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[haechanprint]

୨୧ JohnDo breeding kink ୨୧

| pairing: Dom!Johnny x sub!fem!Reader x Switch!Doyoung

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. NSFW link. Poly ilichil. MLM behavior. CNC themes. Breeding kink. "Forced" breeding roleplay. Unprotected vaginal sex.

| aurora's note: this is ahri canon, for my ilichil polycule enjoyers

Johnny was sick of it. That stupid rule he made up after their second kid was born-- Condoms only. No more unprotected sex, no more fucking around, no more purposefully trying to knock you up. Stupid, stupid rule because ever since then, all Johnny and Doyoung could think to complain about to each other was how annoying the condoms were... They missed filling you up. Jaehyun loved to watch his cum seep out of you, but that had been taken away from him by Johnny; Yuta missed seeing how much cum they could pump into you before you'd get too tired; Mark was going insane because he couldn't remember what your soft, velvety walls felt like around his bare cock. Johnny'd done a disservice to all of them, however he remained adamant that it was the only way after having two kids and the rest of the boys seemed to be on a mission to have a third, all while you refused to deny them that. But now Johnny couldn't take it anymore. Between him and Doyoung in one night, they'd gone through five condoms that they'd tied up and discarded before reaching to put more on-- Doyoung usually didn't have the refractory period to keep up with Johnny, but since coming back from the military and begging Johnny on his hands and knees to let you guys have another kid, he'd been so pent up that it was likely he could even continue fucking you long after Johnny was tapped out.

"Hyung, please... I won't cum in her, I swear, just let me fuck her without a condom-- Just once!"

Johnny turned over the box of condoms and shook it. Empty. He looked over at you, a content smirk spread across your face because that meant either they gave up on you and turned to each other-- which would have been entertaining for you to watch-- or they would finally agree that it wasn't worth it. Johnny sighed. It was next to impossible to deny himself and Doyoung while looking down at the image of you when your legs still spread and your knees pressed up for optimal access to your dripping pussy which they'd used all night without a single drop of their cum leaking out of you... yet... It was a devastating sight. All of you could vividly remember what it looked and felt like after filling you up to the brim.

"Fuck it."

Both you and Doyoung watched as Johnny tossed the empty condom box to the side then he reached over for the pathetic pile of used condoms. The realization was far more quick to dawn on you than Doyoung who seemed lost when Johnny began opening the condoms and you squirmed away, shaking your head, closing your legs.

Johnny ordered Doyoung, "Hold her open."

So Doyoung did as he was told while he continued to watch Johnny carefully. You tried to fight Doyoung, but not too hard because you didn't actually wish to get away, you just wanted to work them up a bit more with the excitement of pinning you down and doing what they pleased with you. It was a dream come true. After so long, Johnny'd given up on his stupid rule, which meant that all the boys could have their fun too. Finally. The three of you watched-- In the midst of your protests and squirms which were held back by Doyoung-- when Johnny took the first condom, not knowing which of them it belonged to, and he tipped the opening at your entrance before using his fingers to push it into you. He chuckled at your response of your wiggling hips and kicking feet that didn't deter him. He made sure to squeeze out every drop from that condom. Doyoung moaned at the sight, almost tempted to release you so that he could jerk him off instead, but he didn't want you to go anywhere until Johnny had dumped all of their cum into you and he had instructions to do otherwise.

Johnny discarded the first condom, grabbed the second, then began doing the same. He tsked when you kicked his hip too hard and he lost his balance, resulting in some of the cum to completely miss your hole and instead drip down onto your thighs. Doyoung's hands were close enough that he managed to save some of it before it could fall onto the mattress. He proved to be helpful to Johnny by scooping their cum into you and fingering it deep inside of you.

Doyoung moaned beside you. "Can I fuck her?"

"Not yet," Johnny replied quickly. The third condom was already in hand, and he wasted no time sliding it into you. "Need to fill her up with this stuff first..." He bit his plump bottom lip in concentration. "Then we'll do it ourselves."

Taken completely by lust for the situation, Doyoung leaned over to kiss Johnny passionately. The two of them hovered over you. Doyoung's big hands were still holding you down, Johnny's long fingers were thrusting cum into you, and they were both distracted... So you tried to roll out of the bed to make a break for it. If Yuta were there, he would've played along, giving into what you secretly desired by tying you up then and there, however the boys only had their hands in the spur of the moment, so Johnny used his height and strength to wrap his arms around your waist and toss you back onto the bed.

"I told you to keep her open," Johnny scolded Doyoung.

When struggling with the fourth condom, you whined at Johnny, inquiring about his rules and why he'd be so quick to give up on them after holding out for so long. Johnny pushed the condom in further than the other three. He replied that he'd finally had enough of seeing you prance around the house in nothing but Jungwoo's t-shirt and a pair of short shorts that showed off the bottom side of your ass... He was sick of not fucking you bare anymore... And he was sick of not seeing you knocked up.

"Please, hyung..." Doyoung continued to plead desperately. So, finally, Johnny took pity, ignoring the very last condom so that Doyoung could instead shuffle to settle between your legs with his hard cock prodding your entrance. "Be a good girl for me, noona..." It wasn't so much of a request as it was a demand before he began pushing in. "Fuck-- I forgot how wet she feels."

Johnny grinned. He was enjoying your moaning and complaints about how they were most certainly going to get you pregnant at that rate. He loved seeing Doyoung's face scrunch when he was finally settled in all the way, your hips pressed against each other briefly before Doyoung began pounding into you. John stood behind Doyoung then wrapped his thick, cum covered hand around the front of Doyoung's neck, holding him by the throat so that he could tilt Doyoung's head just enough to give Johnny clear access to leave hickies. Doyoung moaned into the air.

"Do you wanna place bets?" Johnny mumbled in English against Doyoung's skin.

Doyoung panted as he got closer to his orgasm. "On?"

"Which one of us it'll be."

Confidentially, in his adorable English that he practiced so hard with Johnny, he replied, "It's going to be me, hyung."

Johnny was absolutely amused by that reply. He made sure to leave the biggest, brightest hickey he could on Doyoung's neck; and because Doyoung was always so sensitive, it got him closer and closer. You knew he was on the edge when his hands squeezed your thighs-- His fingernails dug into your skin and it hurt like a bitch, but you couldn't think straight long enough to tell him to let up... Not while his cock was bullying your insides and simultaneously pushing their cum towards your cervix. You ran your hands down Doyoung's abs as you told begged him to fill you up. His breath stuttered, his hips stilled, and he reached back to grab Johnny's dark hair with one hand as he came.

Johnny figured they'd have about two days to get away with fucking without condoms before the rest of the boys would figure it out, at which point everyone would want in on their little bet... So the next two days meant you were trapped in Johnny's room, spread open, flipping between getting fucked by Johnny and Doyoung, and also watching them have fun with each other when you were too tired to keep going.

taglist: @theycallmesya , @tiredlittlevirgo , @henderysposts , @trash-number-one , @mystverse , @zierose-freak , @vrak-co , @junrenjun , @onlyrosyjohnny

[haechanprint]

Kiss Me More (M)

★ PAIRING: Doyoung x reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 3k

★ GENRE(S): smut, established relationship

☆ SUMMARY: You withhold kisses from Doyoung when your mad at him and it drives him nuts.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: explicit sexual intercourse, dry humping

unprotected sex, mature, cunnilingus, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: This is based off a clip I saw of Doyoung where he was at somebody's house and the husband was basically talking about how he and his wife don't kiss, and Doyoung was like “but you guys have kids together??” That man was shocked. This just got me thinking that Doyoung would not be able to wrap his head around not being able to kiss you. If anyone can find this clip ill be in your debt.

(\ (\

(„• ֊ •„)

━O━O━━━━━━━━━

He hated when you got like this. 

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the streets as the car moved, trees and buildings blurring as you stared out the window. You sat in the passenger seat of his car with your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asked with a sigh, reaching out to wrestle one for your hands free to intertwine it with his, trying to coax you back from whatever place you’d retreated to.

He didn't care how pissy you got, that wasn't going to stop him from loving on you. “Hmm?” he prompted again, searching your face for a response.

You didn’t reply, but you didn’t pull away either, which he took as a small victory. 

“Baby,” he said, his tone shifting to something a little more serious. “You can’t seriously be mad at me for not letting you bring that dog home.” He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. He had definitely reopened a healing wound by bringing up the topic again too soon. You pulled your hand away from his.

He focused back on the road, thumbs drumming rhythmically against the steering wheel as he tried to fill the silence. He could see the slight tension in your jawline, the way you completely turned your body away from him. It was a tell-tale sign that he had pissed you off. 

“It's just a dog,” he added, trying to alleviate the tension, but he knew better than to underestimate how much it meant to you. “We can get one later, you know right now isn’t a good time.” His heart raced with hope as he prayed he was finding the right words to soothe your irritation. 

He sighs when you remain silent. “You’ll get over it,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, but the uncertainty crept in.

You in fact did not get over it. 

To an outsider looking in, everything probably seemed like peaches and cream. The afternoon light streamed through the windows of the café that you sat in, laughter bubbled up from nearby tables. 

It was in fact not peaches and cream as far as Doyoung was concerned. He prided himself on knowing you inside and out, and despite your numerous attempts to assure him that you weren’t upset anymore, the flicker behind your eyes told a different story.

It had been about a week since that tense car ride, and while you weren’t childish enough to hold a grudge outwardly over something so seemingly trivial, you were certainly childish enough to nurse a small internal one. Doyoung tried not to worry, he knew that in about a week, you would officially let it go.

The only issue was that you were driving him insane in the meantime. 

Earlier that day, when you visited the shopping district, you had smoothly dodged one of his kisses. He wasn’t one for PDA anyway but all he had wanted was to leave a sweet little peck to your temple. When you had pulled away too quickly to “look at the mugs,” he instantly knew what games you were playing.

Doyoung hated your games because he was always the one who ended up losing. He didn't have many weaknesses when it came to you; he couldn’t afford to, considering how much he had already let you get away with. But there was one undeniable weakness: your kisses. 

So it was no surprise that when you had discovered this vulnerability, you instantly started to use it to your advantage. 

Want a new purse? Butter him up with a really long, deep, intimate kiss that left him breathless. 

Need more allowance? Just trail a few kisses up his long delicate neck, plant a teasing hickey behind his ear, and you’d have him wrapped around your finger.

He was fully convinced he would die without your kisses. it was the air that he breathed. He loved the way your lips felt against him. It was as if you held a power to bring him to his knees. Without your kisses, he felt a kind of withdrawal setting in. He needed your lips on him or his on you. He didn’t care how it happened, he just needed it.

 It had been days since you had initiated a kiss, and he was too prideful to make a move after you had snubbed him earlier in the store.

“Are you listening, Doie?” you said, kicking his leg beneath the small table, drawing him back to the moment.

You sat across from him as you enjoyed your lunch, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off your lips. You had just bitten into a croissant, and the buttery sheen clung to your mouth, sending his imagination spiraling. He was lost in thoughts of pressing his lips against yours, licking the sweet taste of croissant from your lips, until your playful kick brought him crashing back to earth. 

“Sorry, it’s just a little noisy here. What did you say?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“I said your coffee is getting cold,” you replied with a slight smirk. “They brought it a moment ago, and you haven’t even touched it yet.” 

Doyoung sighed lightly, running a hand through his hair, the tension between you humming like a live wire. “Right, the coffee,” he said, forcing a smile as he picked up the cup. He took a sip, your gaze never wavered, a playful challenge dancing in your eyes.

“What's on your mind babe?” you ask knowingly.

“I know what you're up to. Do you really think I don’t notice when you’re playing these games?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned closer, his heart racing as the distance between you shrank. He hated that he was so close to you yet so far away. 

“Games? I’m just enjoying my lunch, Doie,” you replied innocently, though your lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“You’re definitely playing games,” he countered. “And you know I can’t resist you.”

You reach over and take a sip of his coffee, making sure to lick your lips deviously after. You lean back in your chair, eyes sparkling with amusement. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you were loving every minute of it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

—

You were going out tonight, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. You had put on his favorite lip combo, the one that drove him crazy. Your lips looked plush and glossy, drawing his gaze like a magnet. 

As you stood before the floor-length mirror, you couldn't help but steal another glance at yourself. Satisfied with the way your outfit came together, you admire your reflection. But your thoughts  were interrupted by the presence of someone behind you.

Doyoung stood in the middle of the room, clad in his signature laid-back attire: sweatpants and an oversized sweater. His arms were crossed, shaking his head in disapproval as his gaze locked onto yours in the mirror. He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, the gesture only adding to the adorably stern expression on his face.

You couldn't help the light chuckle that escapes at the sight. "What's wrong, babe?" you asked, walking over and wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning into him playfully.

He stuttered on his response, his voice faltering as your face moved mere inches from his. Your sweet scent enveloped him, and he felt himself leaning in closer. You bit your lip and looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat. Truth be told, you weren’t even mad anymore; it was impossible to stay upset at Doyoung. You felt weak when he gave you that look—the one that made him resemble a sad little bunny. His eyes round, and his brows furrowed slightly as he looked enchanted by the way you bit your lip. He looked pathetic.

“I asked you a question, baby,” you whisper, a breath away from his lips.

“Please,” he pleads breathlessly.

You knew you had him right where you wanted him. You don’t know what came over you but you can't resist pressing your lips to his in a quick peck. The groan that left his lips was almost pitiful. He immediately tried to chase after your lips, but you stepped out of his embrace.

“Sorry baby, the girls are waiting.”

—

It wasn’t until later that night that you stumbled back in the apartment you shared with Doyoung. The worst of your drunken haze was over, but the high heels clinging to your feet didn't do much for your coordination. You tried to be quiet as you slipped inside, not wanting to wake your boyfriend.

As you walked into your room, you noticed the bedside lamp still on. Doyoung was sitting up in bed, engrossed in whatever book had captured his attention. You had told him not to wait up but he never listened, he couldn't sleep until he knew you made it back home safe. You loved watching him like this—so serious, so focused. There was always a soft spot in your heart for him when he wore his glasses; it made him look like the cutest little bunny you had ever laid eyes on.

You stifled a few giggles that escaped your lips, and Doyoung’s head snapped up at the sound. A smile broke across his face as he looked you up and down. You shuffled over to the bed with a yawn and collapsed onto the mattress face-first, burying yourself in the pillows 

“Need some help, love?”  Doyoung chuckled. 

You nod into the sheets, not caring if your make up smudges. He slid out of bed with practiced ease. You roll over when he knelt at your feet, his hands wrapping around your ankles, and tugged gently. The heels came off one by one, and you let out a relieved sigh as he discarded them to the floor.

His lips brushed against your ankle, feather-light, and you tensed. Warmth. It spread up your leg like wildfire as he kissed his way up your shin, then your knee, each press of his mouth sending little jolts of electricity through you. You hadn’t realized how touch starved you were until now.

You're pulled out of your trance when his lips leave your body. He stood and stalked over to the bathroom to run you a bath. When he comes back he lifts you off the bed. “Come on, rabbit,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You didn’t protest as he led you to the bathroom, where steam already curled from the bathtub. He undressed you, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you shiver. He washed away the remnants of the night, scrubbing the makeup from your face and running a sponge over your body until you were squeaky clean. Finally, he wrapped you in a towel and helped you into fresh pajamas.

Once you were both back in bed, you expected sleep to come easily. But it didn’t. Your mind raced, replaying the way his lips had felt against your skin. Your legs pressed together instinctively, and you shifted restlessly beside him.

Doyoung stirred, grumbling something unintelligible as he pulled you closer. His arm draped over your waist, anchoring you to him. You turned in his grasp, your eyes tracing the lines of his chest, the curve of his collarbone, the dip of his throat. And then your gaze landed on his lips—soft, slightly parted, and so close.

That’s when you noticed he was awake. His dark eyes watched you, hooded and half-lidded, but there was no mistaking the intensity in them. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

Doyoung didn’t say a word. He simply leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was long overdue—a week and three days overdue, to be exact (he’d counted).

It started slow, Doyoung was still a little asleep but once the fog from his brain cleared he leaned into the kiss, deepening it. You kiss him back with all the pent-up frustration and longing of the past few days. His tongue swept into your mouth, coaxing yours to dance with his. You moaned softly, your hands fisting in the sheets as he pressed his body into yours. You sink deeper into the mattress.

His hands cradled your face, holding you steady as he kissed you again and again, each one more desperate than the last. You tried to pull back to catch your breath, but he chased you, whining low in his throat as he claimed your lips once more.

“Doyoung,” you gasped.

He nods his head, a soft "hmm" escaping him before he lips crushing against yours again.

His ass was not listening.

His kisses were messy and wet, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before laving it with his tongue. when he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. His chest heaved as he stared down at you. Its isn't long at all until his lips find their way back onto your skin

He sucked and licked at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving bruises in his wake. The vibrations of his groans sent shivers down your spine, and you arched into him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Doyoung,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I need you, I can’t wait”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’ve been driving me crazy for days, rabbit. Don’t rush me.” He says sternly. He was going to take his time with you. He still had a few other places he hadn’t kissed yet.

He situates himself between your legs. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head before tossing it aside. His lips trailed down your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. 

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and Doyoung groaned against your skin, his hips grinding down into your warm core. He drags his hips up slowly making you shiver. You breath hitches as he pushes his hips into yours over and over.

He pulls away from you, eyes raking down your body, taking in the bruises that litter your skin. He bites his lips when he looks between your bodies. He watches as he grinds into you and moans when he sees that wet spot forming in your panties. 

his hand slid between your thighs. “All over a little kissing?” His fingers teasing the soaked fabric of your panties. “Guess I wasn't the only one affected.”

