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one week later…..

run. run. run. run while you can. you’re jumping over fallen limbs, over grassy vines, avoiding cobwebs, snakes, pushing your way through overgrown trees.

you come to a decision in the woods. right, straight, or left. you have to make a decision. quick. the footsteps are coming closer. quicker. louder.

run. run. run, while you can, it repeats. run from what? you’re not sure. you make a fast decision, and and then, darkness.

darkness surrounds you. a mask of emptiness. quiet that only lasts for a second before you feel hands against your back.

you jolt up from the chair beside fuma’s bed. his body still resting peacefully, chest rising and falling normally. your sweating, using your palm to push your bed head from your forehead.

you had fallen asleep spine bent in the chair, head resting on the bed beside fuma’s side, while your hand stayed wrapped in his.

that dream. no matter which way you chose, it always ended the same. and you were too damn tired to try and figure out the meaning behind it.

you yawn with a stretch, only letting go of fuma’s hand for a second.

7 days have passed since the black witch’s spell on fuma. 7 days since you haven’t left fuma’s side. you couldn’t. if you did, you felt like you betrayed him.

but you all felt as if you were betraying 8 other men. leaving them alone. they needed you too. their wolves whined to have you near them again.

they visited you and fuma one by one, never wanting to leave. jo almost had to be dragged out because his wolf craved to be with you.

you heard bangchan from outside the door to euijoo, ‘she’ll be with you all soon, i promise. let her grieve.’

you felt so selfish; they were grieving too. not only you, but they were grieving their co-alpha, friend, and leader. their brother.

the aespa sisters came to visit as well. all four of them. while you stood off to the side, looking out the window, they held hands, forming a circle around his body. body. you say it as if he’s dead.

they were able to find what dark spell and energy was used. they had a way to reverse it. but it would involve you, his mate, you complete a ritual. that day, winter and giselle went on a hunt to find what they needed.

karina and ningning stayed back, explaining to bangchan, changbin, and felix they knew nothing more about madam jan other than was she volunteered.

they vowed to help in anyway they could to catch this madam jan and get fuma out of this coma.

‘once he’s out of his coma and wakes up, his wolf will be effected. he won’t be able to shift or feel his wolf for quite some time.’

a knock came to the door. you turn, seeing maki. he gave you a small smile, showing his dimple. “can i come in?” he asks quietly.

“of course.” you say, mouth dry.

maki walks in, pouring a cup of water and walked closer to you and fuma, handing the cup to you. “drink this. you need to take care of yourself too. if not for me, for fuma. please.”

you give him a flat smile, but grateful that you have these 8 other men looking out for you. “thank you maki.” you take a few sips from the cup, before placing it on the bedside table.

you get up from the chair, motioning for maki to sit. he does, and as you go to walk away, maki pulls you down into his lap. his nose goes to the back of your neck, inhaling your scent with a warm smile, exhaling a wavering breath.

his touch gave you goosebumps, and you melted into maki’s touch. you had forgotten how well they could make you feel too.

“i’m sorry i’ve abandoned you all too.” you sigh, turning in his lap. you run your hands through maki’s hair, his eyes wide and soft. you smile, your hand resting on the back of his neck after tousling his hair.

you kiss maki’s forehead, and he rests his forehead on your shoulder afterwards. you lean your head on his, hand wrapped around his shoulders, both his arms wrapped around your waist.

“we can wait. we understand you’re hurting, but we all just miss you. miss fuma too. they won’t tell you, but it’s felt like we lost both of you, not just fuma.” maki says in a trembling voice.

your heart sinks. “i didn’t mean for it to be like that, maki.”

he nods, forehead still against your shoulder. “we know. no one wanted to tell you to make you feel guilty.”

“i know you’re all suffering; anyone suffering the most?”

maki sits up from your shoulder, “jo and euijoo. jo because his wolf is still craving to bond with you. even bangchan thought by now he would be better, but his wolf can sense your distress and just wants to make you feel better. euijoo is the alpha of our pack. he’s hurt because he feels like it’s his fault his co-alpha and member got hurt.”

“but it wasn’t his fault. the only one to blame is that dark witch.” you try to reason.

“we know that, and i’m sure the human side of euijoo knows that. but his wolf side—can’t reason with that.”

“what should i do, maki?” you ask, low in volume.

“just go visit everyone. i’ll stay here with fuma. stepping away is not a bad thing and i can promise you, if you don’t, fuma will come after us for not looking after you once he wakes up.”

you laugh. maki was right. if fuma saw you right now; circles underneath your eyes, unbrushed hair, unkempt appearance, he would be scolding you to take care of yourself.

you can’t take care of him if you can’t take care of yourself.

while still in maki’s lap, you give him a tight hug, him returning the same tight hug, nose in your neck. he leaves a small kiss on your neck, before encouraging you to go see the others.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

walking into the waiting room where all 7 of your wolves were, was nerve wrecking to say the least.

you passed two nurses who encouraged you to go on in.

opening the door, all 7 men looked up, believing it was maki coming back, or a nurse checking in. you’ve never seen all 7 stand and move so fast.

it’s taki who whines out your name, going to hug you first. he hugs you tight, inhaling all of your scent. you rub his back, and you hear taki let out a sigh of relief.

he lets go and lets everyone else hug you next. harua is second, kissing your cheek. you hold his face in your hands, giving him a quick peck on his lips.

then it’s yuma. of course he rolls his eyes, acting like he didn’t need or want a hug, but you pull him in, and he lets out a sound due to the unexpected strength from you.

“hi yum.” you say softly, sending tingles down his spine and he relaxes into your hold. he moans just from the skin on skin contact. when you pull away, you pull him into a quick kiss. pulling away, you smile, running your hand through his soft hair. he melts into your touch, with a smile.

nico quickly pulls you in, his strong arms wrapped around you so tight, you had to laugh and tell nico he was crushing you. he laughs too, apologizing with a wide smile. “you okay?” he asks, and you nod. he pulls you in by squishing your cheeks in his hand, and kisses your pouty lips.

after he lets go, k comes barreling in, picking you off the ground. “don’t ever ignore us like that again, princess. please don’t.” he begs, voice wavering, you tighten your hold around his shoulder.

“i’m sorry, k. i won’t.” you kiss the skin under his earlobe. k groans and sits you down slowly, your body sliding down his.

you look at euijoo, who just looked lost with his wide eyes, worried you’d break or disappear at any time. “hi juju.” you smile and he pulls you into a tight hug that didn’t last long as his lips met yours in a deep kiss catching you off guard.

his forehead rests on yours after detaching your lips. “never again, baby. never.” you nod your forehead against his.

when you pull away, you look at the last man. jo. he’s standing a few feet away, hands at his sides. “come here jojo.” you motion for him to come to you, but he shakes his head with a frown.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” his voices cracks.

you shake your head, and walk towards where the stood rooted in his spot. when you’re toe to toe with him, you look up in his worried eyes, and you gave him a reassuring smile.

your hand goes to his jaw, thumb caressing his jaw and cheek. “you could never hurt me jo.” you say and pull him into for a hug. his body goes rigid for a quick second, but he quickly relaxes in your hold.

his body shakes, as you hold him tight, head tucked into his chest. you’re not sure how long you hold him for, but he’s thankful.

when you pull away, you tell them you’ll be there for all 8 of them more. maki put in perspective that fuma definitely would be scolding at you right now if it was any other way.

“where have you guys been sleeping? and please don’t tell me you all have been laying there?”

“we’ve just been taking turns here. bangchan and his clan set up some guests rooms for us in the main house.” euijoo says. “why don’t you come back with one of us and get some rest in an actual bed?” euijoo is closer, rubbing your arms in comfort.

you nod in agreement. “okay, i’ll do that.”

euijoo smiles. “i’ll stay here with maki. the rest of you, go back to the house and get some rest. maki and i will reach out when we can switch.”

none of the men argued with euijoo—their leader, and for once, neither did you. you take k’s hand, as you both follow the other men in front of you.

the walk from the infirmary to the main house wasn’t far or long, and your legs screamed in excitement from finally getting exercise.

it came crashing down on you when you actually became aware of how badly you’ve been treating your body and how it has negatively effected you.

k pulls you into his side, and wraps his arm around your shoulder, finger still intertwined with yours. “you okay, princess?”

you nod, leaning into his side. “yeah, just realizing how badly i’ve been treating myself. i think this is the first exercise in any form i’ve gotten in almost a week.”

k smirks, leaning down to your ear, “i know some other exercises we can do.” you snort, pushing him away with a laugh from both of you. he pulls you back to him laughing.

“i think jo needs me the most right now.” you look up to k. he looks down to you but you can see on his face he agrees.

“why don’t you sleep with him tonight? you put your trust in yuma; put it in jo too.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

you get cleaned up in k’s room, shower and all, and dress in just a shirt. you give a smile, and pad down the hall to jo’s room.

bangchan’s house—well, castle—was so big with its 20 bedrooms and many more bathrooms and additional random rooms, that each of your werewolves had their own bedroom. maybe you can finally spend one on one time with each one of them with no risks of interruption.

you stand in front of jo’s room, inhale and exhale, then slowly open his door, shutting it behind you.

jo is asleep, so still in his bed, he’s unmoving when the door clicks shut. you smile at his tousled hair, and his body scrunched up. the covers are barely on him, probably since his body was hot and uncomfortable with the need to bond.

your own body has been feeling warm but you’ve been ignoring it. now, your body’s warmth was intensified, since you were in closer proximity with jo.

it was buzzing with excitement. jo was so tall and lean, quiet and to himself, you wondered how he’d be in bed.

you crawl into the bed next to him, his lips parting letting a moan slip, but he still doesn’t awake. you lay your right palm against his cheek, his face immediately leaning towards your touch, a sleepy smile ghosting on his face.

“jo,” you whisper out his name, and his eyes flutter open. eyelashes long, eyes glossy from just waking up. your right palm traces down to his neck, to his chest. “hi jojo.”

jo is sure he’s dreaming, but when you sit up and straddle him, his hands goes to your waist. yep you were here. in his room. only in a damn shirt!

you waste no time leaning down, bringing your lips to his, his eyes shutting with a groan. with your right hand next to his head for balance, your left arm reaches back, and begins to tug his sweats down as far as you can get them.

jo is wearing no boxers, his hard length coming to life and laying heavily on his stomach. your left hand tugs at it, warnting another groan mixed with a growl form his throat.

“i—i, don’t—want to—hurt—,”

“—, shh, you won’t hurt me baby.” you shush him against his lips, before he could scare himself out of this.

you continue to distract him with your lips, and lift your hips from his lower stomach, doing your best to align the head of his cock to your dripping pussy.

with the best of luck, his head easily slips in between your folds, and you both moan into each others mouths.

jo is unable to hold back and pushes his entire cock into you in one thrust, and a squeal of happiness and surprise leaving your lips.

he feels so good buried deep in you, and jo is doing all he can to keep his wolf contained and not to just ruin you.

