies into. You lay back, arms spread out, gaze unfocused on the water-stained ceiling. “I want to do this forever,” you swooned. “Not the ramen-for-dinner part, I mean the music. Producing, composing, I want it to be my life.”

Haechan was quiet for a beat, then shifted to lie next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I think about that too,” he said. “I think about what I’ll do when the spotlight fades, if I’ll still be making music, if I’ll still be me without the stage.”

You turned to look at him. In the dim blue haze of your laptop screen, he looked less like an idol and more like just a boy who loved music too much to let it go. “I think you’ll still be you,” you murmured. “Just…a little less glitter and a little more sleep.”

He laughed at that. “You think I’ll sleep? I’ll be recording your songs. That’s what my future looks like. You, writing chaotic brilliance in your studio, and me, still trying to convince you to add in a nonsensical adlib.”

“I don’t pay you enough for this,” you joke.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

A grin spread across your face. “Exactly.” That night ended like most did these days, with your head on his chest, fingers tangled, some indie R&B track humming softly in the background.

But finals week and a new comeback changed the tempo. You barely saw him after that. He was swallowed by comeback promotions–early call times, live broadcasts, and late-night rehearsals. You, in turn, were drowning in projects, caffeine, and academic despair. The apartment was filled with the evidence of the struggle, empty energy drink cans, abandoned sheet music, and forgotten takeout containers strewn across the floor.

You missed Haechan in moments that didn’t make sense, like when your headphones didn’t sit quite right, when a melody sounded a bit lonely, when your mind wrote a joke only he would laugh at. So when your last exam ended on a bright Friday afternoon and you staggered out of the lecture hall blinking like a mole, you didn’t expect to find Haechan standing just outside the door.

He was wearing sunglasses indoors again, paired with an all too large hoodie, like it was the first day you met all over. But this time, he was holding two plane tickets. “Fridays are meant to be fun,” he said, grinning like he had a secret, “so I made one just for you.”

You stared at him, eyes going wide. “What?”

“Hope you have your passport, because we’re leaving like, now. Tropics. You, me, no deadlines.”

“Haechan.” You deadpanned. “Are you kidnapping me?”

He pulled down his sunglasses just enough for you to see him wink. “Only a little. You seem like you could go for some sleep and peace, and actual food for once.”

You huffed a breath, somewhere between laughter and disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I’m you’re insane,” he corrected, curling a finger into the strap of your backpack to tug you closer. “This is me keeping my promise.” So you let him take your hand, let him lead you out of the building and into the very beginning of your own song. There’s no chorus yet, just an opening note that felt like freedom.

You were half-asleep by the time the plane took off. At some point during the flight, you woke up with Haechan’s hoodie draped over your lap and his hand curled loosely around yours, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded circles. You wanted to be annoyed, you really did. He hijacked your post-finals crash and turned it into a spontaneous getaway with little to no time for packing. Who does that? But as warm sunlight spilled through the plane window and Haechan softly hummed a tune you vaguely recognized as one of your demos, annoyance melted into something warmer.

By the time your feet hit the sand in the Bahamas, you’d accepted two things. One, you were exhausted, but you were here with Haechan. Two, you wouldn’t be getting any rest with Haechan looking at you like that.

The private villa he booked looked like it had been pulled straight from a honeymoon brochure with whitewashed walls, a hammock strung lazily between palm trees, and the sea glittering just beyond your doorstep. You barely had time to toss your bag onto the bed before Haechan grabbed your hand again, pulling you out to the beach with the urgency of someone racing daylight.

You squinted against the sun. “I can’t believe you kidnapped me.”

“You say kidnapped, I say rescued,” he replied smugly, already kicking his slides off, dragging you toward the shoreline. “You were on the verge of becoming a coffee-addicted music gremlin.”

“I think you missed the part where I already am one.”

Haechan gasped like you just confessed to a felony. “You admit it? Bold.”

You shot him a look. “You say that like you haven’t seen me crawling on the floor at 4AM trying to find a flash drive.”

He grinned. “I’ve also seen you fall asleep with a pencil in your mouth and four open Ableton projects on your screen, so yeah, it was time for an intervention.”

You barely had time to reply before a splash of water hit your shins. You gasped, stunned, looking down at your now-soaked pants. Haechan stood a few feet into the waves, a boyish and playful smile on his face as he cupped more water in his hands. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you just–” Before you could finish the sentence, he splashed you again. “Haechan!” you shrieked, stumbling backward as cold water hit your thighs.