Your breath catching as he hooked his fingers into the hem of your underwear and tugged them down. His touch was electric as he stroked you, his thumb circling your clit while his fingers dipped inside you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your head falling back against the pillows. “Doyoung, please—”

“Please what?” he asked, his voice rough. “Didn’t I tell you not to rush me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his fingers curled inside you. Your back arched, your nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

“Doyoung,” you gasped, breaking the kiss. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he said firmly, withdrawing his fingers. You whimpered in protest. “If I had to wait so can you.”

He slips down the bed until his head is between your legs and when you finally meet his eyes, they were already glazed over, dark and hooded, completely lost in the thought of what he was about to do. He was pussy drunk before his mouth even touched you.

His tongue slipped out lazily, teasing at first, a slow drag along your folds that had your back arching off the mattress. He groaned, low and guttural, as if he couldn’t believe how good you tasted—like he’d been starving for this. His lips wrapped around your clit with a desperation that made your toes curl, his tongue flicking against it in a cruel rhythm. You couldn’t look at him. The intensity in his eyes was too much, too raw. With a wet pop, he pulled back briefly, his breath hot against your slick skin, before diving back in with a hunger that left you gasping.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his fingers joined the fray, replacing his lips. His fingers rub slow circles against your clit while his tongue moved to pushed deep into your dripping cunt.

His tongue curled inside you, his fingers moved faster now, a blur of motion that had your thighs trembling, your hands clutching at the sheets for an anchor.

“Enough, Doie…please,” you whimpered, voice cracking at the end. But he didn’t stop, instead licking into you until you were squirming beneath him, half trying to push him away and half desperate to pull him closer. Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his messy hair as you tugged. His fingers leave you clit and find purchase wrapped around your thighs to keep you pinned. The lower half of his face is soaked and you don't miss the way his hips rut against the mattress. He presses his tongue flat against your clit urging you to ride his face.

“Doie—!” you cried, your hips thrusting wildly, chasing your orgasm even as the overstimulation threatened to overwhelm you. It was too much but you couldn’t stop.

Your body went rigid, heels digging into the mattress as the orgasm tore through you, leaving you weak and trembling in its wake. He let go reluctantly, his lips pressing one last kiss to your sensitive core before he sat back on his knees, chest heaving as he watched you. His eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide with desire. The sight of him, flushed and panting and hard in his grey sweats, sent another pulse of warmth pooling between your legs.

“You’re not done yet,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Not even close.”

He lines himself up at your entrance and when he finally sank into you, you both moaned in unison. He was relentless, his hips snapping against yours as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His hands couldn't keep still his touch spreading across your body. It was everything and all too much. You bury your face in the pillows and your back arches when he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. His hand reaches out to grip your cheeks forcing you to look at him until his lips find yours again, swallowing your cries as you come beneath him.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

You fight through the sensitivity, “I—I want it,” you stammered wanting him to fill you up. 

His strokes get longer, he presses into you slow and deep. He needed you to feel all of him. He needed to drive you crazy, just like you had done to him. You whine and clench down tight around him. You reach out for him, needing him closer. Your leg falls from his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his neck pulling him close until your chest to chest. Your legs wrap around his waist and your heels dig into his lower back until he's fucking you harder. His head drops into your neck with a groan. A few more deep plunges of his hips has him spilling inside you. He leans back and rests his forehead against yours as you both ride out the waves of pleasure.

When he finally pulled away, you were both drenched in sweat, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Doyoung collapsed onto the bed beside you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“For the record, I’m not mad about the dog anymore,” you said with a sheepish smile, letting out a soft huff of laughter. You had already known he was right; you and Doyoung didn’t really have the time or space for a dog right now, but you’d never admit it to him.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Took you a week to get over it.”

You grinned, your fingers trailing down his chest. “And yet, here you are.”

He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Here I am.”

[haechanprint]

Do y’all know any good Doyoung x reader aus based in college? Maybe he’s a part of a sport or club of some sort. Preferably with some smut in it. Thanks ❤️

[haechanprint]

February First!

ᥫ᭡. pairing: bf!doyoung x gf!reader

ᥫ᭡. warning/tags: fluff, smut!, unprotected sex, breast play, kissing/making out, oral (f receiving)

ᥫ᭡. warning/tags: 1.8k

ᥫ᭡. author’s note: HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY KIM DOYOUNG!!!! felt right to post at 2:01 = 02.01 (his birth date). anyhow i’m back, a lot happened in january but im back and stronger with a whole bunch of new stories to share with u all! stay tuned, stay safe, & love u all! 🤍

february 1st. a day of celebration, a celebration of life. your boyfriend– doyoung’s birthday.

as it was a special day, you made sure to plan quite a surprise for him. without giving him too much detail, you informed him to dress nicely. the birthday dinner wouldn’t be until much later, at a restaurant he favored ever since you’ve known him. you invited his friends and family, all in it for a surprise he sure wasn’t ready for.

“are you ready?” you asked as you stepped into the living room where he sat on the couch.

he turns around, taking his breath away. you wore a formal red-ish dress that hugged your body perfectly, hair that was loosely curled, and perfectly natural make-up. he got up from his seat, walking over to you. he took hold of your hand, kissing the back.

“you look beautiful,” he says, like a fool in love. “what if we just skip whatever you planned tonight and celebrate here?”

“nice try,” you giggled.

“worth the try,” he shrugs as he begins leading you to the front door.

as the two of you walk towards his car, his eyes never leave you. he carefully observes you, thinking to himself how you were his greatest gift.

he begins drifting off to the destination you imputed into his phone, immediately recognizing it as his favorite restaurant.

“it’s beautiful tonight,” you say as you stare out the window.

doyoung grabs ahold of your hand, bringing it to his lips to gently kiss it. “i love you,” he whispers.

“i love you more,” you replied, turning to face him.

and for the rest of the drive, you spoke randomly of any topic that came to your mind, being at peace with just the two of you.

·⁀ ༄.° ·⁀ ༄.° ·⁀ ༄.°

the restaurant finally came into view and he drove up to the valet parking. he walked out, handing the valet man his keys before opening the car door for you.

you grab ahold of his arm, walking to the restaurant's entrance. he notices how dimly lit it was, confusing rising.

“are they closed already?” doyoung asks.

you don’t respond, intertwining your fingers with his as you lead the way inside. you push the door open, dragging him further before stopping. you stepped behind him, tippy toeing to cover his eyes.

“walk,” you whispered into his ear. and he did just that. “stop,” you announced, uncovering his eyes slowly.

“happy birthday!” everyone shouts.

your hand back on his, standing by his side as everyone inside the restaurant began singing him happy birthday. you watched him as he looked completely in awe.

and once everyone was done singing, they all came to congratulate doyoung before dispersing to sit at a table. when everyone finished, you and doyoung sat down as well in the table where his family was at.

everyone ordered and ate, chatting to your heart's content. before you knew it hours had passed and it was time for doyoung to cut his cake.

you took out your phone, recording the moment. everyone sang to him once more, the candles lighting up his face. he smiled so beautifully, like a timeless art piece.

doyoung paused, making a wish before blowing out his candles. everyone clapped and cheered. a waiter walked over, handing him a knife to help him cut his first piece.

however instead of saving it for himself, doyoung walks over handing it to you. he insisted you take it, pecking your cheek.

“thank you,” he whispered into your ear before walking over to his mother.

you were left stunned by his action, face growing hotter by the second.

more hours passed by and everyone started leaving, one by one. his friends bid him one last congratulations and farewell.

ultimately it was down to you and his parents. the restaurant staff was nice enough to insist they got the cleanup covered, and so you all walked to the parking lot.

waiting for the respective cars to arrive, having one last chat before parting ways. his mother, father, and brother hugged him tightly before bidding you a farewell as well.

you all part ways, you and doyoung driving back home. arriving no later than 20 minutes, traffic was relatively light tonight.

“thank you for tonight,” he speaks, turning to you as he parks the car. “best birthday ever.”

you smiled, bringing your hands to his face, caressing it gently. “anything for you love.”

you inch closer, bringing your lips to his. a gentle, loving kiss shared by the two of you. the remnants of alcohol still on his lips. you savored him.

he brings his hand to bring you closer, deeper. “let’s go inside,” you try saying in between kisses.

doyoung reluctantly pulls away, biting your bottom lip as he does. hopping out the car, quickening his steps. he wanted you now, a second more missed was like torture to him.

·⁀ ༄.° ·⁀ ༄.° ·⁀ ༄.°

“w-wait,” you say breathlessly as doyoung works his mouth on your neck.

he marks you up before kissing the spot, sealing you. his hands make their way up and down your back, gripping your waist. you could feel his hardened lower half press against you.

“let’s go to the bedroom, please.”

doyoung hears you out, carrying you to the bedroom. he doesn’t stop however, mouth back on yours. his tongue delving in with yours.

plopping you softly on the bed, he parts. his eyes lustful, eyes that look as though they were about to devour you.

“god, you don’t know how much i just wanted to have you once you stepped out in this dress. you tortured me all night.”

“then have me now. consider myself as your second gift from me,” you said. a bold statement, but you didn’t care.

he chuckled,. “then don’t expect to have a good night’s rest tonight,” doyoung warns you.

there was no stopping now.

diving back into your lips, he kisses you more roughly. not to long before trailing his lips down your neck, to your chest. he slowly removes your dress by the straps. his eyes lock with yours before trailing down.

he kisses your breasts, bringing one to his mouth while his hand played with the other. he licks your nipples, biting down on the areola. he alternates between the two, marking them right up.

once satisfied, doyoung continues his journey down your body. his mouth kissing your stomach, bringing your dress down with him.

“lay down for me,” he whispers.

you follow, back against the mattress. he opens your legs, putting each leg on either side of his shoulders. you couldn’t even see his face as he hid underneath your dress. though you could still feel.

you felt as he licked you through your panties. kissing you repeatedly down there. you softly moaned at the sensation.

then you feel as he pushes your panties aside, fingers rubbing against your slit and hot breath tickling your core. you were already wet, all the ministrations he’d done on you turned you on.

doyoung licks his lips before licking you up once. you tasted so sweet, better than the cake he’d had earlier. his tongue then finds your clit, playing with the sensitive bud before dragging it back down.

his wet muscle sliding inside you. the groan he let out from feeling your tightness causing an outwardly sensation. his tongue played with your gummy walls, stretching you out as much as he could.

he drank you up as much as he could, tongue could even rougher before halting and parting. the loss in sensation brought you to tears. “p-please,” you begged.

“patience, love. let me savor my birthday feast,” he replied, still down on you.

kissing your clit, while his fingers teased you. they went in before going back out, causing you to move your hips to bring them inside.

finally nudging them inside, he pumps his fingers in you while working your clit with his mouth. double stimulation, double kill.

you were a whimper and moaning mess. you prayed no one could hear you this late at night.

his fingers worked faster, tongue flicking your clit. your hips began moving on their own. his hands gripping onto your thighs, sucking on your clit.

three fingers in, going insanely fast inside, the knot in your stomach untied. you gushed all over his face and fingers, heaving as you tried catching you breath.

“d-doyoung~”

you chanted his name like it was the only word you knew. you shook, your entire body convulsing. your release feeling too good.

and as you laid there, doyoung took off the remaining of your dress, along with your panties. he stood up, you hazily noticed the dent in his pants.

he hurriedly removed his clothes, his cock standing proudly against his stomach, aching to get inside.

opening your legs once more, he nudges his cock in between your cunt. he rubs your essence onto him, teasing you before sliding himself inside. he slid in easily.

you softly moaned out when you felt him sliding in little by little inside you. he filled you up completely, snuggly fitting inside.

“i’m gonna move now,” he whispers, bending down to peck you on your lips before grabbing one of your legs.

he thrusts into you, in and out. the pace he’s going at increasing by the second. his cock kissing your cervix, tip easily hitting your sweet spot. your arched yourself into him, clinging yourself around his shoulders.

you managed to find his lips, sloppy kissing into them while he moved inside you. he groans against your lips as he feels your cunt tightening around him, faint pulses pulsating around him.

it was too good. after so long, you two were finally going at it intensely.

dropping your leg, his hands maneuver to your hips. he lifts you up a bit, using this new angle to thrust into you harder. it was deeper than before, his hips overpwering. the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room, mingled in with moaning and groaning.

“i-i’m cu-cumming,” you say, completely losing yourself already.

and to this doyoung gives you one last gift. bringing his fingers, he rubs on your sensitive clit. your eyes rolled back, a high-pitched scream emitting from you unconsciously.

you came hard, quivering in doyoung’s hold. he watched you, watched as you got completely destroyed, sent to another world. he loved it, weirdly so he secretly did.

he continues fucking into you, railing you in an effort to meet his own release. and with the aftershocks of your orgasm, they brought him to his. he came inside, painting your walls a warmly white.

your body meets the mattress again, drool all over your mouth and tears mingled into your hair. you were a complete mess, a hot cock drunk mess.

and true to his word, doyoung continued the entire night until sunrise. he put you any position his heart desired, riding him like there was no tomorrow.

love upon love spilled the whole night. the last thing you recalled was his kisses as he engulfed you into his arms, lulling you to sleep.

doyoung admired your sleeping figure, admiring his wonderful girlfriend. thinking of the endless future he’ll spend with you.

the many more february 1st he’ll spend with you, his lovely wife.

© jhdyuiee

2025. 02. 08

final a.n: hello, it’s been a while again hasn’t it. i’m sorry for just disappearing again, but i pray that will be the last time in a while. i have much in store regarding future stories so stay tuned! special suprise tomorrow too! johnny’s birthday special!

[haechanprint]

nct 127 ⭑ pics he take of you <3

gn! reader (lipstick worn in doyoung’s) + consensual photography during sex lolol

৻ꪆ johnny snaps a picture of you with your back arched off the mattress. your hands grip onto his forearm, his palm resting firmly against your waist, holding you still, and the way your lips part in a silent moan makes his head spin. he tilts the camera just enough to catch the dazed look in your eyes, your swollen lips, the marks trailing down your skin. “too pretty not to capture,” he murmurs, loving the way you shudder at his voice.

৻ꪆ taeyong keeps the camera steady as he clicks a picture of you beneath him, your wrists tied gently with silk. your body is relaxed, surrendering, and the way your eyes hold nothing but trust makes his chest tighten with love. his fingers ghost along your flushed skin, feeling the heat radiating off you. “beautiful,” he whispers, snapping another picture as you whimper under his touch.

৻ꪆ yuta snaps a picture of you in the mirror, your bare back pressed against his chest, his fingers gripping your jaw to make you look at the reflection. his other hand grips the phone as he captures the way your lips tremble, the way your fingers cling onto his arm for support. “look at yourself,” he murmurs against your skin, smirking when you try to turn away. “too late, i already got you.”

৻ꪆ doyoung takes a picture of you right as he pulls away, leaving you breathless, your fingers gripping onto his wrist trying to pull him back. your lipstick is smudged, your hair a mess from how his hands have been tangled in it. he captures the exact moment you whimper his name, your chest rising and falling, your body begging for him. his smirk is audible when he whispers, “you look perfect like this.”

৻ꪆ jaehyun snaps a picture of you tangled in his arms, your bare thighs wrapped around his waist, your head tilted back in bliss. his hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him as he captures the way your lips part, the hazy look in your eyes. his voice is husky when he murmurs, “this one’s just for me.” the phone is tossed aside the second you pull him back in.

৻ꪆ jungwoo’s hand shakes slightly as he takes the picture, capturing the way your body trembles under him. his fingers trace down your thigh, and you shudder in response, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. “just one more,” he whispers, snapping another as you gasp from his touch. he grins, placing the phone down before leaning in, whispering against your lips, “you’re even prettier in real life.”

৻ꪆ mark hesitates before clicking the picture, his lips caught between his teeth as he watches you through the lens. you’re beneath him, a lazy smile on your lips, your fingers gripping onto his shoulders. the way your eyes meet his through the camera makes his breath hitch. he captures the moment right before he leans back in, whispering, “i think i need a hundred more of these.”

৻ꪆ haechan takes a picture of you sprawled out beneath him, your body still shaking, your lips swollen from his kisses. he grins, tilting the camera to catch the way your fingers grip the sheets, your thighs trembling. “you look so pretty like this,” he teases, snapping another as you glare at him, your face flushed. his laughter fills the room before he tosses the phone aside and leans back in, whispering, “guess i’ll just have to make you look even prettier.”

with love,

© cigsaftersuh

[haechanprint]

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.”

[haechanprint]

ᯓ ✈︎

DALLAS LOVE FIELD

in which doyoung accidentally takes your luggage and contacts you about about its contents

nonidol doyoung x OF creator reader

a/n: the dallas love field airport is actually mid asf,,,idk how dy wrote such a beautiful song about it🤨

[haechanprint]

Hiii if reqs are still open can I ask for a coworker Doyoung finding out you're an onlyfans model....😭✋♥️

miss erotica

summary: you and doyoung are coworkers who maintain a strictly professional relationship… until he accidentally discovers your secret life as a lingerie model on onlyfans. tension builds, desires unravel, and when the truth finally comes out, you make him a filthy little offer he can't refuse.

pairing: coworker ! doyoung x coworker (of model) fem! reader

genre: smut, coworkers to lovers, slow burn tension, light dom!doyoung, lingerie kink, secret double life reveal.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, lingerie modeling, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral fixation (male receiving implied), cumshot on stomach/lace lingerie, cumshot on face (briefly mentioned), possessive behavior, light praise/degradation, slight overstimulation, photo taken for onlyfans post, doyoung jerking off alone at the end

wc: 3,6k

notes: omg, incredible request anon, i hope you enjoy it! thank you all for your requests, remember that they’re open, though it might take me some time to get to them due to my schedule🩷

working with doyoung had always been... easy. despite your desks being placed directly in front of each other, just a breath apart, the relationship stayed strictly professional. you weren't sure if it was because he was a workaholic who barely lifted his head from the screen, or if it was simply the nature of two people who lived parallel lives — polite, distant, untouched by anything messy or personal.

you knew the basics. he was single, lived alone, probably married to his job. you weren’t that different either — renting a cozy little apartment not far from the office, sharing your space with your two cats: milo, a silver tabby with a mischievous glint in his eye, and luna, a cream-colored ragdoll with lazy, half-lidded stares. you had exchanged bits of your life over small talk, shallow conversations at best. never more. never deeper.

what you didn’t know, what nobody knew, was that doyoung had a secret obsession — paying for content on onlyfans. not just any content. he was a loyal subscriber to a certain "miss erotica", a woman who never showed her face but showcased her body in ways that blurred the lines between art and temptation. he didn’t tell anyone. how could he? it was his private addiction, the one thing he allowed himself outside the endless deadlines and excel sheets.

then, one morning during a rare group breakfast at the office, the conversation drifted to pets. casual, harmless. you, smiling, pulled out your phone and showed a picture of your cats lounging by your living room window. milo, sprawled like a king, his silver fur shining under the sun; luna, tucked next to him, her cream coat like a spilled glass of milk against the dark wood floor.