“you can move jo, i can take it.” you whisper against his lips, giving him another wet kiss.

the shirt is bunched to your waist, his hands resting on them. he lifts your body up so that just the heads of his cock with resting in you, before slamming your body back down.

“shit!” you yell. you throw your head back, both hands resting on his chest, nails scraping the fabric of his tank. “keep going jojo. need to feel all of you. need you to know how sorry i am for making you wait.”

jo swallows, before he pulls out again to the head and forces himself back in, between your walls. “feel s’good f’me.” jo moans out, and continues his pace of fucking you.

your ass cheeks meet the skin of his thighs, loud echos within the walls. you weren’t sure who’s rooms were beside yours, but you hoped it was sound proof.

jo wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you down to his chest, he plants his feet flat on the bed and ruts up into you rapidly, the kisses anything but slow and sweet. teeth, spit, slobber, and tongue makes up most of the kisses.

with the way he’s rutting up in you, his pelvis his skimming against your clit just right which helps you reach your orgasm quickly.

“fuck,” you squeal, gripping the sheets beside jo’s head, “com—coming,” you moan out and bring your lips to his in a long kiss, as you squeal out into his mouth. you begin coming around his cock.

jo changes positions, you on your back and him hovering over you. he pushes his sweats further down as possible, wrapping your legs around his waist as he continues his rapid and deep thrusts into you, your stomach bulging at his length.

your head is digging into the pillows, one arm thrown over his back, nails digging into his exposed skin, the other laid out beside you digging into the sheets.

the fact neither one of you got fully undressed proves how much you both just craved each other.

“m’gonna come,” jo groans, his head swimming with coming in you to breed you. he knows he has to pull out but he doesn’t want to. “wanna come in this pussy,” he whispers, “breed you, make you full of me.”

you nod aggressively against the sheets, “please, please, please.” you beg through whines. jo’s wolf wins, and with one last powerful thrust, he stills, coming deep inside you, a throaty moan and whimper leaving his lips.

it’s so much come, it’s dripping out of you. “s’much jo. s’good.” you cry out breathlessly. your body felt so good, finally cooling off.

jo keeps his cock buried in you, and carefully positions you both back to where he was on his back, and you on top of him.

jo uses the tip of his finger, drawing circles under your shirt on your skin. he’s smiling in content, a goofy smile he couldn’t erase. you laugh into his neck, kissing his jaw line.

“breeding kink we have there, hmm?” you tease and his ears go red. you kiss his chin, and his lips once more, before lifting your hips and his cock slipping out, still half hard.

jo’s heart is beating fast, but he’s calm and content. “thank you for trusting me.” he mumbles, holding you close still.

your chin rests on his chest. “anything for you, jo.” you kiss the skin of his chest that peaks out from the tank. “shower?”

“round two?” he smiles, blushing even harder.

“only if you can handle me.” you sit up, getting off the bed. in an instant, jo is chasing you to the bathroom and stripping from his clothes, you doing the same.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

the next morning, the boys let you sleep in as they gather downstairs for some breakfast.

“have fun last night jojo?” k teases. jo’s face is once again red as a tomato.

“yes.” he says so softly.

“was it hard not to come in her?” yuma ask nonchalantly, while he continues to eat.

harua and taki choke on their bacon. jo stills, getting everyone’s attention on him. “you didn’t pull out?” yuma roars. his fork drops, mouth ride open.

jo shakes his head. “i—i couldn’t. we were too in the moment.”

k acts like it’s no big deal. yuma is speechless, and floored. “you mean i couldve came in her?” yuma is wailing. “i want a redo!”

“you can’t redo your bond.” harua rolls his eyes.

“then i want her again, even if it’s not my turn!” yuma says with a huff, and crosses his arms.

“what’s wrong now?” you say tiredly, rubbing your eye with the palm of your hand. you kiss jo’s cheek, before going to take the empty seat in between harua and taki.

taki helps you fill up your plate with the food that been spread out on the table.

“you let jo come in you?” yuma asks with a pout.

“hey, don’t be mad at me, i wanted you to you come in me, remember?” you smirk, looking at yuma out of the corner of your eye.

yuma goes to stand, but k stops him, “no, you eat; and you let her eat.” yuma stabs his fork in the food, unseen steam coming from his ears.

euijoo and maki come into the kitchen not too long afterwards looking exhausted.

maki kisses the top of your head and sits next to harua on the other side of him. euijoo comes and kisses your cheek, sitting across from you.

“how’s fuma?” k asks.

euijoo smiles, a genuine smile, “good, actually. the doc says he should wake up anytime. him and the nursing staff are doing more tests, so they wanted us all to take a break before coming back this afternoon.”

all the boys nod in excitement. happy that their other alpha was closer to waking up.

“did you and jo finally, bond?” maki wiggles his eyebrows. you grab an orange from the middle of the table and throw it at him but he grabs it easily.

“good to see you’re eating.” you hear an unfamiliar voice speak coming into the kitchen.

you look over seeing a very fit guy, with short blonde hair. he’s accompanied by a guy a little shorter than him, but just as fit, and a third guy who was about the same height, but slimmer.

“i’m bangchan,” he introduces himself then points to his two friends, “this is changbin, and minho.” both men bow. “you were pretty out of it, so it’s nice to officially meet you.”

“oh you’re the powerful, vampire, werewolf hybrid!” you point standing up, the chair scratching underneath you.

bangchan laughs with a nod, “that’s right.”

you then frown, crossing your arms, “i hope you have those vampires from the enhypen clan locked up. they kidnapped me!” you pouted.

“sadly, kidnapping a witch isn’t warranted enough for a punishment.” minho’s answer is indifferent.

you roll your eyes and sit back down in the chair, taki smacking your thigh, “behave.” he whispers into your ear.

“taehyun says fuma is close waking up. should be sometime this evening or tomorrow.” bangchan announces, “just remember when he awakes, his wolf will have weakened. it’s going to take a while before his wolf fully heals. it’s crucial that he doesn’t attempt to shift for at least two weeks once he wakes up.”

“what happens if he does?” taki asks.

“his wolf may die.” minho answers.

“you can put a bit more emotion into it, minho!” changbin whines and the two start to bicker.

“anyway,” chan rolls his eyes, “the aespa sisters have completed the ritual. with you needing your rest, they were able to compete it safely without you. it is believed this will help fuma not only heal faster, but keep the witch from completing the spell again.”

“has sunoo found anything out from my mom’s journal?”

“he has, and he’s mapping it out now. it might take him a while to put it in a coherent order. apparently your mom is very good at making her writing confusion.”

“tell me about it.” you snicker in a mumble. “but it’s probably for the best.” taki rubs your back soothingly.

“why don’t you get some more rest? you’ll need all the strength you can when fuma wakes up.” changbin says.

you widen your eyes, not so appropriate thoughts coming to mind. bangchan and minho are laughing when changbin starts back tracking.

“i mean, he’ll need your strength to get better, and, and, as a new witch you need all the rest you can get—,”

you stand with chuckle, “i got it. thanks changbin.” you thank the three hybrids and walk back upstairs to k’s room.

all the boys had their own room; however, you did not get your own room. probably due to you needing to be around them mostly all the time.

but then you remember what maki said. that jo and euijoo needed you most. you change directions, finding euijoo’s room. after your eventful night with jo, he said both euijoo’s and maki’s room were on either side of his, so they couldn’t have heard anything.

you open the first door, realizing it was maki’s by the scent. so you go to the next room, smiling at euijoo’s clothes scattered. poor boy probably has barely gotten any rest.

you lay comfortably in euijoo’s bed, his tangerine sweet smell feeling your nostrils. you fall back asleep with ease.

downstairs the boys go their own ways. k and taki decide to go to fuma’s side next, maki and euijoo agreeing to get rest next. harua and jo go with changbin and minho to their fighting lessons. yuma and nico decide to go to hyunjin’s fencing class, that he teaches with his sister, yeji.

euijoo’s sad he’ll miss the fencing class, but hyunjin promises he will be available for euijoo once he gets rest.

euijoo and maki both drag up the stairs, euijoo’s nose picking up once he senses your scent getting stronger closer to his room.

“get some rest, alpha.” maki smiles, and goes into his room, shutting the door.

euijoo swallows before opening his door, seeing you laid underneath the covers. his heart warms at your body being tangled in the sheets.

he goes to the en-suite bathroom and showers, trying to get any residual grime off of him for staying in the hospital.

he finishes within an hour, and you’re still sound asleep in his bed. he smiles, eyes softening with love, and he gets into the bed next to you.

he hugs your body, pulling your back to his chest, his wolf immediately sighing in content. you let out whine in content yourself, while still asleep.

your body relaxes against euijoo’s, and euijoo is quickly pulled into a deep sleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

euijoo sleeps well for a few hours, before he’s woken up by a nightmare. nightmare that fuma and you both die.

he’s jolted awake, but you’re still very much alive, curled into his arms, sleeping well.

he kisses the back of your neck, snuggling himself deeper into your body. with his arm wrapped around your waist, your hand finds his, to intertwine your fingers.

“you okay, ju?” you ask sleepily.

he nods against your back. “i am now.” he breaths against your neck.

“want to talk about it?”

“not right now.” he shakes his head. you nod, pulling his body even closer so that you both were melted into one another. he rests his foot over yours, his arm around your waist intertwined with your fingers, moving up your body.

you’re not feeling the need he wants to bond sexually right now. he just wants you. to hold you. and you are definitely okay with that.

euijoo’s breath evens, him going back to a deep sleep, you using your thumbs to soothingly rub against his skin.

you just wanted to have this kind of time with each one of them, and you would make that happen. cuddles, kisses, movie nights, anything and everything. cooking and failing at it. night swims. walks.

they just wanted to be near you. as a group and alone. being with them alone was just as important. that’s what not only makes you stronger but them. it’s also what keeps each one of you safe.

euijoo’s door opens not long after, and nico shuffles in, unaware of your eyes watching him as he walks to the shower. he’s now stripping and showering.

euijoo mumbles in his sleep. “is that nico.”

“yeah.”

“we’ll need to make room for him.” euijoo says and before you can ask how, euijoo moves to the edge of the right side of the bed, pulling you in the middle, leaving the left completely open for nico.

the way the room was set up, he could only see euijoo in bed and not you. so he was in a great surprise, large grin on his face seeing you cuddled with euijoo in the middle of the bed. nico gets in shirtless, just wearing sweatpants.

