doppuing

[doppuing]

untitled 05 || s.jh

his eyes were starving. his voice knew your name before i spoke it. when he bit you, it wasn’t hunger. it was memory. he swore he buried you a century ago.

genre: vampire diaries style angst paranormal romance pairing: vampire!johnny x fem!reader warnings: blood drinking (sensual not violent), supernatural elements, obsession, vampire instincts, reader has unknown ties to the past.

lol heres a small fic about johnny, it came to me while i was watching the vampire diaries.

you weren’t supposed to be at the bar that night.

you were filling in for a friend, already half-tired, already halfway to leaving - until you locked eyes with him.

tall. still. unnervingly handsome. and watching you like he knew you.

something about him felt ancient. wrong. too composed for a place like this. and yet, you couldn’t look away.

he didn’t approach you until you stepped outside for air.

“you shouldn’t be alone out here,” he said, voice low, smooth like velvet over a blade.

you turned slowly. he was leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, moonlight painting him in silver.

“do i know you?” you asked.

“not yet.”

but the way he said it - like he’d already memorized you in another life, made your stomach twist.

the second time you saw him, it was raining.

he offered you an umbrella. didn’t say how he found you.

you walked side by side in silence, water pooling at your feet, his arm brushing yours.

“what’s your name?” you asked.

he paused before giving it - like it wasn’t the first name he’d ever gone by.

“johnny.”

you didn’t press.

not yet.

he showed up everywhere after that.

always calm. always composed. never pushing.

but his eyes - god, his eyes - they lingered.

like he was starving.

like you were a secret he was dying to taste.

and every time he looked at you, something in your chest ached. like you knew him. like you’d missed him.

the night it happened, you followed him.

you weren’t sure why. just that something pulled you - a string around your ribs, tugging you toward him.

he didn’t seem surprised to find you in the forest clearing.

his jacket was off. shirt sleeves rolled. hair wet with mist.

he turned slowly. “you shouldn’t be here.”

you crossed your arms. “you always say that.”

“because it’s true.”

“then stop showing up in my life like fate.”

he looked down.

when he raised his eyes again, they weren’t brown.

they were black. veined. monstrous.

and still heartbreakingly beautiful.

you didn’t move.

he cursed under his breath. turned away.

“i’ve been trying to stay away,” he said. “but you’re - god...you're just like her.”

“like who?”

he laughed, bitter. “you don’t remember.”

“remember what?”

he looked at you - jaw clenched, breath shallow.

“i loved you,” he said. “a hundred and sixty years ago.”

the wind stilled.

“you died in my arms,” he whispered. “and now you’re here. again. human. untouched. and i can’t-” his voice cracked.

“i can’t ruin you twice.”

he stepped closer.

his hand hovered over your cheek.

“you feel it, don’t you?” he whispered. “the pull?”

you nodded. barely.

“i’ve tried every century to forget you. and every time, you find me.”

you swallowed hard. “what happens now?”

his eyes dropped to your neck.

he didn’t answer.

you tilted your head.

an offering. a dare.

“bite me,” you said.

his whole body tensed.

“don’t tempt me.”

“why not?”

he growled. a low, broken sound from his chest.

“because if i do…” he stepped into your space, breath brushing your skin. “there’s no going back. not for you. not for me.”

“maybe i don’t want to go back.”

“you don’t know what you’re saying.”

you reached for him. cupped his face. his skin was cold. but his eyes burned.

“johnny,” you whispered, “then show me.”

his fangs dropped.

and in a blur, his lips were at your throat.

it didn’t hurt.

it felt like falling into something ancient and burning and yours.

he held you like glass, but his breath stuttered against your skin like he was breaking.

your fingers gripped his shirt. you didn’t want him to stop.

and when he pulled away, blood on his lips, he looked alive.

terrified. in awe. completely wrecked.

“you taste the same,” he said, voice hoarse.

you furrowed your eyebrow.

“what does that mean?”

he swallowed hard. “you’re not just anyone. you never were. you’re mine.”

[doppuing]

untitled 04 : l.ty

you were a backup dancer for sm ent, but lee taeyong always had an eye on you, on stage.. and off.

pairing: idol!taeyong x afab!reader

genre: slow burn, pre-smut

warning: tension, performance angst, jealousy, suggestive content, energy, backstage moment, slow burn, possessive behavior, implied smut, eye contact that lasts too long, choreography that's basically foreplay, minor hand-grabbing violence (affectionate),

lmao i got this idea while listening to call d

you didn’t expect to be chosen.

you’d submitted the application, just to say you did. taeyong’s team had been looking for a solo partner — someone with chemistry, control, and enough presence to hold their own in his performance without overshadowing it.

you were talented, sure. but not famous. not known.

so when your name came through, your hands actually shook.