You kicked off your shoes and chased him into the water, shrieking as the ocean soaked through your clothes. Haechan laughed wildly, arms flailing as he tried to evade you, which didn’t work out all that good for him when he tripped and nearly face planted into a wave. You pounced on him.

The two of you wrestled in the shallows, screaming and splashing like kids on summer break. At one point, he scooped you up bridal style only to dramatically dunk you, then immediately panicked when he thought you might actually be mad. You emerged like a sea monster, hair dripping and clinging to your cheeks, and tackled him right back into the water.

“Timeout!” he gasped between laughs, hands raised in surrender. “You’re actually kind of terrifying like this.”

“You deserve terrifying,” you shot back, breathless from laughing. “I’m still in my clothes, you maniac.”

He swam closer, catching your wrist under the surface. “Okay, but like, you’re also kind of hot when you’re angry.” You rolled your eyes, heart racing not just from the chase, but from the way Haechan was looking at you. His hair was plastered to his forehead, skin glistening with saltwater, and his thumb rubbed against your wrist like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Come on,” he said softly, tugging you toward the shore. “Let’s go change and swim for real. I want to see you in that bikini set I know you packed.”

You changed in the bathroom of the villa while Haechan took forever in the outdoor shower, emerging half-wet and humming something suspiciously romantic under his breath. When you finally stepped out in your bikini, adjusting the strap at your shoulder, you didn’t even get the chance to say anything.

Haechan stopped mid-hum, jaw slack. “...Okay,” he said after a beat. “I lied. You’re not terrifying, you’re going to ruin my life.”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“No, no, no,” he stepped closer, eyes never leaving you. “You’re not allowed to look like that and expect me to behave. I brought you here for relaxation. This is not relaxing.” You laughed, flushed and flattered, but his tone shifted as he got closer. His hand skimmed down your arm, deliberate now, no more teasing in his touch. His fingers slipped just under the curve of your waist. “Mine,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Everyone else can look at the ocean while I look at you.”

You swallowed hard. “You brought me to paradise, and now you’re acting like you want to keep me locked in the villa.”

Haechan leaned in, mouth brushing just below your ear. “I absolutely want to keep you locked in the villa.” Your breath hitched, and the air between you shifted, lazy heat turning into something far more dangerous. His hands didn’t leave your skin. “But I promised a beach day,” his voice dipped, sounding like velvet and fire, “so you better walk ahead of me and give me something to look at.”

You smacked his chest, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re unreal,” he countered, grin crooked, pupils blown wide. “Let’s go swimming before I forget how to be decent in public.”

You hadn’t even made it ten steps outside before Haechan was at your side again, fingers laced with yours, palms tight against each other like he couldn’t stand even that much distance. The sand was warm underfoot, powder-soft between your toes, the ocean glittering like a postcard dream just a few yards away.

The water was perfect. Warm, clear, and so inviting, it almost made you forget the way Haechan’s eyes had darkened the second he saw you step out from the bathroom. He followed you into the ocean like a man possessed, hands already reaching before the waves even reached your hips. You squealed when he caught your waist from behind, spinning you in the water with a triumphant laugh.

“Don’t act surprised,” his lips brushing your exposed shoulder. “You came out here looking like that and expect me to behave? Please.” You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but your pulse was a dead giveaway.

His hands were everywhere, drifting down your spine, splaying wide over your stomach, teasingly tugging at the strap on your shoulder like he was two seconds away from snapping it. When you waded deeper, Haechan followed like a shadow, grabbing your hips under the surface and pulling you flush against him, salt-slick skin on skin. You twisted in his arms, giggling, trying to push him away, but he only groaned low in your ear and held you tighter. “You think I’m playing,” he muttered, fingers trailing under the water, slipping between the thin stretch of your bikini top. You gasped as he cupped one breast, his thumb circling with infuriating slowness, masked by the motion of the waves.

“Haechan—” you whispered, scandalized and breathless.

He just smirked. “No one can see us. We’re underwater.” You weren’t sure if that was true or if he just didn’t care. Probably both. He kissed you then, salt and heat and something greedy in the way his tongue brushed yours. The kind of kiss that melted your knees even in the water, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and aching and already wishing you were somewhere more private.