"they're beautiful," someone cooed.

doyoung looked at the screen. and froze.

something pricked at the back of his mind. the silver tabby with the green collar... luna's cream fur... it looked familiar. almost too familiar.

he had seen them before.

but not here.

his heart stuttered, his throat going dry. he stayed silent, watching as you scrolled through more pictures, laughing, showing off your babies to the group. you didn't notice the way his eyes stayed glued to your screen, how his mind reeled.

because in one of miss erotica's most memorable posts — a shot of her ass in black lace panties, arching perfectly against a leather chair — there had been a cat in the background. a silver tabby. with the exact same green collar. and another fluff of cream lazing by a window.

doyoung’s stomach twisted.

no, it couldn't be.

he hadn't saved the picture. it had been months ago. it could be a coincidence. right?

he spent the rest of the day distracted, replaying the image in his mind, trying to grasp at details, trying to reason with himself. people had cats. cats could look similar. it didn’t have to be you.

and he almost let it go.

almost.

until summer came.

you traded your usual long-sleeved blouses for casual short-sleeve shirts, your skin kissed golden by the sun, the curve of your arm now exposed to his line of sight. that day, when you leaned across the desk to pass him a file, the hem of your sleeve rode up. doyoung’s eyes — traitorous, hungry — caught something.

a tattoo.

small, delicate.

a slender vine of wildflowers, curling around the back of your arm, the ink fine and dark against your skin.

he stared.

he knew that tattoo.

he had spent hours tracing it with his eyes on his screen, had memorized the way the petals twisted, the slight flaw in one of the leaves. miss erotica had that same tattoo. he had noticed it countless times while she modeled those sinful sets of lingerie — crimson silk, ivory lace, black leather.

doyoung’s heart slammed against his ribs. it wasn’t just a theory anymore. it was you.

he looked up slowly, meeting your eyes across the desk. you gave him a small, polite smile, unaware of the war raging inside him.

he swallowed thickly, his hands curling into fists under the desk.

fuck.

you were miss erotica.

and now, he couldn't unsee it. couldn't pretend he didn't know. every time you bent over slightly to pick up a file, every time you tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, every time you laughed low and sweet — it all layered itself with the filthy, burning images he'd paid to see at 2 a.m.

it was you.

doyoung hadn’t just stumbled across your profile. he had been looking for something — something specific, something that scratched a very particular itch deep inside him. lingerie. but not just anyone posing in cheap lace or overexposed shots. he liked the slow burn, the tease, the art of it. miss erotica was perfect. you had perfected it.

your content wasn’t explicit in the obvious sense. no faces, no messy, desperate angles. it was the suggestion of sin, the elegance of a body wrapped in silken temptation. intricate corsets, delicate garter belts, sheer stockings stretched over soft skin. sometimes, he thought the way you positioned your hands was even sexier than nudity — subtle, knowing. you wore lace like it was a second skin, posed in ways that made his mind work, made him imagine peeling each layer off inch by inch.

he had a thing for thigh-high stockings. for black lace that hugged curves and hinted at forbidden places. and miss erotica — you — had a way of making every single photo feel personal. like you were posing just for him.

he had spent too many nights gripping the sheets in frustration, whispering your name under his breath, not even realizing it. miss erotica. miss erotica. it was stupid how deep it went.

and now...

you were sitting across from him at your shared desks, tapping away on your keyboard, completely unaware that the woman who had made him lose sleep, made him ache with need, was breathing the same office air as him.

it felt wrong.

it felt so good.

he was drowning in it.

the realization clung to him like static electricity. he watched the way your fingers danced across the keys, slender and sure, the same fingers he had imagined curled in the waistband of delicate panties. he watched the way you tilted your head slightly when you read something intently, exposing the soft line of your throat, the same throat he had dreamed of marking.

he couldn't focus.

he couldn’t fucking breathe.

you had no idea.

the days after the realization were torture.

doyoung tried to act normal — professional, polite, like he hadn't spent half the night with your photos burned into his eyelids. but it was impossible. now he noticed everything. the slight sway of your hips when you walked past his desk. the way your fingers sometimes absentmindedly played with the hem of your blouse. the shape of your mouth when you sipped your coffee. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fucking fair.

he needed a release. he needed you.

so one evening, as you both packed up your things, the office mostly deserted except for a few lingering coworkers, he cleared his throat and said casually, "hey, y/n... you doing anything tonight?"

you looked up, a little surprised — it was rare for doyoung to initiate anything that wasn’t strictly about work. "not really," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "why?"

he shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "thought maybe we could grab a drink. just... you know, decompress a bit. long week."

you smiled — a soft, genuine smile he didn’t usually get to see — and nodded. "yeah, sure. that sounds nice."

it was a simple moment.

ordinary.

but his pulse hammered against his ribs like he had just won something forbidden.

the bar he picked wasn’t far from the office. dimly lit, cozy, tucked away enough that no one from work would accidentally stumble in. he watched you under the low lights, the way you peeled off your jacket, revealing more of your arms — more of that tattoo — and he felt his mouth go dry.

you ordered something sweet. he ordered something strong.

conversation started off light. movies, weekend plans, the weather.

but as the drinks flowed, the distance between you seemed to shrink. your laughter got a little looser. your glances lingered a little longer. he leaned in, elbows brushing yours on the tiny table, and he could smell the soft, clean scent of your shampoo. he could imagine burying his face in it, breathing you in as he pressed your body against his.

"so," he said after a pause, voice a little rougher now, "you live alone, right?"

you nodded, swirling the ice in your glass. "yeah. just me and my two little troublemakers."

"the cats," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"mhm." you tilted your head, curious. "you remembered?"

he chuckled lowly. "hard to forget."

especially when those cats had haunted his fucking dreams alongside your lace-clad body.

you leaned in a little closer without realizing it, your knee brushing his under the table.

doyoung’s hand twitched, desperate to touch, desperate to confirm that you were real, that you were here, that he wasn’t losing his goddamn mind.

"you ever feel like people don’t really know you?" you said suddenly, voice soft, almost vulnerable. "like... you have this whole side of you no one even sees?"

you didn’t know what you were doing to him.

or maybe you did.

he set his glass down, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"i think," he said slowly, voice dropping, "some sides are meant for only a few lucky ones to see."

the air between you crackled, thick and heavy.

you swallowed hard, heart beating too fast.

you hadn’t realized how close you had leaned in. how close he was.

or maybe you had.

the space between you buzzed like an invisible wire pulled too tight. every time you shifted, his eyes flickered down, tracing the subtle lines of your body. you were painfully aware of it — of him — of the way his fingers curled against the edge of his glass, the way his jaw tensed whenever your knees brushed under the table.

you sipped your drink slowly, tongue darting out to catch a drop at the corner of your mouth. his gaze followed the movement like a man starved. you could practically feel the heat rolling off his body in thick, stifling waves.

the conversation faltered. it didn’t need words anymore. everything was felt.

"y/n," he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges.

you looked up, heart skipping.

there was something dangerous in his eyes. something that told you he wasn’t going to play pretend anymore.

"those cats of yours," he started, almost casually. "i swear i’ve seen them somewhere else before."

you smiled, slow, almost coy. "yeah?"

he leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek. you could smell the bourbon on him, feel the warmth of it seeping into your skin.

"yeah," he murmured. "in a... very specific place."

a pause. a deliberate, loaded silence.

you set your glass down carefully, the ice clinking sharp in the quiet. "where, doyoung?" you asked, voice sweet, teasing. but your heart was hammering against your ribs, adrenaline and arousal twining together into something electric.

he watched you, pupils blown wide, fingers flexing like he was holding himself back from reaching across the table and dragging you into him.

"onlyfans," he said finally. barely a whisper. a confession.

the word hung between you, scandalous and heavy.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t look away.

instead, you tilted your head, a slow, sinful smile curling your lips.

"miss erotica," he said, the name coming out like a prayer he had whispered a hundred times in the dark.

you leaned in, so close your knees were fully pressed together now under the table.

your voice dropped to a purr.

"so," you breathed, "you’re a fan of lingerie, huh?"

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, y/n... more than a fan."

the confession hung in the air like smoke, sweet and thick.

you let the moment stretch, savoring the way his body tensed, the way he shifted like he was seconds away from snapping.

"lace?" you murmured. "stockings? garters?"

he nodded, unable to look away from you, like you were the center of his whole fucking universe.

"all of it," he said, voice almost breaking. "i... i can’t get enough."

you licked your lips slowly, leaning back just a little to give him a view of the curve of your body under your blouse. teasing. tempting.

his fingers twitched like he was holding onto the last shred of his self-control.

"poor thing," you whispered. "must be hard, wanting something so bad and not being able to touch it."

his hands fisted in his lap, knuckles white.

"y/n," he warned, voice wrecked, pleading.

you smiled, wicked and soft all at once.

you leaned closer, so your mouth was right by his ear, your breath warm against his skin.

"what if," you whispered, so quietly it was almost obscene, "i modeled for you?"

he sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body shuddering like he’d been struck.

you pulled back just enough to see his face — the desperation there, the hunger, the need.

"real life," you said, your fingers ghosting along the hem of your skirt under the table, just enough for him to catch the motion. "no screens. no distance."

he was trembling. you were trembling.

the world outside the little cocoon of the bar didn’t exist anymore.

there was only this — the heavy beat of your hearts, the unbearable pull between you, the promise of something dirty and sweet hanging in the air.

"you’d model for me," he said, disbelieving, wrecked.

"if you’re a good boy," you teased, wicked and tender all at once.

he let out a low, broken noise, half-growl, half-whimper, and you knew — you knew — that tonight was going to change everything.

you barely made it through the door before he was on you.

doyoung kicked the door shut behind him, hands everywhere, breath hot against your skin as he pressed you against the wall.

"fuck," he muttered against your neck, voice low and trembling with restraint. "you drive me insane."

you laughed softly, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

"patience," you whispered. "you still want me to model for you, don't you?"

he pulled back, eyes dark and wild, chest heaving.

"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, yeah. show me, baby. show me everything."

you slipped out from under him, sauntering toward your bedroom with a slow sway of your hips, feeling his gaze burning into you.

you could hear him curse under his breath, could hear the faint clink of his belt as he adjusted himself, trying to keep it together.

you left the door slightly ajar, just enough for him to peek in as you changed.

slowly, languidly, you stripped down, sliding the soft fabric of your blouse over your head, shimmying your skirt down your thighs.

you chose one of your best sets — a delicate black lace bralette and matching thong, the garter belt hugging your hips, sheer thigh-high stockings clipping into place with a soft click.

you posed in front of the mirror for a moment, adjusting the straps, making sure everything sat just right, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him.

"come in," you called sweetly.

the door creaked open and there he was, standing there, jaw clenched, eyes practically black.

his hands fisted at his sides like he was seconds from losing every ounce of control.

you turned slowly, letting him take you in — the curve of your ass in the sheer lace, the tight lines of the garter straps, the soft swell of your breasts barely contained by the delicate fabric.

"holy fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. "you're gonna kill me."

you sauntered up to him, slow and deliberate, your fingers trailing up his chest, feeling the tremor beneath your touch.

"sit," you commanded, voice like velvet.

he obeyed without hesitation, sinking onto the edge of your bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets.

you climbed onto his lap, straddling one strong thigh, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath you.

your soaked panties pressed against him as you started to rock your hips, slow, grinding motions that sent sparks shooting up your spine.

his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, guiding your movements as you rode his thigh like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

"fuck, look at you," he groaned, tilting his head back, eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping back to you, dark and hungry. "so fucking pretty, so fucking wet."

you rolled your hips against his thigh, your soaked panties dragging delicious friction along the hard muscle beneath you.

doyoung watched you with a look that was pure hunger, his hands locked on your waist, controlling your pace, forcing you to grind harder, deeper.

"fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice a wreck of desire. "you’re fucking yourself on my thigh like a desperate little thing."

you whimpered, grinding harder, feeling the rough fabric of his pants rubbing right against your clit through the thin lace.

"please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for anymore — more, faster, him.

he growled low in his throat, grabbing you by the hips and flipping you onto the bed in one smooth, desperate motion.

"can't wait anymore," he muttered, tugging his shirt over his head, undoing his belt with trembling fingers. "need you. now."

you spread your legs eagerly, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as he shed the rest of his clothes, his cock thick and leaking, curving up toward his stomach.

he crawled over you, one hand sliding up your thigh, tracing the garter strap, hooking his fingers under it and snapping it playfully against your skin, making you gasp.

"keep it on," he ordered, voice dark and low. "i wanna fuck you in this."

you nodded frantically, hips canting up toward him, desperate for any kind of friction.

he lined himself up and pushed in slowly, groaning deep in his chest as he filled you inch by agonizing inch.

"so tight," he breathed, forehead pressed against yours. "so fucking good."

you clung to him, nails digging into his back, moaning brokenly as he started to move — slow at first, grinding deep inside you, savoring every second.

the lace scraped lightly against his skin, the garters tugging with every thrust, the whole thing messy and desperate and perfect.

he fucked you like he couldn't get close enough, couldn't get deep enough, like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and live there.

then he slowed, grinding deep instead of thrusting, fucking you slow and filthy, making you feel every inch of him.

he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his cock still buried deep inside, his hands rough on your hips.

you cried out, legs trembling, the pressure building fast and brutal.

"wanna see you cum," he growled, fucking you harder, faster, making the bed creak beneath you. "wanna feel you."

your orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through you with a force that left you gasping, clinging to him as you shattered apart.

his voice was low, almost a growl against your ear: "where do you want it, baby? tell me."

you whimpered, meeting his eyes, feeling the heat of your own desperation mirrored in his gaze.

"on my face and... my lingerie," you whispered, voice shaking with need. "i want you to ruin it."

his eyes darkened impossibly further, his thrusts turning erratic, brutal.

"fuck. fuck, you’re gonna kill me," he muttered, pulling out at the last second.

he pulled out quickly, fisting his cock with a few rough strokes, and then he was painting your face with hot, sticky ropes of cum, groaning your name like a prayer.

you moaned softly, licking a drop from your lip, watching him through hooded eyes.

but he wasn't done yet.

he stroked himself back to hardness almost immediately, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach.

you arched your back for him, showing off the perfect view — the lace barely covering your ass, the garters framing your curves beautifully.

he jerked himself hard and fast, the obscene sounds of slick skin filling the room, until he came again, thick and messy across your lower back and ass, the cum soaking into the delicate lace.

you stayed like that for a moment, panting, letting it drip down your skin.

you watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, heart hammering, feeling every hot splash land on you, branding you, claiming you exactly the way you asked for.

he collapsed onto the couch beside you, chest heaving, watching you with a dazed, satisfied grin.

you lay there for a moment, catching your breath, feeling the slick mess cooling on your skin, the ruined lace clinging to you obscenely.

and then, with a wicked little smile, you reached for your phone. you angled it perfectly — the sticky, creamy mess glistening across your stomach, the black lace sheer against your flushed skin.

click.

you uploaded it to your onlyfans with a simple, filthy caption:

"he made me a mess tonight."

hours later, doyoung sat on his own bed, phone in hand, heart pounding.

he opened your page and there it was — your body, still trembling, still glistening with the evidence of his obsession.

his cock twitched violently, already leaking, already aching.

he groaned low in his throat, unable to stop himself from palming his cock roughly, needing relief, needing you all over again.

he came in seconds, harsh and hot across his stomach, your name a broken whisper on his lips.

and he knew.

he was never going to survive you.

[haechanprint]

moving waters | kdy

researcher!doyoung x f!reader

summary: you’re always on the go, always needing something new—new places, hobbies, jobs, people. when you settle in your penpal’s beach town for an indefinite time, a harsh encounter with his best friend, doyoung, turns into so much more, and you find that maybe everything was meant to lead you here. maybe the thought of something lasting forever isn’t so scary, after all.

wc: 10k 18+ mdni

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut

cw: beach town au, non-idol, enemies to ???, story heavy, slowburn-ish, mean doyoung at first, reader has problems with hyperfixation and commitment, opposites attract, bestie taeyong, fwb, jealous reader, drunk sex, body worship, unprotected pinv sex (pls don’t), oral (receiving), drunk arguments, sick from drinking, pet names: pretty, baby, beautiful

You inhale the fresh sea breeze, taking in the hint of salt and bright blue sky all around you. You carefully make your way through the rock formation, gazing down at the shallow pools of water woven through the rocks you step on.

You see a starfish sprawled out just under the water’s surface and crouch down a bit more to get a better view, but a slight movement of your hand sends one of your rings flying into the water, tucked somewhere your eyes don’t quite catch.

You panic, reaching in to try and grab where you think it might be.

“Don’t touch that!” a stern voice booms from behind you, and you snatch your hand back, whipping around to see the source of your scolding.