"lee taeyong personally selected you." the message repeated in your mind for hours.

rehearsals started three days later.

he was quiet.

not cold. but observant.

taeyong didn’t waste time with pleasantries. he watched you move, noted where your timing locked into his, and stepped in without hesitation when something didn’t flow.

"you’re late on the turn," he’d say. or, "you’re not breathing with me."

but it never felt like criticism, just truth. the kind of truth that came from someone who saw everything.

it rattled you at first - the intensity. the way his hand would brush against your waist to adjust your position and linger just long enough to make your spine light up.

his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t looking. and when you were looking? he didn’t look away.

the choreography was close. chest-to-chest. breath-to-breath. his hand at your throat, yours on his chest. the tension was written into the routine.

but what made it unbearable was the way it started to feel real.

you started dreaming about it.

not the dance, but him.

how he moved. how he touched you. how he said your name, low and focused, when you nailed a transition or snapped into position on beat.

"good," he’d murmur.

god. that voice.

two nights before the performance

he stayed after rehearsal.

you thought he’d left - the room was quiet, lights dimmed, and you were still working the solo section alone.

he watched from the doorway for a full minute before speaking.

"you dance like you’re hiding something."

you turned, startled. "i, what?"

his gaze stayed locked on you. "you hold back. especially when you’re close to me."

you opened your mouth, then closed it again.

he stepped closer. slow. careful. but there was heat under every step.

"you think i don’t feel it?" he said, softer now. “you think i’m not holding back too?”

you didn’t speak. couldn’t.

his hand brushed your shoulder as he passed you. "don’t hide on stage."

then he was gone.

you didn’t sleep that night.

the day of inkigayo, the stage felt too small.

makeup, mics, crew moving in fast rhythm. but none of it felt real. not until you stood beside him in the dark, seconds before the lights rose.

he didn’t speak.

he didn’t need to.

his hand found yours, briefly. a squeeze. grounding. his eyes met yours like a silent promise.

when the music hit, you both moved like you shared a heartbeat.

the routine blurred - heat, sweat, touch, pull - your bodies tangled in the spotlight like gravity had finally snapped. the part where he caught your jaw, leaned in close like he might kiss you?

you felt his breath against your mouth. he stayed there a beat too long.

it wasn’t acting.

when it ended, the crowd roared.

but he only looked at you.

backstage was chaos.

staff yelling, makeup artists swarming, cameras everywhere, but taeyong didn’t disappear like he usually did.

he found you. fast.

pulled you by the wrist, barely saying a word. his grip wasn’t rough - just firm. urgent.

you followed, heart hammering.

he pushed open a back hallway door. the second it clicked shut behind you, he let go.

you turned.

he was looking at you like he didn’t recognize himself anymore.

“you killed it out there,” you said, trying to breathe.

he shook his head once. like he couldn’t listen to anything but his own thoughts.

“you’re not leaving tonight.”

the air shifted.

“taeyong…”

his name came out small. unsure.

his eyes dropped to your mouth.

“do you feel it too, or am i just-”

you didn’t let him finish.

your hand reached for his, pulled him closer. his fingers curled into your waist like they belonged there. he didn’t kiss you yet, just hovered. forehead to yours.

you could feel him tremble.

“i’ve wanted this for weeks,” he admitted, voice rough. “you don’t know what it did to me, watching you dance like that, knowing i couldn’t touch you the way i wanted to.”

“you can now,” you whispered.

to be continued...?

[doppuing]

masterlist <3

nct untitled series

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

more coming soon!

[doppuing]

untitled 03 || n.yt

you were glad yuta's dreams had finally become true - a successful model, but the more he comes home late, the more you feel alone.

pairing: model!yuta x anygender!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: model au, argument, cursing/swearing, pet names

the door slammed harder than usual.

you didn’t even look up from the couch. just kept scrolling, pretending not to care, even though your stomach had been in knots for hours. he was late. again.

"i’m home," yuta said, flatly.

you still didn’t look at him.

"cool."

he tossed his keys on the counter. "seriously? that’s the welcome i get?"

you let out a dry laugh. "you want a parade or something?"

he stared. "what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

you stood up slowly, heart racing. "it means i’m tired, yuta. tired of waiting around for you to show up, say three words to me, then crash or leave again without even asking how i’ve been."