“how was fencing?” euijoo asks, eyes opening.

“it was fun. yuma kept throwing a fit because he couldn’t beat me. then threw a bigger fit when yeji won against him.”

euijoo laughs deeply. “well of course. she’s a professional.”

“who’s with fuma?” you ask.

“k and taki. yuma and jo will go tonight.” nico answers. “you get both of us tonight, baby.”

“still not having a threesome.” you groan into nico’s chest as he had pulled you closer to him.

nico pouts with a whine. “please. it’ll be fun.”

“i’ll think about it.” you roll your eyes, euijoo laughing behind you. nico is smiling.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

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johnny

you had always seemed to click perfectly with mark; your playful personality and mark’s easygoing nature made you inseparable.

that morning you went to the hotel café, leaving a note for johnny: i’ll be downstairs at the café with mark! love you, handsome. when johnny came down, he found you building a huge spiderman lego with mark, laughing and chatting about the spiderverse.

am i interrupting something? johnny said, sitting next to you. taking a sip from your iced coffee

you nervously fixed your hair, aware of his steady, warm gaze.

hi love… mark and i bought this lego yesterday, i stayed up all night to… you didn’t even finish your sentence when johnny already had his hand on yours.

hurry up, we have things to do, just us he whispered, without mark hearing, though he did and just laughed while putting the pieces away.

your heart raced a little; mark already putting back the pieces to the box

dude it's okay, you can hang out mark just said with a smile a little bit embarrassed.

yuta

you had gone for a walk in a park after recording. you walked beside taeyong, laughing at something he said, while yuta was a few steps behind, watching with a slight frown. every time you leaned toward taeyong to hear better, yuta pressed his lips together, trying not to show his discomfort.

finally, yuta quickened his pace to catch up and positioned himself beside you.

hey… can we talk for a second? his voice was low and serious, full of sincerity.

sure you replied, a little worried while fixing your jacket and hairstyle

isn’t it obvious that i don’t like you being so close to taeyong hyung? he asked, in a casual tone while removing your hand to fix your hair himself.

i thought you were mad at me, you hadn’t spoken to me this whole time you said, pouting.

yuta just smiled guilty, a little nervous, gently adjusting your hair im sorry baby girl, i think i just got a little jealous

doyoung

the wind carried laughter and sweet smells of cotton candy. you were with johnny, riding bumper cars, laughing while he tried to bump into you dramatically.

johnny, careful! you shouted, laughing don’t be so rough. i'm a girl!

got it he replied with a confident smile.

from another car, doyoung watched you with crossed arms and a frown. every laugh of yours made his discomfort grow; it was obvious that your fun with johnny bothered him more than he could admit.

when the ride ended, he got off the car and approached with determined steps.

what the hell are you doing? his firm, angry tone contrasted with the cheerful music of the park you seemed to have more fun with him than with me.

doyoung, it’s just a game… it's not big deal you tried to soften it, giving him a playful nudge.

it's not funny snapped back, crossing his arms, his insistent gaze and frown leaving no room for discussion.

jaehyun

it was the usual rotating dinner, but this time at his apartment, with warm lights hanging from the ceiling, you sat between mark and haechan, who were excitedly discussing what their nicknames would be if they joined culinary class wars 2.

ice cream goddess haechan said, pointing at you with a mischievous smile.

you laughed, leaning toward them and playing with the can of sofa now empty, enjoying the light energy of the conversation. at that moment, jaehyun sat in front of you, placing the plates down with a firm thud. the sound made everyone turn, and you felt his presence suddenly fill the room.

honey, can you help me clean the kitchen? he said in a low, firm but soft tone, making you smile involuntarily as you nodded.

be right back, guys you said, and you heard his barely audible whisper: oh, you won’t

as you walked to the kitchen, you felt the warmth of his gaze on you. he was carefully finishing organizing everything, his movements measured and elegant, and when you entered, you looked at him, surprised.

jaehyun, but… did you already clean up?

i know… it was just an excuse he replied, resting his hand on your waist and looking at you with that intense calm that always disarmed you.

jungwoo

you were on a weekend vacation, having dinner at sunset in a restaurant with a view of the sea. the breeze carried smells of salt and wet wood, and the sky painted golden and orange tones above the table. you were next to him, serving him some food while noticing he was holding his stomach, uncomfortable.

baby, does your belly hurts? you asked carefully, concerned.

i don’t feel well he replied, with a sigh heavier than the sunset light. he rested his head on the table for a few minutes, closing his eyes, and you gently stroked his arm, wishing he felt better. oh my poor little boy

when he finally decided to go back to the hotel, declining your offer to accompany him, you felt a little pinch of sadness.

take a tylenol when you get to the room, okay? you whispered, rubbing his back before letting him go.

his slow steps and slightly annoyed but tender expression as he walked to the car, now that the car was slowly moving

you’re mean… i thought you’d come with me he murmured, rolling down the window for you to see his face.

get better, jungwoo! jaehyun and doyoung shouted from afar, and you just sighed, knowing that even though he was upset, he didn't wanted to let you know he got jealous

mark

you had been in front of the computer for almost five hours, playing overwatch with haechan and jeno. the keyboard clicked constantly, and the screen light illuminated your focused face.

dinner’s ready! mark shouted from the door, breaking your concentration.

innaminit! you replied, not taking your eyes off the screen.

you’ve been at it for five hours, and haechan, as usual, has nothing to do with his life and is dragging you along mark said, disconnecting your headphones abruptly.

hey! you protested, frowning as you turned to him.

come on, pay attention to me, will you? he said, clearly annoyed but holding back, that edge in his voice showing how much he cared.

you got up, resigned but amused, and walked to the kitchen. as you did, you felt his gaze on your back, a mix of pride and subtle jealousy making you smile inwardly.

haechan

it was a sunny morning at the local market, among smells of freshly baked bread and fruits. you held haechan’s hand, enjoying a cold strawberry smoothie while exploring the stalls.

jungwoo, laughing, appeared running as usual to steal you from his side.

hey, look at this! he said, guiding you to a stall where jaehyun was already laughing and taking photos of a hairless old dog wearing winter clothes.

haechan didn’t take long to catch up, rolling his eyes dramatically as only he could.

you didn’t have permission to steal her he said, walking faster to get ahead, passing an arm around your shoulder and planting loud kisses on your cheek.

jaehyun and jungwoo stayed behind, watching haechan lead you through the crowd with small playful nudges and intense looks.

woah, this guy… jungwoo said, laughing at the scene, while jaehyun observed the little dog and his baby who now appeared and took pictures alongside him.

10:33PM

it's your—what—second? third? cocktail of the night and you’re convinced that you’re still as sober the second you walked into this bar.

you trace over the rim of your empty glass with the tip of your middle finger mindlessly, your other arm hanging off the rest of the stool. with every loop that you make, the annoyance within you grows.

you can count the amount of customers in here on two hands, and on one if you’re only taking into account who’s actually sat at the bar. yet, the bartender’s attention is solely focused on the group of men sat on the opposite end of the counter.

3 of them are sat down while the last one stands, leaning forward on the glass counter. you can’t make out what they’re saying, but by the looks of it, you can probably assume that they’re regulars here.

this pisses you off even more.

you stare into the back of the bartender’s head, thinking that maybe if you tried hard enough, you could will him over here.

instead of willing him to turn his head, one of the men sat down in the group looks over at you. you glance back at him, and seeing as he doesn’t look away, you don’t either.

the man only holds out for a moment longer before he snaps his head away. with how far he is and the moody lighting, you can only barely make out what he looks like, but you swear he was smirking as he looked away.

great.

well, you suppose that this could be another way to get yourself another drink—the drink that you wanted to order about 15 minutes ago now.

in your head, you start counting down the 60 seconds that you’re predicting it will take before smirky stranger gets up and comes over to you.

you drop your eyes down onto the empty basin of your glass, wrapping your fingers around the stem and rocking it back and forth in your hand. as you reach 1, you catch the movement in your peripheral of someone pushing their bar stool out and getting up from over there.

as the man walks all the way down the bar over to you, you choose to pretend you don’t notice any of this.

“hey.”

you tilt your head. your eyes drag up the torso of the man slowly before scanning his face until you meet his eyes. he’s not bad looking.

“yes?” you raise your eyebrows, a somewhat critical look in your eyes.

now that he’s closer to you, you can see clearly the smirk that he’s wearing on his face as he leans on the counter with his forearm. “you here alone?” he swipes a stray strand of hair away from his forehead as he asks.

“does it matter?” you tuck your chin inwards slightly, eyes directly looking up at him.

the man hangs his head forward as he chuckles lightly. you notice him fidgeting with the ring on his hand.

“i like you,” he says, meeting your eyes again.

you sit back as far as you can on the bar stool. the leg you have over the other bounces rhythmically as you return to drawing circles over your glass.

you study the man’s face. the cockiness that he wears is one you know all too well. his unearned confidence seen in the way he’s standing lazily.

you glance at the ring on his finger, then back up at him, “what does your wife think about that?”

the expression on his face doesn’t slip. usually, that particular rhetorical question catches them off-guard, but without even missing a beat, he answers, “does it matter?”

the movement of your leg ceases. unable to tell whether he’s being sarcastic or not, you squeeze out a weak smile before getting off your stool. quickly grabbing your phone and your purse in one hand, you head past the man to the door of the bathrooms on the opposite wall—leaving him standing by the bar alone.

you hear the man calling out after you. as you make your way past his entourage on the other end of the bar, chuckles and murmurs can be heard from behind you. actively ignoring his yells, you head straight into the bathrooms without glancing back once, calling out, “i don’t fuck married losers,” before you disappear inside.

if you thought the bar was too dark before, the bathrooms do you one better. the wall tiles are black; the floors are glossy, and black; everything that you can see is painted black—with the exception of the golden sconces next to the mirrors over the sinks. but the light emanating from them is so dim they may as well not exist.

you balance your phone on top of the soap dispenser. rummaging through your purse, your fingers dig for the rectangular tube of lipstick in there; it being black as well really doesn’t help you out. and the fact that your head is starting to feel like the beginning stages of an implosion doesn’t benefit you much, either.

you finally pick out the small tube from your purse, uncapping it instinctively. you hold the lipstick in one hand as the other grips onto the edge of the sink, allowing you to lean forward into the mirror without toppling yourself over.

you go over your lips with the pigment as carefully as you can, perhaps too carefully. when you’re done, you drop the tube back inside your purse as you pull away from the mirror.

running a hand through your hair, you analyse your reflection. in your judgement, you think you can still pass for sober.

grabbing your phone, you hesitate before going back out again. what if the man’s still in your place?

whatever.

if he is, then you’ll take it as a sign to leave and go to another bar, pub, club—whatever—at least the bartenders there might actually do their job.

there’s a sense of dread forming in the pit of your stomach as you pull the door open. a feeling that’s quickly replaced by relief when you see the lack of boisterous men at the bar table.

you make your way over to where they previously were. sliding back up onto the stool, you wave over the now free bartender.