A man in rubber overalls, a bucket hat, and the nastiest glare you’ve ever seen strides until he is on a rock a few feet away from you. He points an accusatory finger at you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Those starfish aren’t for people to play with.”

You frown. “I wa-”

“Don’t you know not to mess with the wildlife? They’re alive and-”

“I wasn’t going to touch them, you asshole!”

His glare narrows even further, and you get a better look at the man’s sharp eyes that match his even sharper tone.

“Oh, sure, as if I didn’t see you reaching in with my own two eyes.” He rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Typical tourists.”

You feel rage bubble in your throat, but you stop yourself. You meet his glare with your own. “Shut the fuck up.”

You relish in the way his glare twists into a look of shock at your harsh words, storming past him the way you came, still careful to avoid stepping on anything but the rocks that stick through the water’s surface.

You exit the tide pool, ignoring whatever the man tries to say to you, walking away as fast as possible.

He eventually gives up, but you don’t look back once. By the time you reach the steps of a familiar building, the anger has faded into mild annoyance. What the hell was that guy’s problem?

“Hey, everything okay?” a friendly voice calls out to you, and you turn to see your blonde headed friend tending to his patio plants.

Taeyong had been your pen pal for years after you met him on one of your travels. You swear he is your platonic soulmate, evident in how many years you’ve kept in contact. A few months ago, he invited you to his beach hometown to stay in the tiny guest house attached to his as long as you wanted.

“Yeah, just ran into some asshole at the beach,” you grumble, taking a seat on the steps as you watch him carefully water one of them. His head whips towards you with a look of concern, and you hold your hands up to stop him before he gets heated. “It’s fine though, really.”

“Just wait for me next time, I’ll go with you,” he frowns, going back to watering his plants, and his concern shakes the last bit of annoyance from you.

You’ve been here for two weeks, and your time here has been exactly what you needed.

For as long as you’ve been alive, you’ve always been on the go, never one to settle in one place for too long. Your family moved from city to city growing up, with you never fully allowing yourself to get attached to anything or anyone you might leave behind.

As you grew up, you adopted this same lifestyle, and you never felt bad leaving anything behind, never let your thoughts dwell for too long.

But you’d become stagnant for a couple of years, and it was driving you insane, caught in commitments that didn’t allow you to move on. So you tied loose ends and left at Taeyong’s invitation— better to figure things out on the warm sand, right?

“Anyways, go get some rest before tonight,” Taeyong instructs, patting some loose dirt off of his trousers.

“Tonight?”

He scoffs in disbelief. “You forgot? We haven’t gone out once since you came— don’t you want to see how we have fun around here?”

Grinning, you give him a thumbs up.

“If I’m not up by 7, do whatever it takes to wake me up.”

He laughs. “Whatever it takes—noted.”

You don’t need Taeyong to wake you up, and after dressing yourself up for a night out, he shows you exactly what it means to have fun in his hometown. The clubbing scene is just right— not too crowded, but just enough to have a good time.

Drinks are unbelievably cheap, and all the excitement leads to a shot, a cocktail or two, and way more shots you lose count of.

The two of you end up having a little too much fun, and Taeyong ends up crouched at the corner of the bar’s exterior, throwing up as you pat his back.

“I’m sorry..” he apologizes drunkenly through his retching, and you wince as he continues to empty his stomach’s contents.

“It’s okay, Yomi,” you assure, speech also slurred as you try to soothe him. You don’t know how the two of you will be getting home tonight, but it’s hard to even think about it with your friend in this state.

“Is he okay?” a voice cuts through your daze, and you whip your head around to find its source.

It’s hard to make out the man’s features from his backlit form and your blurred vision, but as he comes closer to crouch next to you both, immediately your eyes widen in recognition.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you seethe, and the man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Do I know you?” he asks, and the rage bubbles up even more.

“Aren’t you that asshole from the beach earlier?”

He pauses, but that seems to do it for him, and his eyes narrow into the same sharp glare he had earlier. “Oh, it’s you.”

You’re about to start arguing with him when he passes right by you, peering over at Taeyong’s face. Your protective instincts activate.

“Hey, get away from hi—”

“Doie!!!!!” your sloshed friend exclaims, jumping to his feet as he throws his arms around your enemy. You’re confused and way too drunk for this right now, just watching as “Doie” separates himself from your friend, holding him at arm’s length with a disgusted look.

“Yomi, do you know this freak?”

“Freak? What the—”

“My bestie Doie is heeere,” Taeyong exclaims, seeming as if he’s risen from the dead. He loops his arm around your neck and the other around his taller friend, holding you two tightly, your faces just inches from each other.

“Both my besties in one place? I-I’m so happy I could..”

You both look at each other with panicked expressions.

“Cry—”

And what comes from your friend are not tears, but another round of vomit. Luckily, you’re not caught in the crossfire, but the two of you are silent as Taeyong slumps over, both of you struggling to hold his dead weight.

After somehow getting Taeyong onto his back, you follow as he trudges over to what you assume is his car parked a block away. You open the car door for him as he shoves Taeyong in, your friend curling up peacefully across the entire row of seats.

The dark haired man slams the door with a grunt, letting out a heavy sigh. He turns his sight to you, his glare still present, but not as intense.

“Are you coming or what?” he asks gruffly.

“Huh?”

He sighs again, shaking his head. “Are you that drunk? You’re the one staying with Taeyong aren’t you?”

Dazed, you nod your head.

“He drunk texted me about an hour ago to pick you guys up—didn’t realize you were the friend he was talking about.”

“What do you me-”

“Just get in the damn car if you don’t want to be stranded here,” he interrupts coldly, turning on his heel to the driver’s side.

Your voice gets stuck in your throat, a pounding headache starting to form. You have no choice but to comply, with no idea of how to get back to Taeyong’s at this time of the night.

Opening the passenger door hesitantly, you slide in, setting your sights out the window, refusing to turn your head towards the driver.

He starts the car and starts the trip back to Taeyong’s and you pinch your nose as your head starts to spin. You quickly realize you probably aren’t as sober as you thought you were.

“Better not throw up in my car,” he warns, glancing over at you, and that last comment is just what it takes for you to snap.

“Well, Doie. You’re rude as fuck to someone you just met,” you assert, pointing at him accusingly. “Even earlier on the beach, I wasn’t gonna touch anything, you know? You just assumed.”

“First of all, it’s Doyoung to you. and yeah—you’re telling me that when I know what I saw with my own two eyes,” he scoffs. Finally, you face him, eyes wide at his stubbornness.

“Doie, Doyoung, whatever. I dropped something in that tide pool, I was just reaching into try and find it—and you know what? It’s probably in some starfish’s stomach thanks to you-”

He takes a particularly sharp turn as you finish your sentence. The swift motion has your pounding headache turning into spinning, and suddenly you feel sick to your stomach. Slapping a hand to your mouth, you grip onto Doyoung’s arm.

“Pull over! PULL OVER!!!!” you screech, and in shock he veers over to the nearest curb with you stumbling out of the car before he’s even properly parked.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” you hear his voice trail off behind you.

Luckily, there isn’t anyone else on the streets this late—one, to see the car moving as if Doyoung was the drunk one, and two, to see you in the very same position Taeyong was in earlier.

Your eyes sting with embarrassment and pain as you empty your stomach, at this point not even caring if Doie or Doyoung or whatever the fuck his name is leaves you on the curb.

Catching your breath, you feel your eyes well up a bit more in frustration at this situation. You don’t register the sound of footsteps approaching, and something cold touches your face, making you wince in surprise.

You look up to see Doyoung holding a cold water bottle to you, its condensation making it look like the most delicious drink in the world right now. In an uncharacteristic display, he opens it for you with a snap of the cap, handing it to you again.

“Drink, you need this.”

You hate the way he tells you what to do, but you feel your resolve crumble as you accept it gratefully, feeling humiliated at this moment of weakness.

“Take your time,” he nods and walks away, and after a few minutes, you get up, too.

You’re surprised to see he didn’t go back in the car, simply waiting as he leans against the hood of his car. He moves back into the driver’s seat as soon as he sees you walking back, water bottle still in hand.

The rest of the drive back to Taeyong’s is silent. As he pulls in front of the house, you turn to him, shakily preparing to admit defeat and apologize.

“I’m so-”

“It’s fine, just go inside.”

A flare of anger ignites at once again being interrupted, but you’re more than grateful to not have to fully apologize.

“I’ll take care of this guy, you have the key to the guest house, right?” he asks, and though you want to ask him how he knows that, you simply nod and exit the car. Without any further regard for you, he starts to help Taeyong out of the car.

Taeyong will be fine, and you’re too tired and pained to think anymore. You make your way around the back to the guest house, collapsing into the bed and drifting off as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You wake up with the worst hangover you’ve had in a long time, flailing blindly for any source of water. Finding the half-finished water bottle from last night, you groan as you replay the events of the night.

You force yourself to get up and shower, reflecting as the hot water washes away last night’s mistakes.

Who would’ve known the asshole who yelled at you on the beach would be your sweet Taeyong’s friend? Best friend at that? Though a part of you tells you that he did have some redeeming moments.

Whatever, you just hope you won’t see him anytime soon.

Taeyong is most likely still knocked out cold, so after freshening up, you go on a walk to try and decompress, taking in the fresh air.

You stop by a cafe on the way, drinking a cup of much-needed coffee as you watch people stroll by.

This really is just what you needed. No responsibilities, no stress. You catch a whiff of the sea breeze—that could be a hangover cure in itself.

Arriving at the beach, it’s a little more crowded that day, but a familiar head of pitch black hair popping in and out from the tide pool area catches your eye.

Your brain tells you you should’ve just turned around and walked away, but you approach anyways, your feet leading you up the same path and to the same man you had encountered there just a day before.

He doesn’t hear you approaching, and you watch as he carefully forages through the tide pool in those same rubber overalls, doing exactly what he told you not to do.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to mess with the wildlife?”

He whips around in shock at your words, eyes wide at you seemingly appearing from thin air. He breathes out when he realizes it’s you, and he shakes his head.

“I’m not messing with them, for your information—this is my job,” he corrects you sternly.

“Your job is to pick around at tide pools?”

He scoffs. “I’m a marine biologist, I don’t pick around these pools—I research and preserve them. There are always stupid kids and tourists coming around here and messing around.”

“Oh.”

You have nothing smart to respond with at the revelation that he is a qualified professional, and an awkward silence settles between you, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks filling the space.

That explains why he was such an asshole—he’s probably used to chasing off people who actually mean harm.

An apology hangs off of your tongue, but you don’t let it fall, your pride reminding you of how he’s spoken down to you since the first time you met.

He approaches silently, rummaging through the pocket on the chest of his overalls. “Anyways…” he trails off, pulling out a few items and holding them out to you.

“Were any of these what you were looking for?”

Lying in his hand are two plastic buttons clearly from different garments, a hairclip, a broken keychain, and, slightly dulled from its time in the water, the ring you dropped.

“You didn’t say what you lost, so I didn’t know what to look for.”

You’re speechless. You’ve been cursing him with every fiber of your being since you laid eyes on him, but in a second the atmosphere has shifted.

“Well?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.

“…Yeah, this one,” you reply, gingerly picking the ring from his hand, your skin brushing his slightly.

He nods, putting the rest of the items into a container he’d had by his feet.

“You actually looked for it?” You realize it might be a dumb question, but you’re genuinely shocked he would go out of his way to do that.

“Sunday is my day for weekly tide pool surveys anyways,” he waves you off. His eyes soften slightly, and the corners of his lips curl in a slight smile. “Didn’t want it in a starfish’s stomach after all.”

You can’t help but feel the corners of your own mouth twitch up at his reference to your drunken rage last night.

“That ring—is it important to you?”

You got the ring at some market for cheap, and realistically, you would’ve forgotten about it in a week. You’re honest with him.

“Not really.”

He laughs in disbelief.

“But still, thank you—seriously.”

You hope he can feel that you’re genuine, and it seems like he does.

You know you could buy 100 more, but now that someone worked so hard to get it back to you? Someone who you thought hated your guts? Maybe you could take better care of it.

“Are you done with your work?” you ask, and he seems caught off guard by your question.

“..No? Still have half of the pool to survey.”

You smile at his confused expression—it’s nice to see his different expressions when he’s not glaring at you like you’re the worst person in the world.

“Need some help?”

Though he rejected your first offer, you stubbornly insisted on helping him pick out little bits of trash and debris. There wasn’t that much to clean, and Doyoung still had to do work once you were done.

The first time you helped you left as soon as you were done, but as you go about the rest of your week, something has you itching to see him again.

So you do the following Sunday, eyes scanning for that familiar head of dark hair.

You see more of him this day—the shocked expression he has at seeing you again, the slightly annoyed look he dons when you refuse to leave. Yet the sharpness he had when you first met is absent, and you’re relieved.

And when you return the following week wearing a pair of similar rubber overalls to his, the surprise on his face is priceless.

You can’t help it. You tell yourself you won’t go back, and Doyoung insists you stop coming, but every Sunday you end up right back where you started.

The 5th time you come, things shift a bit. With barely anything to clean and a lull in his research, the time you usually fill with work is empty.

One thing leads to another, and you trip on one of the rocks, falling on your ass. Luckily, no sea creatures are harmed in the process, and you laugh at yourself.

Doyoung rushes towards you, grabbing your forearms to help you up. “Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks, concerned.

“It’s no wonder Taeyong kept you around his whole time,” you coo, allowing him to help you up. You half expect him to revert right back to a stoic glare, but your consistency proves to have broken down some of his barriers.

He smiles, really smiles, and it’s a gummy smile with eyes that crinkle just right. His laughter is so joyful, so unlike your first impression.

“It’s more like I keep him around,” he jokes. “Just kidding, Tae is too kind for his own good, he needs someone careful like me around him.”

You don’t have a witty response, starstruck at the soft expression he has talking about his friend. Someone dear to him.

Could that expression, that gummy smile of his, ever be directed at you? For you? About you?

Silence.

For some reason, the apology you left hanging for so long hits you like a train.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

It takes a second to register that the word left not only your mouth, your heads darting to each other, eyes open wide in shock.

He inhales, you giggle, and the two of you break into fits of laughter. You laugh until your stomach hurts, and you don’t continue quite yet once the laughter dies down. He beckons you over to a rock formation that juts over the water, and you sit side by side.

The way the water cascades is hypnotizing, and the two of you watch for a moment before he breaks the silence.

“I’m really sorry for being so disrespectful. It’s just..” He glances back at the tide pool before training his eyes back on the waves. “This is my life’s work you know? A lot of people come through here and don’t care. I thought you were like them and I’m sorry I treated you like you were.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t judge people before you know them.”

“Yeah— that's true.”

He sounds so genuine. Another silence ensues, and it makes you wish you had gone first. You push down any remaining pride, turning to him.

“I’m sorry, too, for being kind of a bitch.”

He laughs at your choice of words, and the air lightens noticeably.

“Well, I kind of deserved it.” You don’t quite agree with that. The two of you are just different.

“No, you’re just passionate. That’s a good thing. I personally can’t understand dedicating your whole life to something—there’s so much out there, you know?,” you muse.

And it’s true, you can’t imagine what life would have looked like if you only ever stayed in one place.

“You think it’s a good thing? I was born and raised here, the ocean is all I’ve ever known.” A small smile lights his face as he breathes in the fresh air.

“But I don’t think I’ve wanted anything else.”

You can only sit there in awe. You don’t know if you’ve ever met anyone like this—so straightforward, so committed, so content. So opposite of you.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of passions, but nothing’s ever stuck,” you muse.

“Like what?”

You explain that you’ve tried it all—thought for a while you’d be a lawyer, then dabbled in nursing, traveling the whole country. He laughs at the thought of you as a nurse.

“You as a nurse when you’re the one yacking on the side of the road?” he teases.

“Hey.”

He apologizes sheepishly, and you continue.

“I tried to do fashion and design, and those didn’t stick either. I think the longest running thing was a weed business I ran back where some of my family lives—my cousin runs it now, though. You ever try?” you hold up your pinched index finger and thumb to your mouth as if smoking an imaginary blunt.

Amusement lights his eyes. “I’m not so sure it’s legal here.”

“Oh, it is—I made sure to ask Taeyong before coming to stay here,” you correct him confidently.

He laughs. “Fiend.” You lightly smack the side of his arm and his laughter grows.

“Well, what are you doing now?” he asks.

You grin as you gear up to explain.

“Nothing!”

His brows furrow, waiting for the punchline of a joke he thinks his coming.

“Nothing?”

You nod amidst his confused reaction, continuing.

“I’ve done so much, worked so much, but doing nothing is the only thing I haven’t tried yet, and it’s honestly been nice.”

“And you can afford that?” His question is genuine.

“Trust, I have more than enough to get by for a while. That’s what happens when you hyperfixate on a bunch of different things.”

You fixate on the patterns the crashing waves make, watching how the droplets drag themselves back into the mass.

“The more you move the more you make, you know? And that’s all I’ve ever done.” You look back at him. “Move.”

He’s at a loss for words, and you notice how his eyes droop a bit, taking on a sad look. Another expression added to your mental scrapbook of Doyoung, but not one you think you want to see often.

After what feels like a million questions directed towards you, you ask just one of your own.

“You’re sure you never wanted to try anything else?”

Doyoung’s response is immediate, as if he’s pondered this many times before.

“No.” The sadness leaves his eyes as he takes on a resolute expression instead. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

A question enters your mind at how certain he is. How nice is it to have something you care that much about? You don’t voice it, keeping it for yourself.

“I think I’m fine, too. For now, at least.”

You continue your days spending time learning to do nothing. While your quiet Sundays are always spent on the beach with Doyoung, Saturday nights are always Taeyong’s.

After that disaster of a first night, you’ve been careful of your alcohol intake. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want a repeat, but a part of you holds back at the thought of wanting to be fully energized for your mornings on the beach.

You’ve been thinking too much, and maybe Taeyong has noticed, but he convinces you it’s time to let loose.