"fuck, y/n" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "we've been through this. my schedule’s packed. it’s not like i’m out drinking and fucking around."

"don't you get it?" you shot back. "i don’t care if you’re busy. i just want you to acknowledge me at least. "

he scoffed. "jesus. it’s always something with you lately."

your chest tightened. "you think i want to fight with you? i just want to feel loved. the way you loved me in the beginning. i want to matter to you."

"don’t pull that shit," he said, voice rising. "you do matter. but you don’t get how fucking exhausted i am. i’m trying to make something of myself, and you think i’m just ignoring you on purpose?"

"you don’t even listen when i talk anymore," you said, quieter now, but shakier. "you haven’t asked how i’m doing in days. you come home, say ‘hey babe’, maybe kiss my forehead if i’m lucky, then disappear again."

"i didn’t realize i needed to schedule my affection with you now," he bit out.

you flinched. that one stung.

"fuck you," you muttered, turning away.

he stepped forward, voice still angry but cracking at the edges. "no, don’t walk away. you don’t get to guilt trip me and then bail. i’m trying, alright? i am. but i’m not a goddamn mind reader."

you spun around. "and i’m not a fucking robot, yuta! i can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t hurt. like you don’t hurt me."

silence. heavy. real.

his jaw tensed. then, softer, almost ashamed "…i didn’t know i was doing that."

you looked at him. really looked. his eyes were tired. he looked like he hadn’t breathed properly in days.

"you used to ask me about my dumb little days," you said. "you used to kiss me like you missed me. now it’s just... silence and cold coffee."

yuta let out a shaky exhale. walked over. his voice dropped.

"i don’t know how to balance it all. i’m scared if i slow down, everything falls apart." he looked at you. "but you’re right. i’ve been a dick."

you didn’t say anything, but your eyes stung.

"baby," he whispered, stepping closer. "i'm so fucking sorry. i've been neglecting you without me noticing. everything will change, i promise my love."

you bit your lip, "i miss you. the version of you that made me feel like home."

he pressed his forehead to yours, breath warm and shaky. "i’m still that version. i’ve just been... fucking blind. but i’m here now. and i swear i’ll start showing up the way you need me to."

"you better," you whispered. "i’m serious."

"i know." he brushed his thumb under your eye. "no more bullshit. i’m gonna fix this."

you leaned into him, finally letting your walls down just a little.

he kissed your temple, - not rushed, not distracted. just soft and real.

"still love me?" he asked.

"yeah," you murmured. "but you’re still cooking tomorrow."

he laughed. "fuck, i knew that was coming."

you smirked into his chest. "damn right."

[doppuing]

welcome to doppuing! im doyoung & jaehyun biased but ot25!

i mainly write about nct & skz but i can do request for any idol/group!

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

request are: open!

latest: untitled 05 || s.jh

you can find my masterlist here!

i hope you enjoy :p

[doppuing]

nct untitled series

untitled 01 || j.jh

untitled 02 || k.dy

untitled 03 || n.yt

untitled 04 || l.ty

untitled 05 || s.jh

[doppuing]

untitled: 02 || k.dy

loving kim doyoung was never soft. it was blood on silk, kisses with teeth, and a hand around your throat that somehow felt safer than love ever did. and when you finally tried to leave, that’s when you learned — he doesn’t let go of what’s his. ever.

pairing: mafiaboss!doyoung x fem!reader

genre: angst

warnings: obsession, possessive behavior, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, implied violence, and nsfw content (18+). this story is a work of fiction and does not glorify or promote abusive relationships.

you never should’ve fallen for a man like him.

not kim doyoung.

not the man who spoke in commands and silence, whose hands were as soft as his threats were sharp. he never needed to raise his voice. his power was in the stillness. in the way people stopped breathing when he walked into a room.

and you — stupid, reckless, naive. you let yourself be touched by fire thinking you wouldn’t burn.

but here you are. burned. bleeding. still crawling back for more.

the first time you met him, his hand was stained with someone else’s blood.

you didn’t know who the man was. didn’t ask. doyoung didn’t offer the name, just wiped his fingers on a silk handkerchief and looked at you like you were next.

“why are you shaking?” he asked, eyes like ice behind glass.

“i’m not,” you lied.

his lips curved. not a smile, but something colder.

“you will.”