His hands didn’t behave. One stayed low on your waist, the other sliding beneath the fabric again, bolder this time, palm warm and rough where it wasn’t supposed to be. He kissed you harder when you gasped again, like he wanted to devour every sound.

“Don’t you dare,” you scolded when he started to push a little further, slightly nudging the strap of your top to the edge of your shoulder.

“Don’t I dare what?” he asked, all innocence and sin. “Touch my girlfriend?” You splashed him in the face. He laughed, full-bodied and beautiful, but even then he didn’t let go. His arms circled your waist, drawing you against his chest like he couldn’t live without his skin on yours. “I love this swimsuit,” his lips moving against your cheek. “I love how it looks on you. I also love that I’m the one who gets to take it off later.”

You swatted at him again, face burning, but he caught your wrist and kissed your knuckles, then your inner wrist, then the inside of your elbow, making his way back up your arm like a man worshipping something divine. You hated how easily he made you fold.

Eventually, the two of you migrated back to shore, half-drunk on heat and horniness. The sun dipped low on the horizon, turning the sky into a watercolor gold and flame. You sank into the warm sand belly down, his thigh pressed against yours as he lay on his back, your fingers tangled together with his. You propped yourself up on your elbows, drawing shapes in the sand with your free hand.

“Mmm,” Haechan hummed, his eyes following your finger in the sand. “This is almost enough to distract me from the fact that I can see the curve of your ass through that bikini.”

You snorted and looked away from him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in pain, actually,” he said, reaching over and placing a palm on the back of your thigh, fingers sliding upward. “Real suffering is happening right now.”

“You’re the one who dragged me here. This is your fault.”

“And yet,” his eyes traced over your body like he was memorizing every sun-kissed inch, “I would do it again. A hundred times. Just to watch the way you move with barely anything on.” Your heart stuttered. Haechan pulled back to meet your gaze. “We should head back,” his voice rougher now, molten and thick. “Or else I will fuck you right here, right now.” You could tell he meant it.

There was nothing joking in his eyes now, only heat and hunger, tethered just barely by your hand in his. You stood slowly, tugging him up by the wrist. “Then let’s go,” you say confidently. “Before you really lose your mind.”

Haechan groaned like you’d just given him the best present of his life. “Race you to the villa,” he prompted, already grabbing your hand. But you didn’t run. You walked slowly, skin still tingling, Haechan’s hand never leaving yours, practically pulling you as the sky burned orange above.

You reached the edge of the villa’s patio just as the last sliver of sun kissed the horizon, casting everything in warm honey and soft firelight. Haechan tugged you toward the outdoor shower, barely glancing over his shoulder as he flicked the water on. “Get in,” his voice low and coaxing. “You’re all sandy.”

You looked him up and down. “So are you.”

“Guess we’ll just have to help each other out,” he said, eyes gleaming.

The water was lukewarm, cascading in soft rivulets over your sun-warmed skin. Haechan stepped in behind you, crowding your space like he had no concept of personal space, his hands sliding up your waist, over your stomach, until resting under the swell of your breasts. You shivered when his fingers slipped beneath your bikini again, cupping one breast with no hesitation, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked under his touch.

“Haechan,” you warned, breath catching.

“I know,” he practically growled, pressing closer, hips grinding slowly against your ass. “We’re technically at the villa…” His hips rolled, unhurried yet firm. You felt him, thick and hard beneath the wet cling of his swim trunks, grinding into you like he was seconds away from losing his sanity.

You gasped as he moved your bikini top aside completely, exposing your breasts to the air and the spray of the water. “Haechan–”

“No one’s out here,” he whined, mouth finding your shoulder, biting it lightly. “We’re still on our villa property.”

“There’s only trees, no fence,” you hissed. “Anyone could walk by–”

“Let them,” he muttered, grinding harder, one hand sliding down to palm at the softness of your thighs. “Let them see how pretty you are when you let me touch you.” You moaned at his words, reaching behind you to grab at him, palm sliding down his abdomen, fingers slipping beneath the band of his trunks.

He groaned through his teeth, thrusting forward involuntarily. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed. “I want you so bad I’m gonna die.”

“We can’t,” you insist, even as you arch into his hold on your breasts from how good his hands felt. “We can’t do it out here.”