You don’t have to be at the pools in the morning—half the time you don’t even help when there isn’t much to clean. You sit and sunbathe while Doyoung works. He’s stopped telling you to leave, but who’s to say he wouldn’t appreciate some solo time?

You resolve yourself to go all out, but you’re not even halfway done with your first tequila soda when you think you may be hallucinating. A familiar face walks into the bar, waving at the two of you awkwardly.

Doyoung stands in front of you, dressed for a night out in his own Doyoung way—some nice fitting pants and a loose black button up giving you a nice view of a silver chain perfectly framed by his collarbones. His hair, usually fluffy and free, is tousled with some gel in just the right way.

He looks mouth watering.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, and Taeyong bounces between you two.

“You’d be surprised, but this guy can hold his liquor 10x better than I can,” Taeyong exclaims.

“I’m not surprised actually,” you tell both of them, already seeing the telltale signs that your friend is drunk.

Taeyong pouts, and you and Doyoung laugh. While Taeyong buys a round of shots for the 3 of you, you nudge Doyoung’s shoulder.

“Match me?”

“You’re gonna regret it.” There’s a playful glint in his eye, and your chest flares as you rise to the challenge.

“Bet.”

It’s safe to say you don’t regret it in the slightest.

Taeyong taps out not too far into the night, tucked safely in some booth with a glass of water until his cab arrives to take him home.

And you and Doyoung? The night flies by in a booth of your own.

You’re talking like you’ve never talked before. He talks about his childhood in that beach town, the trouble he and Taeyong used to get into, the university up the coast he works at on some weekdays. You talk about your favorite cities, the worst jobs you’ve tried, the craziest people you’ve met along the way.

All the while you get to know him, you don’t realize you’ve inched closer. It starts with your hand on his arm as you excitedly explain a random story to the way you sit angled towards him, your knees touching every so often.

And the touches only grow more familiar as the drinks go down.

His hand trails down your forearm, his touch light and feathery. At some point you hold one of his hands in both of yours, playing with his fingers as you talk animatedly about another tangent subject you don’t remember bringing up.

You see even more of Doyoung you haven’t before, and part of you wishes you could snap a picture to keep this memory forever. You can smell his cologne mixed with alcohol, and you hope you can commit the addicting scent to memory.

You’re drunk— it’s evident in the cool feeling of the alcohol sitting in your stomach and the heat in your face. His face is tinged with blush, his eyes are dazed and glossy—he’s just as drunk as you are.

At some point, you make the mistake of closing your eyes as you lean back. You aren’t sleeping, but it just feels nice to rest your eyes, the alcohol making it’s way through your blood stream. Your head lolls to the side and onto a firm shoulder.

“You okay?” Doyoung calls softly to you. You can feel his warm breath close to you and his arm wrap around your form to steady you.

You hum in response, cracking one eye open.

He’s right in front of you, and as his full face comes into view, backlit by the dim lighting in the club, your thoughts betray you.

You like seeing so many sides of Doyoung: annoyed, happy, excited. Yet you want to see yet another side of him—one different from all the rest.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s a gentle peck, nothing crazy, but it feels like the air stills around you. Like the music and chatter in the background have silenced, like only the two of you exist.

Doyoung doesn’t react like how you think. He doesn’t freeze, get mad, push you away.

No, he closes his eyes, his arm around you holding you tighter, pulling you closer, and meets your lips with his. It’s longer than the one you gave him. You can taste the alcohol on his breath.

His hand trails down your back down to your waist, tugging you closer to him, his kisses deepening.

Your arms wrap around his neck like you’ve done this with him a million times before, and you take the initiative to deepen it even more, loving the way he gasps a bit when your tongue meets his.

The two of you make out for who knows how long, but even when he pulls back, out of breath, lips glistening—you chase him. It all feels too good, and you want more.

He pulls back again.

“You’re drunk.”

The corners of your lips pull up.

“No, you are.”

He sighs, leaning his forehead on yours.

“We’re both drunk.”

“Then it cancels out!”

He lets out another more exasperated sigh, but his lips pull into a smile as well.

“Not how it works.”

Pulling the inside of your lip between your teeth, your eyes trail from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes. He groans.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You bat your eyes innocently.

“Like what, baby?” you tease, but you know where this is going. His eyes darken at the affectionate name. You’re drunk, but you’re entirely in your right mind when you say you need to fuck Doyoung in this moment.

You never really thought about it before despite knowing he was an attractive guy, but the second he walked into the bar looking the way he did, talking to you the way he did, touching you the way he did—there was an unmistakable feeling of desire.

And he seems to have the same feeling, apparent in the way both of you stumble out of the bar, giggling as he keeps a hand wrapped around your waist firmly, his hold on you not faltering even in the taxi back to the guest house.

His lips are back on yours as soon as you’re inside. He pushes you up against the front door as soon as it’s closed, locking it with a click behind you.

He runs his lips down your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down its expanse that send shivers through your entire body. For someone usually so patient (through not necessarily without complaints), he’s so impatient, running his hands down your waist and hips, bunching up the bottom of your dress in his hands.

“Fuck, Doyoung, do something,” you moan, and you’re met with his dark gaze.

He falls to his knees, pulling your bottom half towards him, your back still resting on the door. He pushes up your dress, throwing one of your legs over his shoulders.

“Shut up,” he mumbles out, attaching his mouth to your core over your underwear. Your other leg trembles, and it would give out if not for the hold he has on your thigh and ass. He digs his tongue between your folds, finding your clit and pressing the material against it in circles.

You grasp at his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans into your pussy, sending vibrations through your clothed core. Your chest heaves as he has his way with you, moving his tongue from side to side until you’re shaking.

The feeling of the slick, rough fabric pushed by his warm tongue sends shocks down your system, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re cumming with a loud cry, your head shooting up.

You don’t get a chance to recover before Doyoung has you on the bed, him helping you slide your dress up over your head. You take a look at the bit of his chest that peeks out from his shirt.

“You, too. Take it off, Doie,” you in plead, and grins.

“I helped you, why don’t you help me out?” he asks playfully, and in a flash you’re fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, taking in every bit of toned skin that comes into view. You run your hands down his chest, loving the way he shudders under your touch.

“Don’t play, baby.”

He pushes you back in the bed, shrugging his pants off. He kisses down your bare chest, palm kneading at your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples as his tongue glides across it.

You moan at the sensation—everywhere he touches feels like it’s on fire. His hot breath on your skin feels more intoxicating than the liquor pumping through your veins.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, “so fucking beautiful.”

His lips trail up back to yours, kissing you even deeper, pressing you into the sheets, grinding his knee into your bare cunt. You moan into his mouth, moving your hips along with his motions.

And all of a sudden, the need to be filled up is far too overwhelming. “Doyoung, please, please,” you cry into his mouth.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he assures, his voice low and rough as if he’s holding himself back. “Condoms?”

Your head is clouded with desire, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone more than in this moment.

“I’m clean, I’m on the pill—just, please, Doyoung. Please,” you cry.

As if something snaps, he groans, pulling himself from his underwear—his cock stands painfully hard, and you feel yourself salivate at the sight. He spits into his hand, quickly coating his member in his spit, and lines up between your legs.

“Bear with me okay—tell me if it hurts, pretty,” he instructs before pushing into your entrance with a hiss. The stretch burns, but it burns so fucking good, and you move your hips to try and get more of him in you.

“Sh-shit,” he pushes on your lower stomach to hold you in place, but it just leaves you wanting more, your chest heaving with pure desire. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just stay still,” he growls, moving both hands to your hips, keeping you in place. “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby. Let me take care of you.” You squirm in his hold, but it’s no use—he pins you there with his strong grip until he’s fully sheathed himself in you.

And fuck, it feels so good, so full. And as he starts shallowly thrusting, testing the waters all while gauging the way your expression twists with a watchful eye, all you can do is just lay there and *take it—*and that in itself is such a new feeling for someone so used to getting what you want on your own.

His eyes swirl with lust, but also awe, and you wonder if he likes seeing your different sides as much as you like seeing his. He starts picking up the pace, his cock reaching into you deeper, and you cry out at the sensation, your hands flying to his shoulders to hold onto something.

He sets a steady rhythm, though sometimes his hips stutter sloppily, undoubtedly from the leftover alcohol in his system, and the silver chain hanging around his neck swinging back and forth is hypnotizing.

His gaze never wavers. Even when your eyes roll back, shut, or you move your head around from the sensations of getting pounded into the mattress, his eyes are always on you when your gaze returns to him—and Doyoung looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

The only words exchanged between the slapping sound of skin on skin and the burning sensation between your legs are curses and strings of his name from you and sweet whispers and praises from him.

“So beautiful, so fucking pretty,” he groans like a mantra, “pretty girl like you deserves everything—fuck—gonna take such good care of you.”

You clench around him at the sweet promises, your mind spinning with only thoughts of Doyoung, Doyoung, and Doyoung. You want him to take care of you, you want to be under him, letting him do whatever he wants to you. The feeling of his skin on yours just feels so right.

You pull him closer to you, fully wrapping your arms around his neck. He continues pounding into you like there’s no tomorrow as you cling to him for dear life, his deep groans and grunts in your ears.

“L-let go, let me see you when you cum, baby,” he heaves, holding on as long as he can. Your hold on him loosens, but you keep your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into the muscles.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greets as your face comes into view. “Keep those eyes on me, yeah?” The pressure builds and builds at each thrust, your pussy starting to ripple around him until it’s all too much, and your eyes flutter, trying to do as he says and keep your eyes on him.

You cum around him with a loud gasp, your cries filling the room as he rides out your orgasm. He grits his teeth to hold on until you’ve completely finished, feeling a tightness in his own abdomen before pulling out, jerking himself furiously, his cum painting your stomach in streaks.

You both breathe harshly, coming down from your highs, before he collapses right next to you, an arm thrown over you. You’re so tired and everything is hazy, but you’re 100% sober at this point.

Regret should be filling your system at doing this drunk, but it doesn’t. Doyoung grabs his shirt, wiping your stomach, and settles beside you, tucking his arm under your neck.

And just like how it was when he was inside you, lying beside him feels just as right.

You wake up with pain in your head and your body, still in his grasp. Doyoung is still asleep, breathing steadily. He looks so peaceful. Another piece of him added to your memories.

As if he senses you staring, he stirs slightly before his eyes peek open, blinking off sleep as he makes out your features.

“Hi,” he greets, voice deep and scratchy. It stirs something in your stomach.

“Hi.”

There’s a brief silence, the two of you just looking at each other, knowing you have to address how you got to this point. You dread it.

“…Were you okay with everything? I want to let you know I’m completely okay with what happened last night, but I know we were drunk.” he breaks the silence. The fact that he checks in on you first and foremost makes your chest tighten.

“More than okay,” you assure, yet you know you have to make yourself clear. No matter how right it felt in the moment, it isn’t.

This isn’t meant to be any more than what it is on the surface—a one night stand. You can’t commit right now, not while you’re figuring everything out. You can’t do that to anyone, especially not him.

“But..” you start, and he urges you to continue with a soft gaze. “I don’t want things to change between us.”

He’s silent for a bit, his expression unreadable, and you wish in this moment that you could read his mind.

“I’m sorry if this ruins things,” you double down at his silence.

His lips part as if to say something, and he closes it again. You start to get nervous.

“It doesn’t,” he finally responds. “And things don’t have to change.”

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding. You know Doyoung probably had more to say, but you’re grateful to leave things as is.

He unwraps himself from you, getting up and stretching his arms high over his head with a groan. You stare at his bare back, the broad expanse of his shoulders, every ridge and dip of his muscles. Half of you wants to pull him back down to lay with you, but after what you just said? What he just accepted? It would be unfair.

He peeks back at you. “Mind if I freshen up here before heading to the pools?” he asks, casually as if you didn’t just draw the thickest line between you two. Yet you’re grateful.

“You’re still going even after a night out?”

“Yeah?” he tugs at your covers.

“And you are too, aren’t you?” he asks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

With a mix of guilt and warmth in your chest, you let him pull you from your sheets, getting ready to go to the tide pools with him—just like any other Sunday.

It’s been 9 months since you first arrived in the city, 8 months and 2 weeks since you met Doyoung, and you’re conflicted.

The half-year mark is usually when you ask yourself if it’s time to move on from your current state of life. Other jobs, other places, other people have lasted longer, but you’d always made the decision that they’d be that way from the half-year mark.

But now coming into almost a year here with no thoughts of leaving feels weird. Is it that you’re enjoying doing nothing?

That may be so, but you’d be stupid if you didn’t admit that there was something keeping you tethered to this beach town—someone.

Your days are spent with Taeyong and Doyoung, together and individually, doing everything from mundane daily chores to visiting nearby cities. You take weekend trips with the two of them, though you’re sure to be back by Sunday for the weekly tide pool visits.

Taeyong is your platonic soulmate, that’s for sure. But Doyoung—you’re not quite sure what role he plays in your life.

You wish you could write it off as a drunken one-night stand, but the way you end up under Doyoung again and again after that night tells otherwise. Drunk, sober— you can’t get enough of him. The feeling of his skin against yours, his lips on yours, his voice in your ear.

Nights are spent at yours until he finally takes you to his place, a quaint 2 bedroom home left to him by his retired parents, and the more you stay, the more you want to. You can feel yourself slipping.

It all hit you one day after a night with Doyoung, waking up wrapped in his arms as the sunlight peeked through the curtains. It wasn’t a Sunday—time with him at some point bled into every other day of the week.

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” you had asked out of the blue, lazing around with him well into the afternoon since Doyoung didn’t work that day.

You don’t know what possessed you to ask—thinking that far in the future was something you actively avoided, but something in you wanted to see what he’d say. Maybe you thought his answer might inspire your own.

He pondered for a bit before responding.

“Here, hopefully.”

Another silly question left you before you knew it.

“With who?”

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, one you hadn’t experienced with him in a long time, maybe since the first few times you spent with him. Silence with him is usually comfortable, natural, yet in that moment it felt far too cold.

“I’m not sure.”

You don’t know why your heart sank. Maybe a part of you expected him to say you, wanted him to say you, and what he said next made you feel sick.

“I know I want to get married some day, but who knows?”

Marriage. You’d never even thought of that as a possibility in your life.

Loving someone enough to stay with them forever, denying any other possibilities or paths because you’ve made the decision to intertwine your fate with someone else’s—you don’t think you’re even capable of that.

You feel something for Doyoung, you’re certain about it. You’ve spent most of the time in this town with him, and in that time, you don’t think you’ve wanted anything else.

Yet who’s to say you won’t in the future?

You’ve seen this play out in your life far too many times—wanting something so bad it consumes you, uprooting your life in pursuit, and then repeating the process with something else once the passion cools.

The thought of that happening with Doyoung made you sick.

So you did as you always do—you drew the line.

“I guess you’re stuck with me ‘til you find your wife.”

“…I guess so.” He laughed, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You didn’t notice, too busy pushing down the ache in your chest at the thought of Doyoung finding someone else.

He’s a good guy, one of the best you’ve ever met, maybe. He’s stubborn and honest to a fault, but he also would do anything for his loved ones to be happy. He deserves someone who can give him the same.

That’s what you tell yourself, but the way you glare holes into Doyoung at your usual bar with Taeyong peering at you worriedly tells otherwise.

It had been like any other Saturday night, with you coming into the bar, but Doyoung wasn’t glued to your side as usual. A few drinks flew by when Taeyong leaned in, pointing across the bar.

“Do you think he knows her?” Taeyong asked. You turned your head in the direction he was pointing, and that’s when you saw them.

Doyoung and by his side, a very pretty woman, talking to him animatedly with stars in her eyes.

Your throat tightened, your stomach sank, and your head felt light. A flurry of emotions came all at once, and it was far too overwhelming to process at that moment. You had to look away.

“Maybe,” you replied, turning back to the bar to order another drink. And another. And another.

And pretty soon, Taeyong’s the one nursing you for once, having tapped out earlier. He hands you a glass of water, which you take gratefully, your eyes scanning once again for your missing raven-haired friend.

Every thing seems to move in slow motion as you watch him lean down to her, his lips approaching hers, her hand gripping his arm. You see red.

You push through the few people in your way, ignoring Taeyong’s calls for you to stop, quickly storming up to the two of them. The woman next to him looks at you in surprise, and you don’t even get a good look at her face before you snatch Doyoung’s arm from her grip, tugging him along with you.

She shrieks a shrill “what the fuck?!” but you pay no mind, your only goal to get Doyoung as far away as her from possible.

You end up outside the bar, panting from the sheer adrenaline of what you just did.

“What the hell was that all about?” he asks, and when you finally turn to look at him, your heart sinks.

The sharp glare he had when you first met him is back, but there’s more—there’s shock, anger, maybe even resentment. You don’t remember what resentment on him looked like, but you’re sure it gave a similar feeling.

You let go of him, stumbling back, tongue tied at this unfamiliar side of him. You treasure each moment you meet a new side of Doyoung, but in this moment, you don’t know how to feel.

“Well?” he asks expectantly.

“I-um. Who was that?” You could slap yourself for how dumb you must sound, but it’s the only thing you can think of. He clenches his jaw at the question.

“I met her tonight, she’s nice,” he replied, curtly. Your face pulls into a sour look, and you turn away, a flare of anger rising in your chest. You don’t realize flames have burst in his own chest as well.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” he chides. “Didn’t you say you’ll be here until I find my wife, so what’s your problem?”

His wife—he just met her, how could he be taking it this seriously? You aren’t thinking straight, just combative at the idea that he could do everything he does with you with someone else.

“You think your wife is some random at a bar?”

“Hey, you don’t know her,” he bites back, and your heart sinks at his defense.

“… and you were some random at a bar, too, you know?”

He might as well could have taken your heart and stomped on it with those words. It would feel the same.