“a pornstar martini, please,” you say, trying to hold back your still-pending irritation from the events earlier.

looking straight ahead, you see that someone else has also occupied your previous space. you watch as he downs the entirety of what was in his whiskey glass and slams it down onto the counter. he doesn’t look up.

his black hair is gelled back but the day has allowed strands to fall out of place. his shoulders rise and fall visibly just once before he pushes his glass a few inches forward in front of him.

your cocktail is placed on a coaster alongside a small shot as the bartender pushes it towards you, murmuring a quiet, “enjoy.”

the first sip of anything alcoholic is always vile, no matter how much you’ve been drinking beforehand. you down the shot, feeling the acidity burn as it travels down your throat.

then, you alternate to sipping on the martini.

it’s now that you recall your new year’s resolution from the start of the year: drink less.

probably not the best time to stick to a resolution like that in the middle of the bar. but the increasing intensity of your headache is pleading with you to do so.

you’re already halfway through your drink before your moral consciousness kicks in. but the important thing is that it did, you tell yourself, as you push the glass with a third of what was in it left away.

you fish for the £20 notes that you know you shoved inside your purse somewhere. when you finally find them crumpled and hidden under your keys, you lay a couple of them out onto the bar table, sliding it under your drink.

before you can up and leave, the bartender hurriedly makes his way over to your end of the counter.

“miss, your bill is already covered.”

you look at him, somewhat puzzled. there was no way in your head that the guy you insulted like a middle schooler would’ve paid your bill for you.

and as if catching onto your facial cues, the bartender continues, “the gentleman over there covered it.”

you glance over in the direction he gestures towards, over at the only person on the other side of the bar.

“thanks,” you reply quietly and curtly. you take back one of the notes off the counter, and consider taking the other as well, but decide against it last second.

when you gaze over at the man who bought your drinks for you again, he doesn’t even look up.

you make your way over. the least you could do is thank the man who saved you 20 quid tonight, you thought.

the closer you get, the more visible his features become to you. the last guy wasn’t bad looking, but the man sitting there is clearly not on the same level.

his face is of full of sharp, angular planes. the way his cheekbones catch the light from above, you can swear he looks something out of a painting.

“hi,” the coyness in your voice being something that made you want to punch yourself over.

the man doesn’t even so much so as spare you a glance as he takes another sip of his now-replenished drink, one that you're presuming to be whiskey.

“can i help you?”

his tone is somewhat surprising to you, to an extent. you’re used to being the standoffish one in the conversation, not the other way around.

you reposition your stance, standing up taller than before. "figured i'd thank you for the drinks." didn't expect you to be a prick, though.

that earns you a small smirk from him. he rests the drink on top of his pinky, his thumb grazing over the ridges in the glass. he purses his lips for a quick second as he swallows his sip, "well, you've thanked me."

he looks at you for the first time. his eyes hooded and slender, the glassiness of them shrouded in the dark atmosphere.

you nod, "i have."

he rips his focus from you back onto the dark liquor he's swirling around in his glass. giving no sign of further conversation, your body begins to turn towards the exit on its own accord. you take one step forward, the heel of your shoe clicking against the marble flooring.

then, you stop.

something about the man sat there piques a morbid curiosity within you. there's some sort of... magnetic allure that you can't simply walk away from.

you double back over to him. "you know, mr..."

"kim," he follows seamlessly. once again, he doesn't even look up at you, as if he expected you to turn back. "kim doyoung."

"right," you regard him fixedly. "and what exactly do you want from me?"

doyoung clasps his hands together and sighs dramatically. he peers at you out of the corner of his eyes, "what makes you think i want anything from you?"

the line between rudeness and banter has never been stretched thinner in your entire life, and you really can't tell what side he's on.

you put your purse on the counter, leaning in closer as you do so. "does this act usually work for you?"

a strange semblance of pride resonates in your chest as he turns his head to face you.

"what do you mean by that?"

"i'm asking: do you usually get laid by acting like you have a stick up your ass?"

he looks amused, "i have a stick up my ass?"

your eyes dart across his face in a confused, and slightly defensive manner.

"oh, i'm sorry. at least my ego isn't so big that i go around thinking everyone wants to sleep with me."

you push yourself up onto the stool next to him, "yeah, i really don't believe that."

doyoung watches as you position yourself comfortably on the seat. then, he leans in, closer than you'd expected and whispers.

"then, don't."

he leans back into his seat. one hand rested on top of the counter as the other throws the rest of the drink back in a huge swig. his face doesn't even so much as flinch when he swallows it; even just watching him makes your throat burn. he sets down his glass and gets up. snaking a hand around to the back pocket of his trousers, he pulls out his wallet, and from that, a 50 pound note.

he slides the money forward and shoves the wallet back inside his pocket. your gaze follows him as he begins to walk off, though, not in the direction of the exit.

stopping a few feet away, he turns his head back around to you, "you coming?"

on a regular night, you'd probably say 'no' to going somewhere with a stranger. an even higher likelihood if you don't know the where it is that you're even going. but you don't meet curiously handsome strangers on regular nights. and although you follow him, you're still well aware that this could possibly be the dumbest idea you've ever had.

he leads you down a hallway, as dimly lit as the rest of the place. at the end of it is a locked door that he conveniently has the keys for. who this man is and why he has keys to doors in this place, you truly do not know.

behind the lock is a lounge. a vip lounge in fact, as it suggests on the door. you step through the doorway and doyoung pushes the door shut behind you. you drop your things onto the couch right next to you and he tosses his keys on top of some side table.

you look up at him, suddenly being all too aware of every limb hanging from your body.

fuck.

you try to steel your undeniable nerves.

is this where you die?

no.

stop jumping to conclusions.

to the best of your ability, you try to ignore your speeding heart rate. "i thought you said you didn't want anything from me."

doyoung stands facing you, head slightly tilted back. slowly, he unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves. "question is..." his voice drags out as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbows, "what do you want from me?"

his velvety tone puts your prior conjectures to rest. and now with the added knowledge that he probably doesn't want to kill you, you expected your nervousness to cease. yet, it doesn't.

perhaps it makes you even more nervous knowing he wants to fuck you rather than kill you.

if you were a virgin, that would make sense. but how fast the man standing before you makes your heart beat, how tense he makes your chest feels is the furthest thing from making sense.

you can only take the pumping in your chest for so long and you're blaming the alcohol, but the only thing running through your mind now is the image of you pushed up against him.

not wanting to restrain yourself any longer, you crash into his torso. arms reaching up and wrapping around his neck as your lips meet.

his hands pull you in closer by the waist. your lips envelope his perfectly, as if they were sculpted from each other. his lips are warm, the taste of whiskey now confirming your earlier assumptions. a faint hint of a minty aroma emanates from his skin.

using your arms to leverage yourself, you press your chest tighter against him, earning you a muffled hum as he kisses you deeper.

his palms drop from your waist to your thighs, kneading the muscle underneath slowly with his fingers.

you pull yourself away, breathless.

he looks at you in a way he hasn’t done previously the last few times. it’s like he’s looking at you expectantly; for an answer, a sign, anything.

“don’t tell me you’re not getting anything from this,” you breathe.

“did i say that?” you catch the end of his brow flicking upwards before kissing him again.

you run a hand down his chest, feeling the contours of his body underneath the button-up shirt.

your lips are pushed against his so hard that you’re beginning to feel the pressure from them. you force yourself to break away, catching your breath. through an exchange of lustful glances, you trail your fingertips all the way down his torso to his belt. you can tell he’s trying to hold back a smirk at your teasing.

you bring your other hand down to help with the unbuckling of his belt. suddenly, you feel the firm hold of his hand on one of your wrists, stopping your movements.

“you’re gonna let me have it that easy?” his grip on you loosening a little.

you look up at him with a sly smile playing on your lips, “you said i have a big ego,” you hook your fingers inside of his belt, “i’m trying to prove i don’t.”

using some strength, you pull him off of the wall that you pushed him up against and swing him around so now he's in your spot, back towards the couch. with a single finger, you push his shoulder back and compliantly, he plumps down onto the seat.

you kneel in between his legs. without wasting a second, your hands land on his knees and forcefully push them wider apart to make room for yourself.

just simply watching you seems to make him revel in pleasure. as you undo his belt, doyoung leans back and helps in whatever way he can by lifting his hips. your fingers slip inside the waistband of his trousers and pull them all the way down in one swift motion.

the cloth of his boxer briefs is stretched tight by the bulge underneath.

you sit back on your heels, hands running up his thighs slowly before stopping just shy of the hemline.

"are you going to ask?" you bat your eyelashes up at him.

his bottom lip recoils from being bitten back by his teeth. "you're fucking bossy, aren't you?"

"fine," you begin to pull down his shorts. "i'll make it easier for you." slowly, and that's agonisingly slow, you tug at the band, inching it lower and lower until it springs up in front of you. the tip of it passing your eye level.

you drag the briefs down to his ankles at a much quicker pace.

you wrap one hand, then the other around the shaft of his dick, and still there's the head of it left, burning pink and red. you watch him watch you. his breathing deepens as you give him a lazy stroke.

"do you want me to suck your cock?" a raspiness in your voice that tells him you want this as bad as he does.