“Why not?” he begged, kissing up your spine. “We’re dripping wet, you’re practically naked, I’m hard, just let me–”

“No,” your voice firm while grabbing one of the towels hanging by the knobs of the shower and moving your top back into place. “Inside. Now.” You barely managed to toss it around yourself before his hands found your waist again. You glared at him, and he growled in frustration, eyes dark and glassy, but the second you turned toward the villa, he was grabbing a towel and he was on you again, barely letting either of you dry off before he was hauling you through the door.

The door had barely clicked shut behind both of you when Haechan was already reaching for your towel, mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starved for days. But you pulled back before he could drag it off you entirely, palm firm against his chest.

“Hold on,” you command, eyeing the growing puddle surrounding the two of you. “You’re soaking wet. We’re dripping all over the floor.”

“I’ll clean it up later,” he muttered, stepping closer to kiss along your neck, but you pushed at him again.

“No, you’ll slip and die before we even make it to the bed,” you say playfully with a smirk, grabbing the towel he’d brought in with him. “Stand still.”

His brows furrowed, his hair wet and wild over his forehead. “Wait…what?”

You only smiled and tossed the towel over his head. “I said, stand still.”

Haechan stood frozen as you began to dry him off, starting at his head, rubbing the towel gently over his hair. Your fingers massaged his scalp as you worked, slow and soothing, watching his eyes flutter closed under your touch. Then you moved to his neck, the hollow of his throat, the slick curve of his shoulders. “You’re really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he asked, unamused.

“Uh-huh,” you respond, dragging the towel down his chest, deliberately slow, the plush fabric skimming over his nipples. He twitched slightly under your touch.

You made a show of dragging the towel over every inch of him, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips, the waistband of his swim trunks. Then you dropped the towel lower, pressing your palm over his length through the fabric of the towel.

Haechan cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. “Baby–”

You rubbed slowly, palm flat, teasing pressure, feeling how hard he already was. His hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them, torn between grabbing you and obeying. “I thought you wanted to be dry,” you cooed, glancing up at him through your lashes.

“I do,” he groaned. “I do. But, fuck, you’re killing me.”

You squeezed his length softly, just enough to make him choke on air. “Is that better?”

He threw his head back, jaw clenched. “You’re evil. I’m gonna die. Actually die.”

You leaned in, kissing a droplet of water from his collarbone, your hand still moving against him through the towel. “Maybe. But at least you’ll die warm and dry.”

He whimpered, actually whimpered, hips rolling into your hand. “Please,” he begged, desperate now. “Let me touch you, let me taste you, anything. I need you.”

You let the towel slip from your grasp, the object of Haechan’s agony falling to the floor. “Then take me to bed.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In a blur of motion, he had you pressed against the bed, your towel forgotten. You barely caught your breath before he was on you again, hot, hungry, and entirely yours.

Haechan’s hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his hips began to grind with a desperate, jagged rhythm. You gasped at the friction, the slick heat of him pressing through the damp fabric of your bikini bottoms. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath ragged as he nuzzled your neck. “You feel so good,” he murmured, voice rough and needy. His movements grew more frantic, less controlled, as if holding himself back was a losing battle.

Your hands roamed his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as he ground harder, hips rocking against you in a slow, scorching tease. You could feel the pressure building in him, thick, pulsing, utterly relentless. Haechan’s grinding slowed just enough for you to feel every inch of him pressed through the thin fabric, teasing and maddeningly close. His breath was ragged in your ear, words lost to the haze of want and heat. Your hands slid under the waistband of his damp shorts, fingers curling around the fabric as you tugged gently but firmly. Haechan froze for a second, chest rising a falling fast, then gave a breathy laugh.

“Can’t wait any longer, huh?” you teased, dragging the shorts down over his hips and thigh before he kicked them off.

He was fully naked above you now, his skin gleaming under the fading light of sunset, every muscle taut and trembling with need. His hardness pressed sharply against your stomach through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms, twitching with each shallow breath. Haechan’s eyes were dark, glazed with want, and he didn’t hesitate to lean forward, mouth finding your collarbone as his hands roamed over your skin. His hips began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, pressing with a teasing persistence over you, every brush of skin against skin setting fire to your nerves.