Even after all this time, is that all it was? He thinks anyone could have what you two have? You know this is unfair, it’s fucked up of you—it doesn’t make sense after every line you’ve drawn, yet you can’t help it.

You crossed all of them a long time ago.

“What the hell, Doyoung? How dare you compare me to her? You don’t even know her!” you deride him, but your voice betrays you as it trembles.

“I’m so much more than that.”

There’s a long silence. You’re too scared to look up at Doyoung. You don’t want him to hate you, not when you’ve gotten so used to the side of him that looks at you with so much warmth.

With love in his eyes.

Fuck.

“You are.”

His voice cuts through, but it lacks any of the venom it had prior. You finally look up at him, and there it is—that look that makes you feel like the only person in the world.

“You are so much more than that to me.”

He takes a step forward, taking your hand and interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You’re everything.”

It’s as if the air has been completely swiped from your lungs. No words form in your brain or on your tongue.

“I’m not having this conversation while you’re this shit faced, I’m taking you home.”

“I—” your breath gets caught in your throat, your eyes start stinging, and your head is suddenly spinning. All the fight leaves you, and it feels humiliating. You can’t speak.

Doyoung immediately gathers you into his arms, walking you to his car and tucking you into his passenger seat, and you let him. You gaze at the part in his black hair at the top of his head as he bends over you, clicking your seatbelt into place.

You only look out the window as he starts the car, driving you down the streets you’ve come to know well. He places a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing comforting circles into your skin, and you hate how his touch calms you in a second, yet it’s also a reminder that he’s here. With you.

He helps you into the guest house once you arrive, sitting you down on the bed.

For a while, it’s like nothing is wrong. He grabs your makeup removing wipes from the bathroom, dabbing away the product from your skin—gently, like you’re a precious work of art.

He grabs clothes from your closet, handing them to you.

“Change.”

“Help me.”

And he does, wordlessly pulling your dress over your head, replacing it with a soft oversized t-shirt you’d always told him was your favorite to sleep in. He gets you a glass of water, making sure you drink a good amount before placing it on the bedside table.

“Doyoung,” you call.

“Just sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

You bite down your words and lay down, and he sits next to you on the bed. His hand comes to your cheek, wiping at the tears you didn’t even realize started leaving your eyes. Everything feels right with him here, yet in this moment you feel like the worst person in the world.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

The corners of his lips turn up just slightly, and he places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“It’s okay.”

It’s just before sunset when you wake up, and Doyoung isn’t there.

When was the last time you came home with him and didn’t wake up to him the next morning? He always woke you up, knowing you’d feel some type of way if he didn’t take you with him or at least say goodbye before leaving.

You feel hollow, as if a piece of you is missing.

It’s over.

It’s time to pack it up, move on and figure out what comes next in your life.

Your eyes catch sight of a note next to the water on the bedside table, and you hold it up with shaky hands.

Happy Sunday, beautiful.

You know where to find me.

You’re so scared, so fucking scared, but for the first time, you don’t move away from what scares you, you run towards it.

Your heart is both at rest and unrest when you see his silhouette at the tide pools, the sunset illuminating him in an array of golden colors. You’re out of breath when you approach him, but you speak before he can even turn around.

“Do you want me?”

The question hangs heavily in the distance between you two.

“What a stupid question,” and he looks like he’s in physical pain when he turns towards you, yet the warmth in his eyes is still there.

“I always want you, but every time I wake up to you, I have to remind myself that you don’t want me in the same way.”

He couldn't be more wrong.

“I think I love you,” you confess, quietly, as if you can't believe you're saying it yourself.

And it’s his turn to be speechless, mouth parted as his eyes widen at your confession.

“I want you, Doyoung— I want you so badly it hurts. This must be so selfish, but part of me thinks—no, wants to stay here forever, but another part of me is so fucking scared.”

He comes closer to you, gathering you in his arms as he always does. “Scared of what, baby?” Everything spills.

“I’m scared that this will just be like every other thing in my life—one day something is the center of my life, and then all of a sudden it means nothing. I won’t find meaning in it and go looking for the next best thing.”

“And is that how you feel about me?” he asks, and it breaks your heart.

“No! No… but what do I do if my feelings go away?” You feel choked up as you pour your heart out to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Doyoung,” you sob, and he pulls you to his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt as his hand rubs soothingly up and down your back. He just lets you let it out, and once you’ve calmed slightly, he continues.

“Please be honest with me—have you… have you felt the way you do for me about anyone else?”

His question hits you square in the chest—harder than any question has ever hit.

Because if you really think about it, every job you’ve had, every hobby you’ve explored, every place you’ve been, every person you’ve met—they’ve never made you feel this way. You’ve always chased and chased fulfillment, but he didn’t need to be chased—he was there, he was willing, he was home.

The thought of leaving terrifies you—and you’ve never felt that way. You’ve lived the pattern of passion and burn-out, but passion has never felt like this.

It’s never felt like the fresh ocean breeze on a sunny day, like the feeling of smooth, jet-black hair threaded between your fingers, like discovering new things about the same person every day and wanting to.

“You don’t have to answer that—actually don’t,” he says, still holding you against his chest. “I’m an adult, you know. I may not have seen as much of the world as you have, but I know what I want.”

You push back slightly so you can look at him, and you can see unshed tears in his eyes, too.

“You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want, but if you want me—really want me, then be selfish. Let me be yours. Let me be yours until you think you don’t want me anymore.”

You can’t help the tears that resurface, sniffling as your heart starts to settle.

“Then I’ll remind you again what it felt like in this moment.”

“And how the hell will you do that?” you ask between your tears and hiccups.

“I don't know, but trust me, I’ll figure it out.”

You laugh, and the gummy smile you’ve come to love lights his face.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone else,” he assures, holding your face in his hands.

“And I don’t think I ever will.”

His gaze is unwavering, and every last bit of resolve crumbles.

“Please be mine Doyoung, please,” you cry, flinging your arms around him as you bring your mouth to his, the salty taste of your tears sitting between the two of you. When you separate, breathless, his smile has brightened even more. It's the brightest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

“Only if you’ll be mine, too.”

And for the first time in your life, the idea of forever doesn’t feel like the end, but just the beginning.

a/n: it’s done!!!!!!!!!!! this one goes out to my hyperfixaters...... guys,, getting myself to write anything, let alone a full fic, without absolutely hating and scrapping it has been a hard journey. but i'm doing my best, and hopefully that comes across in this fic :') a love letter to doyoung before he goes </3

also no weed??? in my sobriety era! jk ofc not, i just dont want my stuff to get redundant so im branching out, trying new things :)) thank you to bestie boo @onriyuview for beta reading!

please let me know your thoughts on this, feedback and shares are always welcome and appreciated greatly.

-coco <3

[haechanprint]

• ౨ৎ ────── SILK AND SURRENDER ₊ ˖ ་.

김동영 ꒰ kim doyoung! x fem reader !

꒰ doyoung’s got money, power, and the whole city at his feet, but when it comes to you, all he wants is your lips, your touch, and to hear you say you’re his. ⟡ 📞

✿ - est.relationship 𓂃 fluff, very very!! suggestive, jealousy, kissing, full fic, : names : baby, beautiful , WC ୨ৎ - 1,5k!

( FLORIHAEI VALUT )

©florihaei 2025 ꒰ do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without permission ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ

the click of your heels echoed through the hallway as you stepped into doyoung’s penthouse. the lights from outside glowed through the tall windows, but all you saw was him, leaning on the couch in a black shirt, a drink in his head , his eyes already on you.

“late again” he said, his voice low and calm. “you do that on purpose, don’t you baby?”

you dropped your coat on the chair and walked over, slow and smug. “you love when i make you wait.”

his lips lifted into a small smirk. “you’re not wrong baby.”

he stood up and walked towards, looking unfairly good without even trying. the way his shirt clung to him, top buttons undone, made your thoughts drift fast.

“you didn’t even text me today” you said, crossing your arms as he came closer. “too busy buying another building?”

doyoung laughed softly. “something like that”

you raised a brow. “you could’ve sent me one message.”

he slipped a hand around your waist, pulling you in. “you know i think about you beautiful, even when i don’t say it.”

you tried to keep your cool, but your hands were already moving up his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the soft fabric.

“i got you a new apartment today” he said casually. “penthouse downtown, you’ll get the keys tomorrow.”

your eyes widened. “doyoung-“

he kissed your cheek, slow and warm. “you deserve better than what you have, i don’t want you waking up in anything less than silk baby.”

you sighed. “you’re too much.”

“im just enough” he whispered. “want to fight me on that?”

instead of answering, you kissed him. deep, slow, and needy. his hands tightened on your waist while his other slid up on your back. he kissed you like he had all night, and maybe he did. with doyoung, time always felt like it stopped.

“you taste expensive.” you breathed against his lips.

“that’s because i am” he grinned.

he walked you backwards towards the couch, one of those sleek white leather ones you know no one’s ever used for sitting. he eased you down gently, hovering above you like you were made of something rare.

“you wore this dress for me?” he asked, brushing his fingers along your thigh.

“all for you…”

“mm, your so good beautiful.”

his lips found your neck, warm and slow, and his hands moved higher under your dress. he touched you like you were his favorite thing in the world, like he’d been waiting all day for this. and maybe he had.

“you drive me insane” he muttered, kissing your collarbone. “you walk in like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“what do i do to you?” you whispered.

“you ruin me.”

you paused, heart thudding a little harder. he wasn’t teasing now, his voice was soft, serious.

“i could have anyone” he said quietly, brushing your hair from your face. “but i want you, only you beautiful ..”

you looked up at him, taking in the way his eyes held yours, like he needed you to believe him. you’d always known he showed love through actions, gifts, trips, dinners where he closed off the whole place just for the two of you. but this was different.

“i want you too” you said honestly. “even without the money and the fancy places.”

his jaw clenched, and then he kissed you again , rougher this time. his hands found your jaw, tilting it just right, and his body pressed down into yours like he was trying to make sure you felt everything.

“you’re mine” he said against your lips. “say it.”

“im yours ..”

that did something to him, he kissed you harder, deeper, his hands everywhere now. and maybe that was the thing about doyoung. he didn’t just want to own nice things. he wanted to feel them, earn them,, treasure them.

you were no different.

“stay tonight..” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “don’t go back there baby”

you looked up at him, hair messy from his hands, lips swollen from his kisses. he looked at you like you were all he needed.

“i’ll stay.”

he smiled, sweet and proud, and stood up, reaching for your hand.

“come on” he said, guiding you towards the bedroom. “let me show you what luxury really feels like.”

and with his mouth on your neck, his fingers under your dress, and the soft sheets calling your name, he did exactly that.

[haechanprint]

˚｡ - NCT 127 MASTERLIST ⋆୨୧˚

ਏਓ ܢ make sure to read my rules and regulations here! before making a request

୨୧˚index:fluff(🎀), smut(☁️), drabble (📃), smau(🧸), suggestive (🦢), full fic (📝),reactions/headcannons(🎧), angest (🤍)

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、OT8/ALL MEMBERS !

if you were mine, (and you are) (🎀)(📝)(🦢)(🎧)- 1.2k ꒰ everyone tells a story. they weren’t just made to be yours, they act like it too. each member has a different way of showing there love. and trust, none of them plan on letting you go, so here’s how nct 127 is as your boyfriend .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、JOHNNY !

… in the works

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、TAEYONG !

… in the works

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、YUTA !

just say your mine(🎀)(📃) -꒰ 565 when you spend a little too long talking to someone else, yuta starts sulking like a kicked puppy. it’s hard to take him seriously, especially when he’s this pouty .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、DOYOUNG !

silk and surrender(🎀)(🦢)(📝) - 1.5k ꒰ doyoung’s got money, power, and the whole city at his feet, but when it comes to you, all he wants is your lips, your touch, and to hear you say you’re his. .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、JAEHYUN !

velvet midnight(🎀)(📝)(🤍) - 1.2k ꒰ tensions are running high between you and jaehyun. you've got to make up before you get hurt...but who will be the first to say sorry?.ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、JUNGWOO !

… in the works

(mark and haechan are in my dreamies masterlist here! ୨ৎ

[haechanprint]

Throbbing

Summary -> Daryl needs you, however you’re out on a run, so he has no other cure other than to take care of himself (0.8k)

Warnings -> 18+ minors dni, smut, masturbation, swearing, implied smut

daryl dixon // norman reedus works main masterlist

It had been a long insufferable day for Daryl, and he was glad to be back in his basement, however something was missing that made the tracker continue to yearn.

That something was you.

He had supposed that when he got home you would be there to relieve his amorous aching, however you were nowhere to be seen. You must have still been out on a run, your boots and rucksack where gone suggesting as much.

And so he sat impatiently on the couch, lulling his head back onto the supporting headrest and breathed an impatient groan.

Daryl needed you, more than he ever had, or so he thought but it felt the same each time. His body had a craving and it would continue to be unfulfilled until you fixed his aroused ‘wound’.

You were consistent with tending to his injuries, and you were no different when it came to appealing to his desires. He tried shutting his eyes, but all he could see as he did so was your face, batting your eyelashes up at him as your mouth swallowed his eager cock.

He’d give anything for your return, however as he sat there and numerous minutes passed him by, there was no suggestion that your presence would flood him with freedom soon.

As much as he wanted to wait for you and your sultry aid, he knew he couldn’t. Picturing you in his mind was definitely not helping his matter, and so he reached his hand down and skilfully unbuckled his belt, shifting the material of his denim jeans down so that he could pull his pulsating length out and into his grasp.

It wasn’t the same as your own, but his hand have him some satisfaction, and whilst it wasn’t the perfect pleasure that he imagined, he knew he could get the job done by his lonesome. And that was his only option.

He began to stroke his cock, blowing out huffs of air threw the partition of his lips as he thought of all the sinful things he wanted to do with you.

As soon as you returned from your scavenging chores, he wanted you to apologise for whatever delay you had been caught up in. He would make you beg for his forgiveness, willing to do anything to make it up to him.

He would tease you as the thoughts he had of you had been doing to him all day. He’d use you for his own needs, leaving you begging to cum after he filled you up with his seed contentedly.

That thought made him bite his lip, he adored cumming inside of you. It made your bodies feel aligned together, composing into a singular source of passion that was a taste of solace for both of you.

In all admission, he felt like a horny teenager as he masturbated, it made him feel a little embarrassed, but he was too turned on to give into that feeling. There was another that he craved, and that was the sensation of release. And he was adamant to reach it with or without you, even if he preferred the latter.

He wanted you here, sharing bliss as one, rather than him chasing it by his lonesome. He wanted your body heat pressed against him, hearing his name gasp from your lips and into his ear, he was still astounded that you even wanted him. He’d always been a lone wolf in the sense that he liked doing things by himself, but he was starving for your touch.

To imagine that you were out there now, killing walkers without flinching and directing your friends onto the next step home had his chest feeling tight. He always liked to see you take those fuckers down.

His head reeled back, as he chewed on his own lip, daydreaming about you and how your ass looked in the jeans that he witnessed you dress yourself in during the morning, and the memory only brought him closer to his release. “Daryl.” He could hear your voice in his mind, giggling, and that was the end for him.

He emptied his load over his hand, and he felt relaxed. That was until he continued to hear your addictive laugh, and he drowsily opened his eyelids, turning to face the door, only to see your face flushed with a wave of amusement.

Your hand covered your mouth as you attempted to calm your laughter, however he saw straight through the useless convey of in-suspicion, and grumbled a ‘shut up’ through his teeth.

“No wonder why you were in a bad mood this morning, and I thought it was because I had to leave.” You were smirking, tilting your head as he rolled his eyes at your sarcastic humour. “And all you wanted was some time alone,” you faked a pout, batting your eyelashes in his direction, “all you had to do was ask for me to give you some privacy.”

He grabbed his red rag, cleaning his hand of his release as he composed himself, narrowing his blue eyes towards you. “Ain’t no privacy in this goddamn place with you sneaking up on people. Get here woman, and close the stupid door.”

You were already exhausted and covered in sweat from your supply run, however you weren’t going to say no to a naked Daryl.”

[haechanprint]

🗯️”Fine. Les’get this over with. But yer gonna be real fuckin' sorry if yer pregnant after this.” Daryl Dixon👉🏻👈🏻

i mean, the world sort of ended. there’s not much to do these days. honestly, you’re sick of this new way of life. killing for an out-of-date can of beans, killing for a roof, killing for a band aid, killing for some stale cholera-standard water. killing if it means you get to live.

not that you can really call this a life anymore. more so survival. which is different.

what you’d rather kill for? a moment of normalcy.

flick through a magazine, braid someone’s hair, craft a fucking daisy chain—

“ay! keep up, will ya? damn.”

you’re snapped from your thoughts by the gruffly barked order, which of course you take umbrage to. you glare at the back of his head, grease-slick and dirty. probably lice-riddled. yes, keep thinking about the lice. that’ll stop the thoughts you’ve been having lately.

you’ve been thinking about boning daryl dixon.

smelly, bitter, looks at everyone like they curled one out into his cereal. he’s a master humbler. surprisingly silver-tongued and sharply-witted, as and when he chooses to talk. which isn’t often.

“i’m right behind you.” you grumble, pointedly quickening your stride so that if he happens to turn back, you would in fact be right behind him.

“uh-huh.” he grunts, one arm swinging at his left whilst the other grips his crossbow. you find yourself mesmerised by the definition in his toned arms, tricep swole from the recent walker encounter whereby he dealt with it one-handed. ‘cause, of course he did.

hence the dampened knickers predicament you’re currently toiling with.

you’re so sensitive down there having not been intimate since the apocalypse began, that the way your cargo trousers chafe against your heat causes you to let out the odd groan. ones you hope he’ll mistake for exhaustion or injury.

“not far now.” he updates over his shoulder, gravelly and indistinct.