"yes," doyoung breathes out, eyes focused on your hands. then, he looks at you, "please."

satisfied with his response, you begin to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. your tongue swirls over the tip of it, eliciting a quiet moan from him. your hands working together pump up and down his shaft in unison—you feel every vein between your fingers.

you can already feel it filling up your mouth with both of your hands still on it. you breathe in as deeply as you can before sinking your head down a little further. the strained moans that he lets slip does more for your ego than the both of you probably realise.

as you go deeper on his cock, you take away one of your hands to let yourself more space. you're only halfway down when you feel the tip hit the back of your throat. at that, you start to push back up. dragging your wet lips on his cock and letting his dick slowly slide out of your mouth as you pull yourself back.

you stroke the entire length of his dick with your hand while you readjust how you're kneeling in front of him. your attention entirely focused on his cock, you don't even notice his arm reaching out to you until his thumb lands on your face and his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up at him.

he hovers his thumb over your lips, gently grazing over them as he wipes something from the corner of your mouth.

you shoot a look at him with your eyebrows raised and he lets go—as if apologising for interrupting you—and his arm falls back beside him on the couch.

refocusing your attention, you spit onto the tip of his dick and smear it together with the precum dripping out from him, covering his entire shaft with it.

you work in a few rubs with your hand before taking him in your mouth again. as the tip of his dick hits your throat, you begin bobbing your head up and down while your hand works the remainder of his shaft.

it’s clear that he’s trying to hold back his sounds, but every time your teeth grazes a vein, he can’t help but groan. you watch him carefully as he throws his head back in ecstasy, hands balling up beside him.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he drawls breathily.

the muscles in his thighs twitch. he brings a hand up over his forehead and bites down hard on his lip. doyoung knows that if he were to look at you right now, he would lose it.

your hand reaches the base of his cock, and instead of sliding it back up, you give it a tight squeeze. this has him bucking his hips up into you, thrusting his dick deeper down your throat. “shit,” he pants, with his voice finally above a half-whisper.

he can’t help it; he has to watch. his eyes meet yours—pure euphoria in them. he keeps his steady gaze on you as you take his cock deeper and deeper every time.

a piece of your hair falls in front of your face and doyoung reaches out to push it behind your ear. he runs his fingers through your hair, gathering it all behind you and holding it back in a ponytail.

slowly, slowly, slowly, you drag your lips up. you make sure your tongue swirls over the tip over and over before you finally pull away.

“look at you,” he curses under his breath. “sucking my cock like a fucking pornstar.”

you have to hold back a smirk from showing on your lips. and suddenly, you become too aware of the lipstick that is most definitely smeared all over you.

“get up,” his voice takes on a demanding tone. one that makes you obey his words without even giving it a second thought.

using the back of your hand, you wipe away the drool on your chin as well as your smudged lipstick.

doyoung holds his palms out, waiting for you to take them. as you place your hands in his, he pulls them closer towards him.

you plant one knee next to his hip on the couch, followed by the other so that you’re straddling him. doyoung intertwines his fingers with yours. he brings your left hand towards him, softly kissing your fingers and your knuckles.

“you want to show me how good you can be, don’t you?” he mutters in between brushing your fingers over his lips.

you only nod in response, entranced by his fluttering touches.

"lift this up," he nods his head down at your skirt. without hesitation, you pull the hem of your skirt up over your hips.

the tip of his cock is directly under your clothed cunt. you roll your hips back, grazing against the head. doyoung bites back a chuckle, "i can't believe you're this fucking wet."

you suck on the inside of your cheek, "i can't believe you're this fucking hard."

he smiles lazily, "well, i wouldn't want to offend you."

you land a soft blow to his chest, one void of any real strength. this does nothing but amuse him further.

he cocks his head to the side. "pull them over," he eyes your lace panties.

you slide a finger underneath the sheer fabric, bunching it together and pushing it to the side. your bare cunt practically dripping on doyoung's dick. subconsciously, your hips start grinding back and forth, brushing your folds against his tip.

you're this close to sinking down on his dick when doyoung stops you with a single tap of his finger and a look.

"uh-uh. where are your manners?"

the smugness on his expression leaves you no choice but to roll your eyes at him. "fuck you," you spit out.

"yeah, i don't think that's the magic word," he leans back onto the couch.

"seriously?"

"if you want this dick inside you, you better ask for it, princess."

seeing how stubborn he is, you decide to play along. you lean your body closer towards him, arms once again wrapping around his neck. you plant a quick peck on his lips, then another on his cheek. your kisses trail all the way to the top of his ear before whispering deliberately slowly.

"i want you to fuck me senseless."

his expression says he's unaffected but the twitching from below you suggests otherwise. doyoung looks at you contentedly but still not giving in, yet.

you pull the top of his ear in between your teeth, softly biting down, causing him to grunt quietly.

"please."

immediately, it's like something switches on inside of him. he lines his dick up with your pussy, and without warning, thrusts his hips up into you.

you choke out a moan, the sudden stretch being almost too much for you to take.

he grunts, pushing himself deeper inside you inch by inch. "fuck, you okay?"

despite wanting to speak, the only thing that comes out of you are whines and whimpers, so you resort to nodding your head eagerly instead.

"you can take it, can't you?" doyoung groans, a noise so deep and guttural as he pushes the last of his length inside you.

he throws his head back once he's all the way inside. just the sight of your pussy swallowing the whole of him drives him insane.

he stays still inside of you, letting you adjust to his size. his fingers grip tightly onto your hips, his thumbs digging into your pelvis.

your eyes are clamped shut. you don't want to say it but his dick inside you makes you feel like you're getting split into two. your knees can barely hold you up, having to claw your nails into his shoulders to support yourself.

doyoung reads your expression carefully as he slides himself out, and then in. slow at first. so slow that it feels torturous for him when the only thing on his mind is fucking you dumb.

the more he thrusts, the more you begin to take pleasure in this. building up a steady pace, his hands hold you in place as the sound of your skin slapping onto each other echo in the room.

the friction occasionally rubbing against your aching clit works you into a frenzy.

doyoung begins to pound into you faster and harder, illiciting a long string of curses from you. crying out, you let yourself slump over his shoulder as he bounces you up and down his cock.

you can hear his heavy breathing right next to your ear. "this pussy was made to be fucked like this, wasn't it?" he spits in between his groans. "perfect little slut, made to take big dick so well, huh?"

in all honesty, your mind is clouded by the sole desire to cum. not hearing a word he says, but you agree anyway with tears threatening to spill out the corner of your eyes.

you reach a hand down, rubbing tight circles on your clit. the need to cum has made you desperate. willing to do anything to just to push yourself that little further.

nothing can turn doyoung on more than seeing the desperation scrawled across your face. every time he pounds into you, the tip of his cock twitches inside, swiping against your g-spot.

“my pretty slut’s gonna cum? huh?”

you whine in response, the ability to form coherent words absolutely out the window by now.

“fucking do it then.”

you bury your face in the crook of his neck as you’re nearing the verge of your orgasm. the muscles in your leg begin to spasm.

“cum all over this dick, baby, i know you can do it.”

his sudden use of the pet name for you completely unravels you with his dick all the way inside. legs shaking uncontrollably. you clench around his cock, your pussy walls tightening the harder you come.

as you gush all over the entirety of his dick, doyoung can’t hold out any longer. your screams of pure ecstasy drives him to his orgasm, shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you. his hips buck sharply, pushing his cum into the deepest crevice of your womb.

his jaw hangs slack, eyes closed as waves of pleasure ripple through him. his chest rises and falls dramatically, hands shaky although he tries to steady them on your hips.

“fuck,” you both repeat as you begin to come down from your high.

no longer blinded by your orgasm, you can still feel his cock throbbing inside of you, twitching as your cunt drains the last of his cum out of him.

breathing heavily, you meet his lust-filled gaze.

your thumb runs up his jaw lightly, drawing yourself closer to his face. visible beads of sweat form by his hairline.

you press a soft kiss onto his lips. smirking, you watch him keep his eyes closed for a few more seconds, revelling in the euphoria he’s experiencing.

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.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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.

He paused for a second, “yes…but, there would also be some issues.” You were just the tiniest bit hurt at this. You had told him that you’d undoubtedly love him if he were no longer human yet he has the nerve to say that he’d only love you conditionally. 

“Issues with what?” You asked.

“With uhhh,” his eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, then down to the hand on his thigh before he grabbed it and brought it under the blanket that was covering him, placing it on his crotch where you could feel his arousal. “With stuff like this.”

Your eyes widened as you processed what was happening, “Johnny,” you exclaimed in shock, “you can’t possibly be turned on by the thought of one of us being a bee.” 

“I’m not! It’s just that, well, when I was a bee, you had locked me out from your bedroom window and all I could do was watch as you changed your clothes,” you gave him a playful squeeze, making his voice falter, “a-and I couldn’t touch you, I couldn’t kiss you, I couldn’t tell you how beautiful you are, and it was so upsetting.” 

“Aww, you poor thing,” you cooed, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek as you traced the outline of his pulsing cock through the layers of his clothing. 

“Please, please, please help me,” he begged, “I wanna cum so badly.” 

“Babe, I’m not letting you fuck me on a plane,” you stated. 

One of his hands traveled under the blanket, covering yours that was resting on his crotch. “I don’t have to be inside you, just this is enough,” he sighed out as he began guiding your hand up and down his clothed length. “Please?”

You nodded slowly, as if you were weighing your options, “and what’s in it for me?”

“I’ll fuck you so hard the next time we do it, I promise,” he blurted out. 

“Mmm, I don’t think that’s enough…” 

“I’ll buy your meals for a day,” when he saw that you still weren’t all that excited, “okay how about two?”

“Deal. But I get to choose where we eat,” you told him, at which he senselessly agreed, just wanting to get his release. 

You started by teasing the head of his dick, running a finger up and down the sensitive area as if you were tickling it. Just that alone was enough to get Johnny to shudder in his seat. Satisfied at the reaction he gave, you decided to do a little more for him, pressing your palm lightly on the tip of his member and running it down ever so slowly then cupping the base of his cock and balls at the end. “More,” he pleaded weakly, and you gladly obliged upon seeing how good he was behaving. 

Pulling the waistband of his sweatpants down, wanting to take your time, you distracted him with kisses to his neck and jaw. You inserted your hand into his pants, doing the same motions you did before except now there were fewer layers between your hand and his throbbing length. 

His breath hitched when you finally snuck your fingers past the elastic of his underwear, allowing your skin to meet his and feeling the heat from his dick spread through your hand. Johnny turned to kiss you, effectively muting the sounds he made as you began spreading his precum from the head of his member, running a finger around it and enjoying the way your boyfriend fell apart from your touch. 

You started to slowly pump your hand up and down his veiny cock, its weight and thickness feeling so satisfying to hold. Feeling him twitch in your grasp, you loosened your grip, not wanting your fun to end so soon, drawing a quiet whine from your boyfriend. “Please let me cum,” he begged, breaking away from your kiss and looking up at you with his cute expression, as if he were a puppy that needed his owner to take care of him. 

When your motions finally picked up in speed, you felt the strong muscles of his thighs clench while he shallowly rutted into your hand. “Fuck, can I cum in your mouth?” He asked, brows furrowed in concentration, his hands scrunching up the fabric of the blanket on his lap. 

You sat up, quickly checking to make sure no one was watching the two of you and no flight attendants would be coming by. Seeing that the coast was clear, you turned back to him, “fine but make quick.” 

“Yes, thank you,” he sighed out as you lowered your mouth onto his length, your saliva coating it while he continued to rock into your warmth. You didn’t even have the chance to tease him with your tongue since he began desperately thrusting into your lips, fucking your mouth like he would your pussy. 