Haechan’s hands slid up your sides, urgent but reverent, until they cupped your breasts over your bikini. His thumbs circled your peaked nipples through the damp fabric, coaxing a gasp from your lips. “So soft,” he muttered while kneading your breasts, voice wrecked like he was in a dream he couldn’t quite believe. “So perfect, all for me.”

You arched into his hands, breath catching, and he took that as permission to push the fabric aside once more. Your nipples were pebbled in the open air, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet, tongue swirling, lips sucking, his teeth lightly scraping. His hips kept moving, grinding against your clit through the soaked barrier between you, the pressure maddeningly precise. “Haechan,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body thrumming with tension.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered between kisses to your chest, hips never stopping. “Gotta make you feel good. I need to–fuck, baby–need to feel you fall apart.”

Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the drag of his cock against your clit, even through the layer of clothing. His cock twitched, leaking pre-cum that smeared slick against your skin and mixed with your own arousal, making the friction even worse. It was so good it was almost cruel. He rutted harder now, sweat and water making his glide even easier, messy and hot. “Oh my god,” Haechan groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck…fuck, I’m–”

You felt it before you saw it, his cock jerking between your bodies as he came hard, hot ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, dripping down your sides as his thrusts slowed, then faltered. He collapsed forward, breathless laughter bubbling against your chest.

“Are you proud of yourself?” he rasped, barely able to lift his head, still panting. “You wrecked me.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “A little.” But then you felt it, his cock, still hard, twitching again as he looked down at the mess he made. Haechan moaned low in his throat, eyes glassy as he licked a stripe of cum from your stomach, lips brushing your skin in an obscene way.

When he reached your navel, he looked up to you with something dark and hungry. “Inside this time,” he whispered. You didn’t say a word, you just nodded.

He surged up to kiss you, slow and deep, tongue sweeping into your mouth as he pressed his length against you again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more deliberate, and you could taste remnants of his cum, tangy but slightly salty as it mixed with the lingering seawater on your skin. You reached between your bodies, tugging your bikini bottom to the side. He groaned as his cock slid through your slick folds, the head catching just below your clit before dragging down again. He did it twice, three times, coating himself in your arousal. Each pass made your thighs shake.

When he finally pressed in slow and steady, stretching you open, you gasped, grabbing his biceps. Haechan held your gaze, even as a tremor ran through his whole body. “You feel unreal,” he whispered. The thrusts were slow and deep at first, hips rolling, not just to chase pleasure, but to memorize how you felt around him. Every drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping, thighs locked around his waist.

Earlier, he had been desperate to lose himself in you. Now, he was desperate to stay in this moment. His forehead pressed to yours. “Let me see you cum,” he pleaded, one hand driving down to circle your clit, the pad of his finger working you in slow, steady circles while his cock filled you over and over.

The pressure built fast, your body was already primed from how he had bullied your clit with his cock earlier, the way he had made you ache from the rutting of his hips before he even got inside you. You cried out, clenching around him, your orgasm snapping sharp and intense as you clenched around his cock.

Haechan moaned as you pulsed around him, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight, so good.”

You felt him tremble above you, like it took every ounce of willpower not to cum. His cock twitched inside you, but he held still, panting against your lips, eyes wide and shining. “Don’t move,” he said, more of a command to himself than to you. “I’m not done.”

Before you could reply, he pulled out slowly, his cock dragging slick and heavy against your walls. You whimpered at the loss, but he was already shifting, already flipping you onto your stomach, handling you like something precious but breakable. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, and you barely caught your breath before you felt his hands spreading you apart, his cock sliding between your soaked folds, grinding up against your entrance and ass, teasing and filthy.

“Shit,” he breathed, rutting forward, dragging the head of his cock through your folds before rocking it between the cheeks of your ass. “You’re so wet…you want it like this, huh?” His voice cracked on a moan as he rocked forward again, not quite slipping in, but close enough to make you ache.

“Please, Haechan,” you whined, writhing back into him, greedy for the weight of him inside you. “Put it back in. I need you.” That was all it took. He pressed into you again, entering you all too easily, your body welcoming him soft and hot and soaked with everything he’d pulled from you. His cock sank in deep, and he groaned loud against your ear, collapsing over you like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

“Fuck,” he cried, rutting shallowly, hips flush to your ass. “Fuck, you feel too good. I can’t–I can’t stop.” His arms slid beneath you, wrapping tightly around your chest. One hand curled over your breast, squeezing as he buried his face in the curve when your shoulder met your neck, teeth scraping gently at the skin there. The other traveled down, urgent and clumsy, until his fingers found your clit again. He rubbed you with no tempo, no restraint, just pure desperation. “Wanna feel you cum with me,” his voice was shaking. “Wanna feel you clench around me, while I’m inside, while I fill you up.”