--------

he never called it what it was.

he didn’t say you were his. he didn’t say you were anything.

but he never let anyone else near you.

not at the parties. not at the clubs. not even at the compound.

you didn’t wear a collar, but you felt it. invisible. suffocating.

and the worst part?

you liked it.

--------

“don’t leave the apartment,” he said one night, his voice low, dangerous. “i have business.”

you hated how it made your heart race — the way he said business like it meant bullets and broken ribs.

“what kind of business?”

he looked at you like you were a pet that had bitten him. “the kind that doesn’t concern you.”

you crossed your arms. “i’m not your prisoner.”

his smile was slow. sharp. “aren’t you?”

---------

you left anyway.

just for a few hours.

just long enough to breathe.

and when you came back… he was waiting.

alone. sitting in the dark. one leg crossed, fingers steepled. no guards. no yelling.

just that terrifying stillness.

“you didn’t answer your phone,” he said softly.

you froze. “i was just out for a walk—”

“with who?”

“no one”

he stood. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not”

he was in front of you in a second, hand curled around your jaw.

not hard.

not yet.

“don’t insult me,” he said, voice so quiet it made you feel like screaming. “i smell him on you.”

your breath hitched. not from fear.

from the heat pooling in your stomach.

“you’re insane,” you whispered.

his eyes dropped to your lips.

“you make me that way.”

and then he kissed you — hard, violent, desperate. like he was punishing you with his mouth. and you let him.

because you were just as fucked up as he was.

because no one ever touched you like that. not like you were theirs.

and that’s when you knew:

you’d never escape him.

not really.

not even if you ran.

[doppuing]

untitled: 01 || j.jh

you did everything for jaehyun, loved him endlessly, and it still wasn't enough.

pairing: boyfriend!jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: angst (no happy ending)

warnings: cheating and swearing

the second you walk through the door, you know.

his back is turned, phone still in his hand, the apartment cold like it knew this was coming. and suddenly you can’t breathe — because the ache in your chest finally has a name.

micaela.

you don’t even try to hold back. “how long has it been?”

jaehyun doesn’t turn around. he doesn’t need to.

he chooses to ignore you.

you stand in front of him, jittery and fueled with anger.

he looks up at you, sucking his teeth “what do you want me to say?”

"how long have you been fucking micaela"

he turns his head to the right, facing the wall full of pictures with memories you both have made over the past three years

your voice is already breaking. “the truth. just once, jaehyun. i want the fucking truth.”

he finally turns. his face is blank. practiced. like this is a script he's already memorized.

“a couple months.”

you swallow the lump in your throat so hard it burns. “were you ever going to tell me?”

“no.”

you flinch. “why?”

he looks at you like you’re exhausting him. “because you would’ve made it a whole thing. you always do.”

“a thing?” your laugh is hysterical, broken. “you mean like you ripping my heart out and fucking stepping on it? sorry for reacting.”

he rubs his eyes. “this is exactly what i mean. everything with you is so fucking dramatic.”

you feel something inside you snap. “you know what’s dramatic? cheating on someone who would’ve given you everything. someone who did.”

he steps forward, tone clipped. “you gave me pressure. not love. you gave me expectations i never agreed to.”

“i gave you my heart, you fucking asshole!” your voice cracks, loud and raw and shaking. “i defended you. even when people warned me. i picked you. every fucking time.”

“maybe you shouldn’t have,” he says quietly.

and that? that’s the part that finally breaks you.

you take a shaky breath, your throat tight. “so what was i, huh? a placeholder? someone to fuck until something better came along?”

“don’t do that,” he mutters, looking away. “don’t make this uglier than it has to be.”

“you already made it ugly,” you whisper. “you looked me in the eyes and told me you loved me. while you were fucking someone else.”

he looks at you then. really looks. and for a second, there’s guilt. something close to it. but it disappears.

“i don’t love you anymore.”

your heart doesn’t just break — it shatters. it disintegrates in your chest while you’re still standing, still pretending to breathe.

you blink, and a tear slips free.

“say it again.”

he doesn’t.

“say it again, jaehyun.”

he looks away.

coward.

you wipe your face, even though you’re still crying. “you never loved me like i loved you. that’s the real fucking truth, isn’t it?”

nothing.

just silence. stillness. a ghost in the shape of the man you loved.

you move toward the door, hand shaking on the knob.

“i hope she breaks you,” you whisper. “i hope you finally understand what it feels like to be thrown away.”

you don’t slam the door.

you leave it open behind you.

because part of you wants him to see how it feels when someone else walks away