“thank christ.” you breathe, adjusting the visor of your cap. the georgia heat really is unforgiving this time of year, the sun’s glare frying you like a slab of meat. “and my feet hurt.”

“that why y’r whining back there like a doe in rut?” he probes, tone goading and trivial.

you stumble at his words, an embarrassed flush staining your cheeks. you’ll blame that on the weather too. “yep. why else?”

he stops in his tracks, causing you to collide with his back. you yelp when he slams his hand against your mouth and lowers you to the ground, spooning your body. you taste the saltiness of sweat on his palm, the dusty tang of muck. it’s intoxicating.

“shh.” he hisses against your ear, keeping you pinned.

a chorus of unfamiliar voices present themselves to you then, followed by the snapping of sticks beneath several pairs of boots. you both remain hidden in the grass until your unwanted company supposedly clear out.

daryl sits up behind you, palm slipping from your mouth to limply rest over your throat, his other hand still gripping your midriff. “a’right, we’re good.”

but you don’t hear him, solely focused on the way your arse is angled against his groin, calluses rough against the skin of your neck. thanks to the close proximity, you can smell the chimney musk of his cigarettes and however much of his natural scent still clings to his clothes. it’s comforting. that, and a massive fucking turn-on.

“aw, hell.” he grunts, looking down at you through a narrow gaze, teeth nipping at the thin flesh of his lower lip.

“fuck it.” he then decides, setting his crossbow down next to you. your eyes dart between him and his prized weapon. frowning, you prop yourself up on your elbows, trapping your arousal between clenched thighs. “what?”

“shuddup.” he rasps, pushing his hand into your chest so you’ll lay back down. “les’ get this over with. but y’r gonna be real fuckin’ sorry if y’r pregnant after this.”

“daryl, what are you—”

“woman, i can practically smell ya. take ya shirt off.”

[haechanprint]

sunshine

[haechanprint]

fresco

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. When you first met Hyuck in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him. He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace. And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.

tw/cw. protected sex (for probably the first time ever), gentle/slow build-up sex, oral/pussy eating, slight praise, slight dirty talk, reader hasn’t been fucked in a while, low-key wholesome sex with a reformed fuckboy because you’re now cat co-parents, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.8k 

🍭 aus. Restaurant au, neighbors to lovers, accidental fur baby co-parents, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. Fresco, meaning a painting done rapidly in watercolor on wet plaster on a wall or ceiling, so that the colors penetrate the plaster and become fixed as it dries. - Alternative; Alfresco, meaning a meal eaten outside “in the fresh air” - fresco is Italian for “fresh,” and the culinary usage is relatively common in English. this fic is in conjunction with Real Talk and Comfort Cuisine.

Prologue:

You’re a little shocked to hear a knock at your door around one in the afternoon on a Tuesday. As something of a recluse professional artist, you don’t get many visitors. One look out the peephole reveals that your surprise guest is a neighbor, one Lee Donghyuck from two units down. 

“Hyuck?” you ask as you open the door. “Is something wrong?”

“I found a cat!” Hyuck whisper screams as he holds open his jacket, revealing a tiny, orange puffball, who immediately meows at you. “Can I come in?”

You’re so taken aback by this whole interaction that you don’t have it within you to argue, you simply step aside and let the frazzled line cook into your apartment.

“Okay, I don’t have much time,” Donghyuck explains. “My chef is going to kill me for taking the longest vape break ever-”

“Slow down,” you laugh.

“Look, I went for a vape break, I found this kitten by the dumpster, I jumped in my car and came here.”

“It’s a no-pet apartment building,” you point out. 

“Can you just take care of him for the day? While I figure this out?” Hyuck pleads. 

“Don’t you have other friends in the building?”

“No one who’s home all day like you are- come on, it’s a kitten, it needs someone around or it’s going to be screaming super loud and then the landlord will hear it and evict me-”

“What about a shelter?”

“I don’t have time to look up no-kill shelters, and besides, you know how the cat distribution system works!” 

“Fine,” you sigh, gazing at the purring ball of fur. “What time are you off work.”

“Around nine,” Hyuck responds, holding the kitten out for you. “You’re doing me a huge favor.”

“Just this once, while you figure the whole situation out.”

One: 

You’re doing your best to continue working, but the kitten has been a bit of a menace the entire day. You suppose this orange fur ball is a bit like Hyuck that way, not that you know your neighbor very well, but you have a sense for him. Hyuck has to be a little chaotic to turn up on your doorstep with a kitten he found by the dumpster, but the flip side of this whole thing is that Hyuck is showing a lot of tenderness to have cared about this cat at all.

You work as much as you can, but when the kitten starts crying, you decide to call it a day.

There’s a can of tuna in your pantry, the type that’s in water from when you were on a health kick a month ago, and you spoon it onto a little plate for the orange kitten.

He’s eager to eat it all up, making an obnoxious yet endearing gnawing sound as he decimates all the tuna.

When he’s finished, you lift the little cat up into your arms, taking him to your couch to rest while you put on a show.

The little trooper is exhausted, and a food coma comes quickly.

He lays on your lap, napping and purring and relaxing, and you can’t help but enjoy the little fur ball’s presence. He calms you, and before you even know it, it’s nine, and a knock at your door signals Hyuck’s return.

You lift up the orange kitten, carrying him to your door. Hyuck enters your apartment with a sigh.

“How was my child?” he asks, immediately reaching out to take the cat from your hands.

“He wasn’t too bad, I fed him a can of tuna. He’ll probably be good till the morning, but you’ve got to figure out what you’re doing with him.”

“Yeah, I’m still thinking about that,” Hyuck groans. “Thanks for the help today.”

“Don’t mention it, seriously.”

“I’ve gotta get home, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m guessing you’ve got things to do.”

You don’t have anything in particular on your schedule, but it’s not like you and Hyuck are very close, so you let him leave. It feels a little odd to look at your empty apartment once he’s gone- sure, you’d only had the kitten for nine or so hours, but… he’d livened up the space a little, in a way you can’t quite explain.

You go back to your couch, letting out a sigh as you turn your show back on.

Not fifteen minutes later there’s a knock at your door, and for the third time today, Lee Donghyuck enters your apartment.

“He wouldn’t stop crying for you!” Hyuck explains, handing the squirming kitten over to you. “Maybe he thinks you’re his mom now!”

“Hyuck,” you sigh. “You’ve got to sort this out.”

“I was thinking… can you… can you take him to the vet tomorrow?”

“The vet?”

“You know, make sure he’s not tagged or anything?”

“Make sure he’s not tagged?” you ask. “You’re hoping he’s a stray?” 

“If he’s a stray then I get to keep him,” Hyuck states. 

“Again, this is a no-pet building.”

“Everyone says that, but I know for a fact that Mrs. Sue on the fifth floor has some mega old and dying Persian, and I’m pretty sure the nonbinary couple next to me have some calico that’s missing a tail-”

“What?”

“It got out one day, I saw it scratching at their door. Have you really not seen any cats in the building?”

“I don’t go out much,” you admit.

“The point is, people have cats, they just hide them.”

You release a sigh. “I think there should be an emphasis on the word cats, not kittens, who are substantially louder and need more attention.”

“Well…” Hyuck gazes down at his feet. “You work from home.”

“So what, this is our cat now?” 

“It could be,” the line chef muses. “I mean, look at him, he’s obsessed with you!”

The orange kitten is purring like an engine in your arms, making softies against your chest, and you have to admit, it’s clear he’s taken with you, perhaps as taken as you are with him.

“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow. We’ll see if he’s tagged, and we’ll work it out from there.”

“You’re literally a lifesaver.”

Two: 

The lunch rush is over, and Hyuck has time to think about you while he’s prepping for dinner. His coworker, Mark, is beside him, and Hyuck can feel his gaze.

“You good?” the tattooed softie of a chef asks.

Hyuck sighs. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

About you. How you’re the girl next door, the artist, the visionary, the lifesaver-

“I found a cat by the dumpster yesterday,” Hyuck admits.

“What?”

“My neighbor is taking care of it right now, and I guess we’ll find out if it’s chipped or not.”

“Isn’t your building like, a no-pets sort of thing?” Mark asks.

“That’s more a guideline than a rule,” Hyuck explains. “Besides, it’s a tiny cat that weighs two pounds, not some dog.”

Mark only shakes his head, continuing to cut carrots.

“I’m thinking I want to give the cat a name that’s related to food and art.”

“Why art?”

“Because my neighbor is an artist.” 

“That’s cool, have I heard of his work?”

“My neighbor is a she, Mark, god, you’re so sexist.” 

Mark stops what he’s doing, turning to face Donghyuck. “Now I get it. I bet you think she’s cute.”

“She’s super cute.”

Releasing a sigh, Mark rests his hands on the cutting board in front of him. “Names that are related to art and food. I guess you could do colors that are foods. Like, clementine or olive or something.”

“That feels too food driven, I want like, an artsy name.” 

“Let me think about it,” Mark sighs.

The two continue to work, and at the end of their shift, Mark pulls Hyuck to the side. “There’s only really one super artsy name I can think of, and it’s Fresco.”

Hyuck has no idea what Fresco means, but something about it speaks to him. Without a second thought, Hyuck blurts out, “It’s perfect!” and he promises himself to look it up before he drives home. 

Three: 

Hyuck is practically buzzing as he arrives at your apartment, but he forces himself to rein in the excitement. “How was the vet visit?” he asks.

“You got your wish, he wasn’t chipped. The vet guessed he’s a stray, born on the streets, that sort of thing,” you explain, cuddling the kitten close to your chest as you speak. “I figured you might not have time to grab provisions for him, so I got some cans of food, a litter box, some toys-”

“Really?!” Hyuck immediately reaches into his pants to pull out his wallet, removing some cash, which he thrusts out toward you. “Thank you so much for the help!”

With a shake of your head, you accept the money. “I don’t know if you’ve thought this whole thing through.”

“He’s our cat now, the distribution system is never wrong.”

You laugh, but the chuckle turns into a sigh. “Our cat, huh?” 

“I was thinking, if you don’t mind, he can stay with you during the days when I’m at work, then I’ll have him when I’m here, you know, like a child of divorce or something.”

The way you blink at him tells Hyuck you don’t find his words to be that amusing, but he can see you’re up for the task. It’s clear to him that you have fallen in love with the kitten, and Hyuck would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the prospect of a dual ownership- after all, it would mean the two of you would see each other more often. 

“I guess we can make this work, but if the building manager finds out, I’m blaming all of this on you,” you warn.

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

“So… I guess now you just have to name him.”

“I was thinking about that!” Hyuck blurts out, unable to hide his excitement anymore. “What about Fresco?”

“Fresco?”

“I came up with it myself,” Hyuck lies, wanting to impress you. “Fresco is an art term right? Something about painting plaster?”

“Rapidly and somewhat erratically, yes,” you laugh.

“And Alfresco is Italian for eating food outside, like, fresh air, or something,” Hyuck explains, doing his best to remember the brief research he’d done on the word before knocking on your door.

“So it’s an artsy food name,” you muse with a smile.

“An artsy food name,” Hyuck agrees.

“I kind of love it.”

Four: 

You suppose you should be used to Hyuck knocking on your door by now, but for some reason, it always comes as a surprise.

He steps into your apartment with a grin, holding Fresco in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other. “It’s my day off,” he announces. “Do you wanna hang out?”

You look him up and down, shaking your head and laughing. “I’m working.”

“Painting something?”

“I guess you can come see.”

“We won’t bother you too much, I promise,” Hyuck tells you as he follows you through your apartment to your little art office space. When his eyes land on your canvas, he lets out a whistle. “So you’re an artist artist?” 

“I get paid for it, so yes,” you giggle.

“You’ve got the whole setup,” Hyuck muses, immediately heading for the small couch in the corner. When he’d first dropped Fresco off, the kitten had fallen asleep on this couch, and it seems his owner is just as able to make any place into his own home.

Hyuck collapses onto the sofa, immediately cracking open a beer. “Can I watch you paint?”

You’re not one for having others watch you do your craft, but Hyuck - as it turns out - is extremely hard for you to say no to.

“Just don’t make any comments about what I could be doing better,” you warn him.

“I don’t know anything about art, so you don’t have to worry about that,” he assures you. 

“Some people don’t know anything and they still make comments,” you muse.

“Then they’re stupid.” Hyuck takes a swig of his beer, stroking Fresco as the kitten gets settled on his lap.

You pick up where you left off with the art piece, and Hyuck is quiet. He drinks his beer, pets Fresco, and scrolls on his phone, but after a while, your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Have you owned cats before?” you ask.

“Not really.”

“Well, you’re good with them. I never would have pictured you as a cat guy, it’s giving maternal.”

Hyuck lets out a laugh. “If you didn’t peg me as a cat guy, what did you peg me as?”

“Honestly? A fuckboy?”

“Everyone says that.” Hyuck shakes his head.

“So you’re saying it’s not true?” 

“I mean… maybe in the past, I’ve been a bit of a fuck boy. But, everyone around me is in these long-term relationships, and I guess these days I want commitment, even if that commitment is with a cat and not a girl.”

You consider his words, and as you do so, Fresco gets up. He approaches a few of your finished canvases, smelling them carefully. You and Hyuck both watch him as he begins to pur, clearly enjoying the colors.

“He likes your art,” Hyuck grins. 

“He has good taste.”

The two of you continue to chat while you work, and after a while, both Hyuck and Fresco pass out on the couch.

You note the way they’re bathed in the sun, and with a sigh, you put your current project to the side in favor of a blank canvas.

It’s rare to have a person, or an animal for that matter, sit still long enough for you to paint them, and something tells you both Fresco and Hyuck are tuckered out for the long haul. 

You enjoy painting them, taking in every detail, and the creativity comes as easy as ever with the two of them as your muse. 

Five: 

You and Hyuck have something of an understanding now. It’s been two weeks. Hyuck works, you take care of Fresco, and when he’s off, the line chef comes straight to your house to see your shared fur baby. 

The kitten has truly become your muse, and you’re enjoying the art of drawing this rambunctious cat.

It’s around nine o’clock, you’ve got a glass of wine, and you’re just putting the finishing touches on your recent Fresco piece, which is when Hyuck knocks at your door.

You’d unlocked your apartment an hour ago, and one call ‘Come in!’ has Hyuck entering. He lets out a whistle as he sees the canvas. “Holy shit, that’s good!”

“I know, right?” You can’t help the grin on your face. You’ve been testing out different methods, watercolors, acrylics, more abstracts- this one is more of a splatter piece, where you’d painted Fresco in funky colors, and then splattered it, you’d even dusted the canvas with glitter, spraying it with hairspray to get it to stick as an adhesive. 

“I feel like you’ve captured his chaotic essence,” Hyuck laughs.

“He’s not so chaotic right now,” you muse, looking at the kitten who’s tuckered out on the couch.

“Do you want me to take him home? Or… do you want to watch a movie or something?”

You look Hyuck up and down. “That sort of sounds like a date.”

“I mean… these past few weeks we’ve kind of been having little dates, right? I mean- I want to ask you on a real one, but we can’t leave Fresco alone…”

“No, dates here sound nice,” you nod. “I’ve got wine, if you go and wash up, grab some beer, it can be a date when you get back.” 

“Really?” His eyes practically bulge out of his head.

“Yeah, why not.”

“I’ll be right back,” Hyuck promises, nearly tripping over himself to run to the door.

He’s an odd one, but you kind of love it. 

Six: 

Hyuck’s not one for dates, but there’s something very comfortable about a stay-at-home sort of situation. The two of you are used to each other’s company, and the ease that Hyuck feels isn’t something he’s experienced with any other girl in a very long time.

In some ways, this reformed fuck boy is a touch obsessed with you.

Part of him wonders if it’s the joy of the chase- after all, he’s never interacted with a girl this long and not weasled his way into her pants. However, another part of Donghyuck knows his sexual attraction to you isn’t the main drive behind this connection.

There’s just something about you that he clicks with on a deep level.

He loves your whole art thing and he loves how kind and peaceful you are too.

“You know, you’re different from most of the girls I’ve gone out with,” Hyuck muses.

“Yeah, how so?”

“Well, usually I date within the industry, you know, servers, expo girls, that sort of thing. They’re all very… I don’t know, at work they’re extroverted. They always know what to say, but sometimes in the past, I’ve wondered if it’s all an act, and it’s made it hard for me to trust them, hard for me to see them as any more than flings.”

“That sounds like a you problem, Hyuck,” you giggle. “If you have trust issues, you have to own that, you can’t blame it on the women you’ve dated who didn’t contribute to the original wound that developed into a mistrust of girls.”

Hyuck sits with your words for a moment. 

“Also… I used to be a server, so are you saying you don’t trust me?”

His eyes snap toward you in shock. “Really?”

“Just for a bit,” you shrug. “You’d be surprised how many people take a stint at serving, especially when they’re going through uni.”

“I guess that’s where your charm comes from,” Hyuck says, swallowing thickly. “Bet you made big tips.”

You laugh, and the way your face lights up makes Hyuck’s chest feel tight.

The sound wakes up Fresco, who has been sleeping for most of your date. The kitten yawns obnoxiously, stretching out and making biscuits against your leg. 

“I’ve done alright for myself,” you muse, petting the kitten lovingly. “Which, speaking of, I think it’s about time to call it for the night. I’ve got to wake up early and finish a commission that I’ve been pushing off.”

“Right, yeah.” Hyuck shakes his head to snap himself out of the daze he’s in. “I’ll take Fresco and give you some room for your beauty sleep.”

He reaches for the kitten, who cuddles up against his chest, purring loudly as Hyuck makes his way to the door, where Hyuck stops. He turns to you, licking his lips.

“That was fun.”

“It’s usually fun with you,” you agree.

“Can I… do you mind, I mean-”

“You can kiss me, Hyuck,” you laugh, reading his mind and making him even more flustered- which is odd, because Hyuck never gets flustered. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, leaning forward. You close the distance, cupping his face so he can press his lips to yours.