The angle had him pushing in deeper, the stretch unbearable and perfect, your entire body wound up beneath his. You could feel it coming again, the pressure sharp and devastating, your moans helpless as he rutted harder against you, gasping every time you clenched around him. Then it hit, sudden and overwhelming, tearing through you as you sobbed his name into the sheets. Your walls fluttered around him, tight and wet and trembling.

Haechan cursed, cock throbbing deep inside you as he finally let go. He came with a broken cry, hips stuttering against your ass as he pressed as deep as he possibly could, like he never wanted to leave your body again. His cum spilled inside you, warm and thick, and he held you tight, still moving in tiny thrusts, dragging it out as long as he could. Afterward, he didn’t move, just breathed against your back, arms still wrapped around your chest like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t speak for a long time. Just the two of you, tangled together in the afterglow, his breath fanning hot against your shoulder, your heartbeat slowly syncing back to something steady. His arms stayed wrapped around you, even as his cock softened inside you and your bodies finally relaxed into the sheets. You could feel the sweat cooling on your skin, the dampness between your thighs, the faint ache in your hips, and still, you didn’t want to move.

Eventually, Haechan shifted just enough to slip out of you, making you whimper at the emptiness, but he hushed you with a kiss to your shoulder blade. He pulled away only long enough to grab the towel off the edge of the bed and gently cleaned between your thighs, mumbling quiet apologies when you flinched at the sensitivity. Then, he crawled right back into bed, curling himself around you like he belonged there.

Your legs tangled instinctively. His hand found your waist under the sheet, warm and steady, and he tugged you closer until your back was snug to his chest, your head nestled under his chin. “You good?” he asked softly, voice scratchy and slow.

You nodded, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. You?”

He hummed in response, then kissed the top of your head. His thumb rubbed idle circles into your hip bone. For a while, the only sound was the lull of waves outside, still crashing softly in the dark, echoing the pulse of your bodies slowly calming down. Then, so quiet you almost missed it, he said, “I want every Friday like this.” Your heart stuttered in your chest. “This one…” He hesitated, tightening his arms around you, like he needed to hold the thought together with his hands. “This one feels like the start of something.”

Your breath caught. You twisted just enough to look at him over your shoulder. His face was half-lit by the moonlight cutting across the room, but you could see the sincerity there. His eyes were warm and tender, never leaving yours. You reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “It does,” you whispered. “It really does.”

He smiled, slow and soft, and leaned in to kiss you again, gentle, no heat this time, just truth. Neither of you said anything else. You didn’t need to. Not when you were already wrapped up in what was starting, and not when Friday had never felt this good.

The next morning, the light changed everything. It slipped in slowly through gauzy curtains, bathing the villa in soft gold. The ocean beyond the villa was calm now, like it had worn itself out from singing you to sleep. The salt-heavy breeze drifted in and made the white linen curtains sway, lazy and warm.

You were still asleep when Haechan stirred. He didn’t move much, just shifted enough to lean up on one elbow, the sheet barely clinging to his hips. His gaze drifted to you, still curled beneath the covers, one hand tucked under your cheek, lips slightly parted. Your hair spilled across the pillow like something he could get lost in, and maybe he already had.

He reached out, touched your shoulder gently, tracing the faintest circles with his fingertip. Not enough to wake you, just enough to feel the shape of you, real and here. You made a sleepy noise in your throat, but didn’t open your eyes. He smiled to himself. “What would life look like with you?” he pondered quietly, not really expecting an answer, just letting the thought live in the morning light. His finger trailed down your spine, leisurely. “Would we have a house?” he mused, voice low and thoughtful. “Backyard? One of those little ones who tugs at your shirt after preschool and asks for snacks and cartoons?” He paused, the smile spreading wider, eyes fond. “A kid who likes Fridays.”

You shifted under the sheets, breath catching on a sleepy laugh. Your voice came muffled against the pillow. “We’ll find out,” you murmured, still half-asleep. “One Friday at a time.”