You felt his dick twitching once more, hungrily chasing its release so you placed a hand onto his lower abdomen to keep his hips down as a safety precaution, and not a moment too soon. Johnny lets out a strained moan the moment he begins spilling his load into your mouth, its bitter and salty taste coating your tongue. 

He continued to shallowly thrust into you, riding out his high though a shiver went through his body as you swallowed around his length then swirled your tongue around its head to clean him up. Johnny let out a heavy breath of relief, his body going limp when you finally pulled away from his now sensitive cock. You let him recover while doing your best to take care of him, tucking him back into his underwear and readjusting his sweats, neatly tying back together the strings that had gotten loose. 

At last, when you were straightening out the blanket to cover your boyfriend’s large frame, he had enough strength to say “thanks, love you.” 

“Love you too, bee boy,” you playfully remarked, patting his firm chest as he dozed off once more.

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“Nothing,” you respond, a little too innocently. Your hand slides higher, just brushing the faint outline of him through the cotton. The corners of his mouth twitch, betraying the way his composure is already cracking. 

Your fingers wander again, rubbing idly over the swell of him through his sweatpants, never staying in one spot long enough to give him what he wants. His book lowers slightly, eyes narrowing on you even as his breath hitches. 

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he mutters, shifting in his spot as if that will ease the growing pressure. 

You smile, deliberately slow in your movements. “I’m just keeping my hands busy.” The heel of your palm presses lightly, and you feel his growing length twitch beneath the fabric. His jaw tightens, a muscle rolling as he pointedly turns his attention back to the page in front of him. 

But he doesn’t get far. Each pass of your hand has him harder, straining against the fabric, his annoyance bleeding into something sharper. “Don’t test me,” he warns, his voice already rougher. 

You hum, feigning innocence while your fingers trail along his length, tracing the shape of it without giving him real relief. He exhales sharply, slamming the book shut and tossing it onto the table.

“Okay, I can clearly tell what you’re doing,” he finally snaps, though there’s a flush at his throat, heat blooming all the way to his ears. His eyes cut toward you, a mix of irritation and want, and it makes your grin widen. 

You couldn’t resist the way he looked, finding yourself leaning in and kissing his jaw, your hand still moving over him in those maddeningly slow strokes. “I like you like this,” you whisper against his skin, savoring the way he tenses under your touch. “Needy. Impatient. Desperate.” 

Doyoung’s breath shudders, the last threads of his patience unravelling. When his hand finally covers yours, pushing you harder against him, you know you’ve won. 

Your smirk widens as you curl your fingers under the waistband of his sweats and tug them down just enough. His cock springs free, flushed and heavy in your hand, and you can’t resist the little swell of pride at the way his breath hitches. 

“I thought you wanted to read,” you tease, stroking him slowly from base to tip, twisting just enough at the head to make him jolt. His head falls back against the couch with a broken groan, the sound sharp and desperate in your ears. 

Your other hand roams without pause, sliding down his stomach to push his shirt up, nails dragging faint red lines over the ridges of his abs. His hips twitch, his thighs tightening under your touch. You laugh softly, dropping your hand from his cock to his balls, cupping them and rolling them between your fingers until he’s panting, legs spreading wider for you without thought. 

“Ah, fuck,” he moans, too loud, too eager. His voice cracks around it, spilling into the room like music, and you savor it for just a second before you lean in, lifting the hand that was resting on his stomach. 

“Shhh, baby,” you murmur, slipping two fingers past his lips as he whines. His mouth opens easily, welcoming you in, tongue wet and hot around the pads of your digits. 

The reaction is instant. His cock twitches in your hand, precum smearing over your fist as you stroke him faster. His eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling, and you watch his chest rise and fall in stuttering breaths as he sucks on your fingers like he’s starving. 

“That’s better,” you say smugly, tightening your grip around him, dragging your thumb along his slit just to watch his body jolt. “Not so mean with my fingers in your mouth, huh?”

Doyoung groans again, helpless and muffled around your fingers, hips bucking into your hand like he’s already close. 

You shift suddenly, swinging a leg over him until you’re straddling his lap. The new position makes it easier to stroke him harder and faster, your fist pumping his cock in slick, steady pulls that drag desperate little sounds from his throat. 

He’s pliant under you, chest rising sharply as you press closer, the heat of him radiating against your thighs. His mouth is still full of your fingers, spit slicking down his chin as he moans around them, muffled and messy. 

You lean in, greedy with affection, peppering his face with kisses on his jaw, his temple, the edge of his mouth, anywhere you can reach. When his head tips back again, you take his neck, nipping lightly before soothing the spot with your tongue. 

The combination leaves him undone. His hips buck helplessly, cock straining in your hand, his muffled groans spilling louder each time your thumb circles the head. His fingers clutch your hips tight, grounding himself, as if the weight of you is the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. 

You feel the vibration in your hand as Doyoung hums and whines around your fingers, high and pleading. His thighs are tense beneath you, quivering every time you slow your strokes just enough to keep him teetering on the edge of pleasure. 

“Mmm, you want it so bad, don’t you?” you coo cruelly against his ear, your hand easing off to a lazy pace, twisting your wrist only at the head to smear his precum over the flushed skin. His hips chase every movement, his muffled whimpers catching as if he’s begging without words. 

When you squeeze him tighter, then ease your grip again, his eyes roll back, the frustration painting every inch of his expression. You can feel his chest heave against yours, his body trembling as he tries not to cum too fast. 

“Poor baby,” you croon, slipping your slick fingers from his mouth just long enough to pat his cheek before pushing them back in. “You’re so noisy, so messy. You’d cum right now if I let you, wouldn’t you?”

His muffled reply comes out broken, wet around your fingers, his cock jerking in your fist as if to prove your point. That’s when you give in, tightening your grip and stroking him fast, rough, relentless—your fist working him with a violence that punches the breath out of him in ragged cries. His whole body shudders, his thighs trembling, hands bruising on your hips as his moans fight their way out, every whimper drawn higher until his hips snap once, twice, and then he breaks. 

Cum spills hot across his stomach in heavy spurts, painting him as his whines escape from your fingers without any rhythm. His cock throbs hard in your fist, each twitch spilling more of his release over his abs while his chest arches from the sheer force of his orgasm. 

You stroke him through it, slowing only when he’s shuddering with oversensitivity, lips falling open around your slick fingers as he pants for air. His lashes are wet, cheeks flushed, body limp under yours as you sit back to admire the wreck you’ve made of him. 

Even as his cock twitches in your hand, spilling the last of his cum, you keep stroking him—slower, steadier, dragging each sound out of his throat until the pitch shifts into broken little whines. His hips jerk uselessly, every nerve raw, his muffled pleas thick around your fingers until you finally take pity on him. 

You slip your hand from his cock and ease your soaked fingers from his mouth, only to press them against his jaw, smearing his spit across his cheek as you force his mouth open again. “You’re so pretty like this,” you whisper, almost reverent as you gather his cum onto your fingertips before pushing them past his lips. He moans as you feed his own release to him, his throat working as he swallows around your fingers, and you hum in approval, removing your fingers and licking the remains from where it had dripped down onto your palm. 

“You taste so good,” you praise, your gaze fixed on the way his dazed eyes watch you. 

Doyoung’s lips part when you lean in, pliant and sweet as you kiss him deep, his tongue weak against yours as he melts into the couch beneath you. By the time you pull back, he’s boneless, chest still fluttering with uneven breaths, and you can’t resist cupping a hand on his cheek, over his drying saliva, as if to mark the ruin of him as entirely your doing. 

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like LOL (Laugh-Out-Loud) - S.Johnny

the waiting room is cold and quiet.

too clean and too bright, and your heart is beating just a little too fast. 

you’re here for your first gynecologist appointment, and your nerves? 

they were nearly impossible to hide, written all over you.

but when the nurse finally calls your name and walks you down the hallway, you try to calm yourself.

until you see him.

dr. kang taehyun.

his frame is imposing, tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled to the elbow under his white coat, hair perfectly styled, and glasses perched on his nose like he walked straight out of a drama. 

his eyes flick up when you step in, and his smile is warm but so polished it almost feels unsettling.

“you must be my new patient,” he says, standing and holding out his hand. 

“i’m dr. kang. come sit, we’ll go over a few things before your exam.”

you nod, swallowing hard as you sit in the little chair beside his desk. 

your heart’s racing. 

there’s just something about him—calm, professional, but his gaze lingers just a second too long. 

like he’s reading more than just your chart.

“so,” he starts, flipping through a clipboard. 

“first things first. have you been sexually active in the past… let’s say, three months?”

you blink. “um… y-yeah.”

“with men, women, both?”

you hesitate. “…both.”

he hums softly. 

“okay. partners multiple or singular?”

your cheeks burn. “m-multiple…”

he glances at you, smiling gently. 

“nothing to be embarrassed about. this is a judgment-free zone, i promise.”

you nod quickly, eyes darting to the floor.

“have you noticed any discomfort? pain? unusual tightness or sensitivity during intercourse?”

you blink again, lips parting. “…tightness?”

“mm. some patients experience spasms or clenching when nervous,” he says smoothly, scribbling something down. 

“especially if their partners are… well… significantly sized.”

you nearly choke.

“w-what?! i—uh—i mean, i guess—”

“totally normal,” he says, looking unbothered. 

“and when was your last orgasm? solo or partnered.”

your entire brain crashes.

“…sorry, what?”

he adjusts his glasses without looking up. 

“it affects pelvic muscle tone. i ask all my patients.”

“o-oh. um. last night…”

“solo?”

you nod, voice tiny. “y-yeah…”

“were you using penetration? or just clitoral stimulation?”

you stare at him.

he finally glances up, calm as ever. 

“i can rephrase if you’re uncomfortable.”

“no! i mean, um. clitoral…”

he nods, jotting it down. “thank you. and when aroused, would you say your natural lubrication is average? or do you tend to dry out quickly?”

your legs are glued together now. 

your whole body is buzzing and he hasn’t even touched you.

“average…” you whisper.

he hums again. “we’ll confirm that during the exam.”

confirm that?

he said that like he was checking your blood pressure. 

like it wasn’t the filthiest sentence you’d ever heard in a medical office.

“go ahead and undress from the waist down,” he says, standing. 

“the gown’s on the table. and don’t worry, i’ll be gentle. i always am on the first visit.”

he gives you one last slow glance, then slips behind the curtain.

you sit there for a second, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, stomach flipping.

this man is dangerous.

and you haven’t even laid back in the stirrups yet.

you’re already trembling by the time you slip out of your skirt and panties, gown rustling as you slide onto the padded exam table. 

the stirrups wait at the end—shiny, cold, and intimidating. 

and you? 

you’re already warm between the thighs, even though nothing’s happened yet.