Hyuck melts into the kiss, but he’s also aware of the kitten purring diligently between your chests. You’re both careful not to squish the small creature, and as much as Hyuck wants to kiss you stupid, he holds back. He gets the sense you’re also restricting yourself, and it’s all Hyuck can think about as he heads home.

He could taste the passion on you, and it’s a temptation unlike any other, a need left unsatiated due to circumstance.  

Seven: 

“You seem eager to get out of here,” Mark notes as Hyuck hurries with his closing duties. 

“Gotta get home to see my cat and my neighbor.”

“Your neighbor, you mean the cute girl next door who you somehow talked into taking care of the stray kitten you found.” 

Hyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s a dual partnership sort of thing, we both love Fresco.”

“Dual partnership,” Mark mutters. “Dude, are you like… dating this chick?”

Now Hyuck turns to look at Mark, and it takes him a second, but then he simply blurts it out, “You know what, yeah! I am dating this chick! We have a whole ass child together.”

“Your kitten is not a child,” Mark groans.

“He cock blocks like one.”

Mark immediately grimaces. “Jesus, I did not need to hear that.”  

Eight: 

It feels like now that you’ve kissed Hyuck, some invisible door has been opened in regard to your relationship. If he’d been tiptoeing around you before, now, he’s uninhibited. He shows up at your place with a bouquet of flowers, and without a second thought, you invite him into your apartment to watch a show while Fresco naps.

While this is only officially date number two, it feels like you’ve had a lot of dates- the two of you have been spending many evenings together when Hyuck picks up Fresco after work, it’s just now, these ‘hangouts’ have a more specific purpose or designation. 

You’re interested in Donghyuck, and your opinion of him has changed drastically in two weeks.

When you first met him in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him.

He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace.

And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.

God, you pour so much of yourself into your art that you haven’t really left room for a relationship in a long time. There’s a convenience to Hyuck, given that he’s your neighbor, but this whole blossoming relationship isn’t just founded on proximity. 

The cornerstone of all of this is Fresco, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Fresco, the little cat that Hyuck brought into your life because he knew you would open your heart for it. He knew that together, the two of you would be able to take care of this sweet kitten and give him a good life. Existing as something like strangers, Hyuck had been able to see your caring soul, even if you’d been blinded to his kindred heart.

You’ve already ripped the bandaid off with a kiss, and when Hyuck notices you staring at his mouth, he shifts closer. 

“Hi,” he grins.

“Hi, yourself,” you giggle.

You watch him swallow a lump in his throat, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then up again. “I’m hoping that kiss wasn’t a one-time thing.”

“It wasn’t,” you assure him. “I’m just not used to dating, and making a move has never been my fortè.” 

“Then I can make all the moves,” Hyuck chuckles. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want.”

“I think you know what I want right now.”

Hyuck’s grin widens. “For a girl who doesn’t make moves, that was a pretty sexy move you just made.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Hyuck can only laugh as he leans forward, cupping your cheek and bringing his lips to your own.

You grab at his shoulders, trying to shift closer- but Fresco is asleep between the two of you, so there’s only so much room to move.

The kiss turns heated, with Hyuck’s tongue swiping your bottom lip, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you.

He feels so good, and the way his hand cups your cheek- there’s something dominant about it. Hyuck’s clearly confident, and from the way he kisses, he has every right to be.

You’re drunk from just a bit of kissing, and you can only imagine what full-on sex with this man would be like-

A loud meow makes you jump, and Hyuck lets go of you with a sigh. Both of you look down at Fresco, who’s now awake, and as rambunctious as ever as he begins to make softies on Hyuck’s thigh.

“Cock block,” Hyuck groans, but he begins to pet the small kitten all the same.

You laugh a little, releasing a sigh as you try to calm your racing heart. Maybe you’d needed an interruption because you were about ten seconds from ripping Hyuck’s clothes off, and maybe, just maybe, you should give things with him just a little more time.

You’re horny after a long period without a relationship, and you want to be sure Hyuck’s right for you before you jump into something with your neighbor, after all, not every romp with the boy next door ends happily, and you very much like this living tension free in this building. 

Nine: 

It’s been a week of making out and getting interrupted by Fresco.

Tonight, you’re in the little studio room. You’re on the couch sipping wine while Hyuck uses a feather-string toy to tire out the naughty kitten.

It’s been an hour of playing, and you’re shocked such a tiny animal has so much energy, but you can see it dwindling.

“Come on, Fresco, don’t you want a nap?” Hyuck groans, lying on the ground while he flicks the feathered toy here and there for the tiny kitten.

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. At this point, Hyuck looks more tired than Fresco does, but that’s what happens when he works a nine-hour shift. He’d told you when he arrived that the restaurant was busy today, something about a walk-in twenty top just as happy hour started, and the longest order of appetizers he’s ever seen. 

You’re thankful when Fresco finally yawns, and Hyuck practically jumps for joy, picking up his kitten and carrying him to the little bed you’d bought. Hyuck sets Fresco down on the green pillowy fabric, and the kitten immediately stretches, letting out a sigh.

You begin to pet Fresco as Hyuck lets out a sigh, collapsing on the couch and reaching for his beer.

“Who knew having a kitten would be like having a baby.”

“To be honest, babies might be easier,” you joke, making Hyuck laugh.

“Do you want kids?” he asks, shifting the tone rather suddenly.

“Uh… I don’t know, do you?”

Hyuck shrugs. “I guess it depends on the girl I end up with. I would be happy with kids, but I’d be just as happy with two cats and a dog, you know?”

“Two cats and a dog?” You cock a brow. “When did you come up with that specific of a dynamic?”

“Well, I figure, cats like company. Fresco would be easier to take care of if he had a playmate, you know? And I like dogs, but if we have more than one dog, then it might overpower Fresco and the other cat. So I feel like, Fresco, another cat, and maybe a cat-sized dog would be perfect.”

“I never pictured you as a small dog kind of guy.”

“Well, weiner dogs are cute as fuck, I don’t know what to tell you.”

You laugh as you imagine this perfect little life dynamic that Hyuck has clearly spent time thinking about.

“You’d have to find a different apartment to live in,” you muse.

“That’s doable,” Hyuck shrugs. “You’ve got this whole one-bedroom, den, and office space set up, but I’m in a bachelor suite right now. If you and I end up dating for a while, we’d have to find a bigger place.”

“You’ve been thinking a lot about the future, huh?” 

“I’m a father now,” Hyuck jokes, petting Fresco, “I need to be thinking ahead.”

You stare at this pretty man, this man who had walked into your life only a month ago like a sudden storm. You’d initially seen him as a type of chaos, but he’s calmed down considerably. He’s a reliable, nurturing person, and now, the type of man who thinks about the future instead of just taking things as they come.

You like that he has plans, plans that seem to include you. This isn’t just a short-term thing to him, and that knowledge has your throat feeling tight.

Looking down at Fresco, you realize he’s asleep. “Come on,” you whisper, “let's move to the kitchen.”

Hyuck doesn’t question you as you both stand, and you exit your small office studio area, carefully closing the door behind you.

In the kitchen, you set your wine glass down before turning to Hyuck.

“How long do you think Fresco will be sleeping for?” you ask.

Hyuck shrugs. “Could be an hour, could be ten minutes.”

You consider his words for a moment. “I get the feeling you can work with ten minutes.”

He stares at you blankly, and you see the second the lightbulb goes off in his brain. “I mean-” He clears his throat. “If you’re up for that, I could definitely- you know, I could take care of you in ten minutes-”

“Then let's not waste any more time,” you tell him, closing the distance to throw your arms around Hyuck’s shoulders. His lips press against yours immediately, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you incredibly close- this is the first time Fresco hasn’t been between the two of you, and it feels like heaven to have full-body contact like this. 

God, his tongue is perfect as it strokes against your own, his fingers digging into your hips when you release a moan from the sensation.

“Your bedroom,” Hyuck whispers gruffly, and you can tell it’s taking all his control to not throw you over your kitchen counter right now.

“Come on,” you tell him grabbing his hand and leading him to your room. For good measure, you close the door, hoping two sound barriers will allow Fresco to sleep through all of this- you’re not sure what you’d do if he began to cry while Hyuck was balls deep inside of you, and you don’t want to find out, not now.

Hyuck’s lips are on yours again almost immediately, and you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him with you as you back up toward your bed. Your calves touch the mattress and you lower yourself down, keeping your mouths connected as you do so.

“Take your shirt off,” you command next, a little shocked that you feel confident enough to tell Hyuck what to do in a situation like this.

“Whatever you say, gorgeous,” Hyuck laughs, breaking the kiss so he can tear his shirt off.

Then he’s on top of you, and your legs are wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer as your lips clash passionately. 

“Can I start undressing you?” he asks, mouth moving to your throat, where he licks at your skin and makes you gasp.

“Yeah, whatever you want,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and trying to center yourself.

His fingers find your shirt, and he slowly pulls it up. You help the process by lifting your arms, and the fabric is discarded. You’re in a cute lacey bra and silky shorts now, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been dressing extra cute this past week in the hopes that this would happen.

No, you’re fully prepared. You’d taken one of those horrific ‘full-body showers’ in the morning, and you’re thanking God that it wasn’t in vain.

“This is cute,” Hyuck tells you, mouth moving down to your chest as his hand cups your breast through the bra, squeezing gently.

“Thank you,” you gasp, loving the way it feels to be touched by him like this.

You’re a little surprised when his mouth moves down past your breasts to your abdomen, and he slinks down onto the floor as he begins to drag your shorts off.

It’s clear what his intention is, and it has your heart racing- you haven’t been eaten out in ages, and most men make the whole thing feel like a chore. Having Hyuck, who is clearly eager to get his mouth on your pussy without being told to… it’s super sexy, and you can feel yourself getting wet already. 

“Ten minutes, right?” he jokes, looking up at you as he hooks his fingers in your panties. “I think I can work with that.”

You can’t even find the words within yourself to respond as he strips you bare from the waist down. His hands grab your thighs and he begins kissing up your legs, looking up at you to be sure you’re okay with this.

You nod at him, swallowing thickly in preparation.

“So wet already,” Hyuck muses. “Guess you’ve been wanting this for a while too.”

“Uh huh.” God, you feel so dumb, but he just makes you crazy- he takes your words away, and as he takes his first lick of your pussy, all you know is pleasure.

Your head falls back as a groan escapes you, your body immediately relaxing as he starts to eat you out.

He’s slow with it, taking his time to explore you. You get the sense that he’s listening to your responses, gauging what feels best.

His lips suction around your clit and you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair.

Hyuck switches between licking and sucking, testing different pressures until he finds the right one, and then you’re gasping, eyes clenched shut as pleasure begins to build even faster in the pit of your stomach. 

“That feels so good,” you whimper, wanting to give him praise despite your current tongue-tied disposition. 

Hyuck groans against your core, and the sound has your legs shaking. Your grip tightens in his hair, and from the way he reacts, you can tell he kind of likes the pain.

Fuck, he’s so sexy- you’ve never been this turned on before, and it helps you get to the edge faster than you can even fathom.

“Shit, fuck, Hyuck-” you groan, eyes clenching shut again as your stomach muscles tense incredibly tight.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pull away from your pussy for even a moment, but a new vigor erupts through him, and that’s all you need as confirmation that he wants you to cum.

A few more licks, a few more sucks, and a gasp escapes you, your muscles clenching right before the release that rockets through your entire body.

Your core is throbbing, pulsing with pleasure that overwhelms you in the best possible way.

Sounds of pleasure are escaping you with no regard to being too loud- your mind is blank except for the orgasm Hyuck has just provided, and he eats you out through the entire thing until your thighs are shaking and you can’t take it anymore.

He pulls away, and you can practically hear him licking his lips.

“I’ll grab a condom,” he tells you.

Although you’re on birth control to manage your period, this is a man you’ve never slept with before, a man who hasn’t discussed exclusivity, and more importantly, a man who’s admitted to being a fuckboy in the past.

You stay quiet as Hyuck pulls his wallet out of his pants, retrieving a condom. 

Then, Hyuck pushes the fabric of his jeans down, exposing himself fully to you.

You can’t help the way you begin to salivate.

His cock is thick, and it’s a decent length too. Your best friend has referred to this type of cock as ‘boyfriend dick’ before, meaning the type that’s big enough to satisfy, but not so big that it leaves you feeling wrecked.

You undo your bra, joining Hyuck in full nudity before you reposition on your bed, moving up so you can rest on the pillows.

He rolls the condom onto his cock, not whining one word of protest about wearing it- in fact, you hadn’t even asked him to, he’d just taken matters into his own hand to practice safe sex for your first time.

You kind of love this.

He’s definitely turned your opinion on him right around- this is not the man you thought he was, and the man he is… well, he’s so much better than you could have imagined. 

“Okay,” Hyuck whispers as he finishes with the condom, looking up at you. “You good for this?”

“Yes, please.” You open your arms for him, beckoning him onto the bed.

He joins you, and your legs wrap around his hips, your lips meeting his own.

He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, but it’s not unpleasant. He groans against your mouth and you thread your fingers through his hair tugging gently.

Hyuck is grinding down against your core, and it feels amazing to have slight stimulus on your clit after an orgasm, but your inner walls are screaming for attention, and soon, you’re reaching between your bodies to grab his cock. 

“Ten minutes, remember?” you laugh.

“Fuck, I got distracted.” He presses his forehead against yours, looking down at where you’re guiding his tip to your entrance. 

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Just focus now, I got to cum, so I want you to cum too.”

Hyuck moans at your words, and you slip the tip of his cock inside of you, making you groan too.

He smashes his lips to yours again, kissing you eagerly as he sinks into your core. He goes slowly, allowing your body to adjust, and once he’s fully inside of you, he pauses so you can both moan from the sensation.

“You feel so good,” he tells you, his breath hot along your throat as he moves to press kisses there.

“You too,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You can move.”

“Okay, gorgeous.” He swallows thickly. “I’ve got you.”

Then he begins to fuck you. As was his pace when he entered you, Hyuck is careful not to start at a hundred percent. He builds tempo comfortably, and your moaning urges him on until he’s fucking you so hard that the bed is shaking.

You grasp his shoulders roughly, whimpering as he kisses your throat, paying attention to your sweet spot. Each lick of your neck has your body tingling, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as he rails into you.

Your nipples feel incredibly sensitive too, pushed up against his chest. Each rock of his body is a sensation against all your most important erogenous zones, and it has you going crazy.

As it was with him eating you out, your mind is blank as Hyuck fucks you, and you kind of love it.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking perfect,” Hyuck groans.

He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers as he presses it to the bed as an anchor, and then his lips meet yours again.

It feels so intimate to be fucking like this, and it makes things even more pleasurable.

You can feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach again, can feel your core beginning to tighten around him-

“Are you gonna cum again for me?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m close,” you whimper.

“When you cum, I cum,” Hyuck tells you, pressing his lips to yours so you can’t disagree.

He fucks you even harder, and each drag of his hips has your clit being stimulated too, which is tightening the coil in your abdomen even more-

You begin to gasp against his lips, getting closer and closer until you explode for a second time, your pussy clamping down on Hyuck like a vice.

“Fuck!” He pulls away from your lips, moving to bury his face against your throat. You can tell your orgasm has triggered his own from the way he’s panting, his thrusts faltering ever so slightly- you’re pretty sure he’s doing his best to fuck you through your high, despite the fact that this might be overstimulating for him.

Maybe he likes a bit of overstimulation, as he likes the pain that comes from pulling on his hair. Regardless, he fucks you through it until you’re both gasping messes.

Then, as you lay there for a moment, you hear a meow.

You and Hyuck both break out into laughter, and you kiss his cheek. “You can go clean up in the bathroom, I’ll deal with Fresco.”

“Can I stay here tonight?” Hyuck asks. “You know, cuddle?”

“You and Fresco can both stay,” you assure him. 

“The first of many sleepovers,” Hyuck tells you, standing up with a groan. “I like you a lot.”

You can sense there’s a deeper emotion behind his words, but it’s still too early to be deep diving into any feelings more serious than ‘liking’ each other, so with a nod and smile, you agree. “I like you too.” 

And for now, that’s all you need to say.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! We love men and kittens!

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🔮 preview. You feel closer to this man than you’ve ever felt to anyone in your life, and warmth spreads from your chest at the notion of having a forever love like this.

cw/ tw.Unprotected sex, oral, blow job, hand job, pussy eating, sixty-nine, foreplay, grinding, nipple worship, overstimulation, Hyuck is a little on the rough side, multiple reader orgasms, size kink, fucking quietly/with a hand over your mouth, slight breath control/sensory deprivation, etc…  I petnames. (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Donghyuck x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s been six months of hiding Fresco, and three near misses with your building manager, so when Hyuck shows you a pet-friendly apartment he’s found online, you jump at the chance to view it.

“This is so much bigger than your space,” Hyuck muses as you do the walk-through. “And look, this room has better light for your paintings!”

You can see him imagining himself here, and it warms your heart.

“Are you ready for this next step?” you ask, pulling Hyuck to the side to have a heart-to-heart.

“I’ve been ready to move in with you for months,” he tells you, hands falling onto your hips.

“This is a big change,” you remind him.

“But it’s good, for us, for Fresco- and the lease doesn’t say anything about the amount of animals either.”

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NSFW GIF HUNT - PART TWO.  ( part three coming soon )

below are a total of 168 small/medium nsfw gifs, GIFS ARE NOT MINE, all I did was resized them and edited some of the colorings, all credit goes to the original creators of the nsfw gifs. The gifs are a mixture from kissing to masturbation to sex. There are a combination of f/f, f/m, m/m gifs and also solo gifs as well. You are all welcome to use these, again I am not the original creator of any of these. There are also a few random gifs in this as well that are somewhat faceless so you can use them for any muse.

( preview of the gifs below );

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