His heart pulled tight. God, he wanted that. Not just the house, not just the child, but this–this exact moment, you still drowsy in his bed, the sound of your voice soft from sleep, your warmth next to him, as natural as breathing. He leaned down and kissed the bar curve of your shoulder, lingering there like a promise. “I’d give you every one,” he whispered. “Every Friday I’ve got.”

When you finally opened your eyes and turned to look at him, sleepy and smiling, it felt like maybe you believed him. Because this one, this Friday, felt like the start of everything.

Years later, Fridays still hold meaning in your house. They always have, and probably always will. You hear them before you see them, your daughter’s giggles echoing down the hallway, pure and breathless, followed by the familiar thud of Haechan’s socked feet on the hardwood floor.

He’s carrying her on his hip, her backpack slung over his other shoulder, her tiny hand clinging to the collar of his shirt. She’s still wearing the glittery pink hair clip she insisted on this morning, slightly askew now from whatever adventure she had at preschool. Her cheeks are flushed from the walk home, smiling brightly as she talks excitedly about something that happened on the playground.

“She made a painting today,” Haechan calls out as he steps into the living room, his voice loud and proud. “It’s us. All three of us. And the sun has hearts in it because she said that’s what Friday feels like.”

You set your laptop aside, rising from the couch just as your daughter wriggles in your arms, reaching for you. “Mommy!” she squeals, arms flung wide as Haechan lowers her carefully into your embrace.

“She missed you,” Haechan murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple before dropping her backpack by the door. “And she may or may not have convinced me to stop for strawberry milk.”

Your daughter pulls back just enough to show you her pink-stained lips and a guilty smile, causing you to laugh. “I see that.”

Later, after dinner and bath time and a chaotic attempt at brushing her teeth, the house quiets again. The dishes are done, the toys are tucked away, and the soft glow of your living room lap spills across the floor as Haechan settles beside you on the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, content. There’s something in the stillness that feels earned.

You glance at him, your body relaxing instinctively in his presence. Even now, with fewer stages and more studio days, he’s still unmistakably him. His voice still sells out records, his face still flashes in LED lights on billboards from time to time. Fans still recognize him in grocery stores, still send letters with inked hearts in the margins. But here, like this, barefoot with his daughter’s preschool painting in his lap, he’s just Haechan. Yours.

And somehow, you’re not just the girl who loves music anymore, you’re in it. You belong to the music world just as much as he does, not as a spectator, but as a contributor. Your name rolls across credits on streaming platforms, buried between synth programmers and vocal producers. Your beats pulse through earbuds across continents, your songs make it into playlists people fall in love to. You’d once dreamed of this life from behind classroom desks and secondhand headphones, back when it felt impossibly far away. Now, it’s home.

Haechan turns to you, brushing his hand gently across your knee like he can read your thoughts. “Didn’t think I’d end up with the label’s most in-demand producer,” he says, voice soft with admiration. “Kind of a dream for me.”

You smile, a little shy even after all these years. “Didn’t think I’d end up working for my husband.”

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Technically, I work for you. Have you seen the way everyone treats you in the studio now?” You laugh, shaking your head as he shifts to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’m serious,” he adds. “You walk in and it’s like ‘oh my god, it’s her.’ You earned that. Every bit of it.” You let the words settle in your chest, warm and solid. A breeze moves through the curtains, the night quiet and full.

You’re searching for a charger in the drawer of the side table next to the couch when your fingers graze against paper, thin, crips, and familiar. You pull it out and smile as the memories rush forward. Plane tickets, the villa, that first real Friday.

Haechan sees what you’re holding, and his expression shifts into something fond. “You kept those?”

“Of course I did,” you tell him, brushing your thumb over the dates.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes tracing the curve of the old boarding pass in your hand. “Best Friday of my life.”

You glance over at him, then nod toward the hallway where your daughter’s bedroom door is cracked open, the glow of her night light spilling out. “Until the next one,” you murmur.

That night, the three of you end up in the same bed. It wasn’t planned, just one of those nights where the world outside felt far away. Your daughter lay between you, her fingers curled around the edge of your shirt, breathing steadily and even. Haechan reaches for your hand in the dark and squeezes it when he finds it. You squeeze back. And you know, just as you did back on that villa in the morning light, that this is the start of everything, all over again.

Fridays are still yours. They always will be.

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