“you can place your feet up now,” taehyun says from behind the curtain, voice calm.

like he’s asking you to take a deep breath and not bare yourself completely to him. 

“just relax. i’ll only be a moment.”

you do as you’re told—carefully placing your feet in the stirrups, parting your legs like instructed, heart in your throat.

then the curtain slides open.

and he walks in.

clipboard in hand, gloves already on, face unreadable. 

like this is just another wednesday.

“how are you feeling?” he asks, stepping between your legs, pulling up his stool so he’s eye-level with your most private place. 

“any discomfort?”

“n-no,” you whisper, voice shaky.

he nods, glancing up at you through those perfect lashes. 

“let’s begin.”

he snaps open a small bottle of lube and coats his gloved fingers, the cool sound of it enough to make your thighs tense.

“relax for me,” he says gently, one hand resting on your inner thigh. 

“if you clench, it makes it harder for me to be thorough.”

you try—god, you try—but when his fingers brush your folds, you twitch.

“sensitive?” he murmurs, brows raising slightly.

you nod quickly, face flushed.

“don’t worry,” he says softly, fingers beginning to part you open. 

“i’ll be gentle.”

the first finger slips inside slowly, and you gasp, muscles instinctively clenching.

he doesn’t scold you. 

he just hums, voice like silk.

“tight. that’s normal… especially for someone with your partner history.”

your head spins. 

your hips shift. 

you feel too much all at once.

“i’m going to add a second finger now,” he says, sliding deeper. 

“let me know if the pressure is too much.”

you moan. 

it’s quiet, but it slips out before you can stop it.

taehyun pauses.

you swear you see the ghost of a smile.

“you okay?” he asks again. pretending he doesn’t know.

“y-yeah,” you breathe. “just… it feels…”

“intense?” he offers, voice lower now. 

“that’s common, especially when the nerve endings are highly responsive.”

his fingers curl slightly.

your thighs jerk. “f-fuck—!”

he lifts one brow, watching your face carefully. “that’s too much?”

“n-no—just… surprised me,” you stammer.

he moves again, so slow, the pressure just enough to make your walls tighten around his fingers.

“you’re very responsive,” he murmurs. “good circulation. very soft.”

you bite your lip hard enough to leave a mark.

“i’m just checking for internal swelling,” he adds, fingers now pressing against that spot, 

“it may feel… unfamiliar.”

it doesn’t feel unfamiliar. 

it feels dangerously good.

your hips lift slightly off the table.

taehyun’s hand steadies you, palm firm against your pelvis. 

“easy,” he says softly. “i need you still.”

you’re already panting, thighs trembling in the stirrups, heartbeat so loud it echoes in your ears.

“you’re doing great,” he whispers, voice like honey. “just a little longer…”

his fingers curl again.

your head falls back against the table, breath catching.

“mm. very sensitive indeed,” he says thoughtfully. 

“i’ll make a note of that.”

note it?

he just fingered you halfway to an orgasm and he’s writing it down like it’s a weather update.

you’re soaking.

you’re aching.

and he just gently slides his fingers out and removes the gloves like he didn’t just ruin you.

“we’ll schedule a follow-up next month,” he says, smoothing your gown back down like a gentleman.

“just to make sure everything’s… progressing well.”

he gives you a final glance—cool, calm, knowing.

“you can get dressed now.”

♡

the next month comes faster than you’d like to admit. 

your nerves are still there when you return, but they’re tinged with something else this time.

anticipation. 

you tell yourself it’s just a routine. 

just another appointment.

but when dr. kang greets you again, there’s a shift. 

he walks in, same crisp white coat, same clipboard, same unreadable expression. 

but this time? 

his sleeves are rolled higher, collar unbuttoned slightly. 

casual. 

like he’s gotten comfortable with you. 

familiar.

“good to see you again,” he says, giving you that same gentle, charming smile. 

“i reviewed the notes from your last visit. are you still having tension during penetration?”

you nod slowly. “a little…”

“mm.” he hums, flipping through your chart. 

“let’s do a more focused evaluation today. i’d like to try a technique that helps with internal resistance and muscular tightness. we’ll approach it a bit… differently.”

you blink. “d-differently?”

he glances at you, so calm. “just trust me. it’s all clinical.”

he tells you to undress again.

only this time? 

he dims the lights slightly.

“helps with overstimulation,” he says smoothly. “makes the exam more comfortable.”

you’re already warm before your back even hits the table. 

feet in the stirrups, robe parted. 

he puts on his gloves again—but this time, instead of sitting like before, he stands.

closer.

looking down at you.

“try to breathe slowly,” he says, voice gentle. 

“i’m going to use a few different techniques to assess your response.”

you nod, already flushed.

his gloved fingers glide between your folds, slow and deliberate. 

he massages your entrance in soft little circles, way gentler than last time—more soothing. 

and that should be a red flag, but his voice is so calm, so steady, you just breathe through it.

“you’re already very warm,” he murmurs. “any discomfort?”

“n-no… it feels… nice.”

he smiles softly. “good. that’s what we want.”

his finger slips inside you—just one, curling a little as it moves. 

then two. 

the same as last time… until he hooks them slightly and stays there.

“mmm,” he hums. “still very tight here.”

you squirm.

“don’t worry. i’m going to help stretch you internally, just enough to improve elasticity.”

stretch you?

but before you can ask what he means, his fingers start moving in slow, deep, purposeful motions—not like last time.

not clinical at all.

“you’re responding well,” he murmurs. “body temperature elevated. muscle tension decreasing…”

his fingers press deeper.

your hips lift without permission.

“f-fuck—”

“language, sweetheart,” he scolds gently. “i need you focused.”

you’re panting now, legs trembling in the stirrups.

your soaked folds clench around his fingers like they know it’s wrong but want more anyway.

“still sensitive,” he notes, curling harder. “are you close?”

your breath catches. “i-i don’t know—yes? i think—”

he leans closer, voice low. “don’t hold back. it’s important i observe your full response.”

and just like that—you snap.

your body arches, cunt pulsing hard around his fingers as the orgasm rushes over you, deep and sudden, lips parted in a shocked little cry.

“good girl,” he whispers, not stopping. “let me finish the internal massage. almost done.”

he keeps going.

your whole body shudders, hips twitching uncontrollably as he works you through it like it’s routine.

like he didn’t just make you cum in under two minutes.

when he finally pulls out, you’re dizzy. 

flushed. 

soaked. 

ruined.

he peels off the gloves slowly and looks up at you with that same soft smile.

“your body responds very well to pressure,” he says, voice even. 

you blink at him, still panting. “t-that was… part of the exam?”

his smile deepens, just a little. “of course. i take patient care very seriously.”

you just came for the first time in his office that day. and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break character, doesn’t falter. 

he simply notes your reaction like it’s another symptom. 

another line in his chart.

“we’ll try this weekly,” he says, a subtle warmth flickers across his face, “it seems effective.”

♡

by the third visit, you don’t even bother pretending. 

you arrive already warm, already aching, already aware of what’s coming.

and so is he.

you’re back on the table—robe already off, feet in the stirrups, legs parted. 

no hesitation. 

no nerves this time. 

just a quiet, burning ache between your thighs and the ghost of last week’s orgasm still living rent-free in your head.

taehyun walks in with that same smooth, unreadable face. 

but his eyes?

they flick lower immediately. 

and he notices.

“already wet?” he asks quietly, gloves snapping on.

you bite your lip and nod, barely able to meet his gaze.

he smirks.

“i see.”

he moves between your legs again, but this time—he doesn’t sit. 

he leans over, face level with your heat, fingers gently parting your folds.

“mm,” he hums softly. “definitely still too tight. but responsive. we’ll try a new method today.”

you tilt your head. “n-new?”

he looks up at you, eyes calm but dark. 

too dark.

“direct oral stimulation,” he says smoothly. 

“it helps with nerve relaxation. very effective… in patients who can handle it.”

you blink, mouth dry. “…handle it?”

“it’s more intimate,” he says, pulling his stool close. 

“and very invasive. but judging by your current level of arousal… i’d say you’re more than ready.”

and you are.

you don’t even try to argue. 

your thighs fall further apart, cunt dripping and on full display. 

you just nod, breathless.

“good girl,” he murmurs.

and then he leans in.

no gloves.

no instruments.

just his mouth.

his tongue.

he licks a slow, flat stripe up your folds and your entire soul leaves your body. 

your head hits the table, hands gripping the edge, legs twitching.

he hums softly. “sweet.”

his tongue circles your clit in lazy, practiced motions, each pass making your hips jolt, your breath catch.

and then—he pauses.

pulls back just slightly.

“you’re really letting your doctor eat your pussy?” he says low, voice dark and amused. 

“so easy for me now, huh?”

you whine, face burning, but you don’t close your legs.

“letting me do this,” he says, licking your entrance slow, fingers spreading you wider. 

“like a fucking slut…”

your moan is shameless.

“mm, don’t be embarrassed,” he chuckles softly, mouth brushing your clit. 

“you’re soaking my face, and we haven’t even started.”

he dives back in—messier now. 

hungrier. 

like he needs it too. 

his tongue flicks and circles and sucks until you’re gasping, whimpering, your body straining against the stirrups.

“d-doctor please—i’m gonna—!”

“cum,” he growls against your cunt. 

“right now. i want to feel you pulse on my tongue.”

you cum hard.

legs shaking, cunt clenching hard, body arching off the table as you cum so hard you swear the world blinks out. 

and he keeps licking, soft and slow, like he’s memorizing your taste.

when he finally pulls back, mouth glossy with your arousal, he peels off his gloves and wipes his face casually.

“mm. that should help reduce tension,” he says smoothly. 

“but we’ll need to repeat this weekly. maybe twice a week.”

he tilts his head, watching you shake on the table.

“you okay, sweetheart?”

you nod, wrecked and breathless.

“good,” he smirks. 

“next time, let’s see how you handle penetration with the tongue.

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 , 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

⌞🏷⌝ : ￫ 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇

𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 : 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒.

one day in class you took notice to the little stickers that littered his folders and notebooks, also the plush keychain that hung from his backpack. you thought it was cute how he showed his interests in little ways like that, especially since he wasn't able to talk about them to these judgmental students in school. you never thought it was strange like the other students saw it to be. but to soobin, your wandering eyes must have felt that way. he snatched up his things with shaky hands and shoved them in his bag, his face burning red. before you could get a word out, he sped-walked out the classroom and down the hall.

you and soobin never got close, never had the chance to. aside from playing with chemicals and writing scientific equations on a piece of paper, you didn't get to talk that much. here and there you would gather a little information about him, but he would often shut himself up from going on and on about his interests or life. he kept it short, like he was drawing a line between the two of you. it pained you a bit that he felt like he had to hold himself back, you noticed the light in his eyes when you would ask him a question and the way it faded when he caught himself. his eyes shaky and gnawing on his bottom lip, changing the subject to science-related topics.

the day before soobin left, it was a friday and you managed to get a smile from him. it was a stupid joke you made while doing an experiment involving looking at germs. you mustered up the courage to lighten the tense mood since you've been working for an hour on the assignment, jabbing soobin in the side before he pressed his eyes into the scope.

"hey," he turns to you, his eyes immediately shifting when they locked with yours. he stares at a corner of your face, but you were used to it. just like you were used to the pink that spread across his face whenever you would converse with him. "why did the germ cross the microscope?"

he furrows his brow and chews on his bottom lip, "w-why?" he stutters.

you hold back a laugh as you complete the joke, "to get to the other slide." you couldn't hold back for long as you burst out with laughter at how dumb the joke was, it wasn't even that funny. yet, you couldn't help yourself. soobin's eyes widen at the sudden loud sound, his face flushing as he turns away while trying to stifle a laugh. he looks into the microscope in front of him, but you don't miss the small smile that comes onto his face. nor the little dimple that appears on his cheek.

you were the last to know about soobin and his family deciding to leave the city for one that was three hours away from yours, which meant he would be transferring high schools. you didn't have a chance to say goodbye or thank you for all his help during the class as he just stopped showing up. you were pretty worried, it wasn't like soobin to miss a day. let alone it being three in a row, your anxiety was starting to eat you up and you decided to ask the teacher about him.

"you didn't hear, soobin transferred last week. friday was his last day."

it shocked you, he never talked about leaving. granted, you weren't the closest to him but you thought with the small-talk you often made he would mention something like that. or even bring it up the day before he supposedly left, the day you saw him smile for the first time. before leaving the classroom, you took another glance at the seat next to yours that was empty with something heavy weighing on your heart.

after he moved, it took about a month before you got use to his absence. everyday you walked into class your eyes would immediately fly to the seat he once sat in. you hoped that you would find him sitting there with his disheveled black hair, his glasses that were perched on his little nose, his lips that would be pursed in concentration as he worked out a problem in his study book. you would deflate when he wasn't there, shuffling to your seat and plopping down with a sigh.

you eventually got a new lab partner, beomgyu was his name, and the two of you would come to be good friends. often finding yourself doing the same things you would with soobin, plus some. hanging out with the boy after class and talking to him about his interests. sometimes you'd find that same glint in beomgyu's eyes that you saw in soobin and get sad, shaking the feeling off with a small smile.

you would eventually forget about soobin in the following months leading up to graduation, maybe not completely though . even though you knew he wasn't there, he couldn't possibly be, your eyes still searched the sea of graduation caps hoping to find those glasses and flushed cheeks you grew fond of.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

you and beomgyu walk into your first chemistry class of the semester together, shoulder to shoulder, and laughing about some video that he sent to you this morning. the two of you ended up getting accepted into the same college after vowing to never separate post-graduation. you were happy to know one person for your first year, and even happier that it was your best friend beomgyu.

you take a seat in the third row of the classroom with a sigh, beomgyu following and plopping down next to you. you turn towards beomgyu with a blinding smile and he playfully shields his eyes, making you push him. before you could strike up a conversation about your excitement, the professor walks in along with some straggling students who didn't want to be marked late on the first day. she was a short and limber lady, with a high bun resting on her head and circular glasses that framed her face well. she looked like the kind of professor that enjoyed her job.

she shut the door behind the last student to enter, before making her way to her desk. she fumbles around with her many folders and laptop, pulling up a slide show. the room is mute of talking, the only sounds being the shuffling of students reaching into their backpacks for their computers and pencils, prepared to take any introductory notes. as she sets up, the door to the classroom creaks open and everyone's heads turn in the same direction.

a boy with wired-headphones plugged into his ears walked into the room. he was wearing a black tight-fitted shirt that hugged his sides, it was tucked into his jeans that fit his thighs perfectly, his dark hair was mussed but in a stylish way. he grimaces and his face flushes when he realizes the squeaking of the closing door was bringing unwarranted attention to him, dimples that looked a little familiar appeared on his cheeks.

"class starts at eight, young man." the professor says, grabbing the remote that controls the screen now that her slides were pulled up. he turns in her direction, popping the buds from his ears and wrapping them around his phone, his face seemed to turn even darker and he sucks in his bottom lip. you cock your head to the side, the more you stare at him and watch his actions, the more familiar the boy looks. distant memories that you can't quite catch float around in your head.

"s-sorry. it's not an excuse, but my alarm didn't go off." his voice was deep and smooth as he spoke, honesty laced in his tone as he apologized. all around you, the girls in the class started to whisper to their friends. presumably about his good looks, you would do the same with beomgyu if it weren't for you trying to wrack your brain trying to figure out why you think you've seen him before. he presses his lips together and bows his head awkwardly in apology. he starts to head for a seat, but he's stopped by the professor speaking again-

"i'll let it pass this time since it's the first day," she starts and he nods his head in acknowledgement, his grip tight on his bag-strap that was slung across his slim waist. "what's your name?" everyone tunes in, wanting to know the name of the handsome boy who would be in this class for the semester. he runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room and avoiding stares. "ah, c-choi soobin."

you freeze, your eyes widening at that name. choi soobin? like choi soobin that you went to high school with? choi soobin who suddenly upped and left one day? the same one who buried himself in over-sized clothing and his glasses that never sat on his nose right? that's the same guy who was standing in front of you, with fitted clothes, no glasses on his face, and a lot taller than what you remembered, that soobin?

your eyes follow him as he walks past you once the professor dismissed him to a seat that was a few rows behind you, you couldn't help it. you haven't heard that name in about a year and now he shows up again in the same college as you, in your science class? your eyes lock briefly when he goes by, his eyes immediately shifting away and his face going pink. you don't think he remembered you though, besides it's been a while and you also forgot about him until this moment.

all class, you could only think about the boy who you were semi-acquainted with in high school and how much he has changed. your body itched to turn around and catch a glance at him, figure out if it was actually the same boy you knew.

"you okay," beomgyu whispered to you, poking a finger into your side. you give him a nod before placing your face in your hand and gnawing on your bottom lip. you had to talk to him after class, right? you needed to know if he remembered you, thought about you even a little after he left.

you were lost in thought until the final minutes of class, the professor clapping her hands together sharply before clicking to the last slide. it was an announcement that she will be putting us in pairs, and we'll stay in that duo for the semester. you'll do labs, assignments, and presentations with your partner. it reminded you a lot of the class you took in high school.

"hopefully we're together." beomgyu whispers, crossing his fingers and you smile at him while also twining your fingers in hopes. we wait while professor starts calling out pairs, your heart beating fast. the both of you take a pause when beomgyu's name is called.

"choi beomgyu and-" he bites on his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut, grabbing onto your hand and holding it tightly in his. "kang taehyun." he deflates, throwing a pout at you and you caress his shoulder. he turns around and finds his partner who raised his hand. he gets up with his belongings and makes his way towards the boy and they immediately jump into conversation. you think he'll be alright and you shoot him a thumbs up when he looks your way with a soft smile.

you jump when your name is called next, snapping your head to the front of the room. hopefully whoever you get is nice and not someone who will slack off and make you do all the work, that's the last thing you want in a college-level chemistry class. "and choi soobin."

you eyes widen and your mouth drops open in shock. what are the odds that you and soobin would be in a science class together and be lab partners at that. it gave you a reason to talk to him again after some time, but you haven't thought about what you would say. how would you even bring up what you wanted to talk about?

when you turn around, soobin was already looking back at you. you couldn't quite read his facial expression, he looked a little surprised but also intrigued. he would shift his eyes away though, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. you gathered your belongings and headed up the stairs to his row and taking the seat next to his.

you look at him from the corner of your eye, too scared to turn and look at him and just fidgeted with the pencil in your hand instead. you let the professor finish putting people in pairs, she tells the class to exchange info with your lab partners and get to know them as our first lab will be on thursday. there's about fifteen minutes of class left and she dismisses us to be able to converse.

slowly, you turn your head towards him. "hey,"

soobin jumps and rubs his hands anxiously over his thighs. he looks over at you and bows his head, before turning away again. he squeezes his eyes shut and says something under his breath you can't catch.

"uh, so… we should probably exchange numbers like the professor suggested since we're going to be together for a whole semester. and we might have to keep in contact with eachoth-" you started to ramble before soobin suddenly cut you off.

"did we go to high school together?" he asks, turning towards you. he quickly catches himself, his face burning and his eyes shifting away from your stare that felt too intense. he looks down at his lap, at his fumbling hands that were there. "ah sorry- i mean…m-more specifically did we have a science class together?" he mutters the last part.

you freeze, so he did remember you…"uh, yeah. we were lab partners back in high school." you answer his question while nodding your head.

there was the tiniest smile that came to his face, crooked and cute. "i thought so…" he mumbled more to himself. his hand comes up to his nose like he was going to push up his glasses, but his hand curls into a fist when he realizes they weren't there.

"what happened to your glasses?" you blurt out without thinking. soobin's drops his hand onto the table and his face turns a pretty shade of pink.

"my-my glasses? i, um stopped wearing them awhile ago. i wear con-contacts now." his hand scratches the back of his neck as he speaks and he clears his throat often the more he talks, like he was thinking of the next words to say as he said it.

"mmm," you hum in understatement. before you could ask another question, about why he left so suddenly without saying anything, it was the end of class. the professor would announce that while also telling us to pick up our homework for the day. a worksheet to get to know all about your lab partner, like we were in kindergarten again.

soobin packs up his belongings and you can't help but to notice the keychain that hung from his backpack, the same one from when we were in high school. you smile to yourself and soobin gets up, a quick and jerky movement that startles you a little.

"i-i'm gonna go now," he stiffly says, sliding behind you and starting for the stairs that leads to the door. you bite your lip, quickly getting up and packing your stuff to follow him. you can't let him get away that easily, not when you got the chance to finally see him again.

"wait-" you say, catching his hand that was on his phone and ready to unravel his headphones. he flinches away, snatching his hand back and leaving yours hanging mid-air. when you look at him, he was blushing, his eyes looking everywhere but at yours and his cheeks were puffed out.

"sorry i- i was just wondering if you wanted to get started on the homework?" you ask him, dropping your hand and clutching onto your tote bag. soobin taps the screen of his phone with his thumb to check the time.

he opens his mouth to speak but gets interrupted by someone slinging their arm over your shoulder and ruffling your hair. you knew it was beomgyu cause he was the only person that did that to you, the little punk.

"shall we grab some lunch, i'm starving~" he asks, pinching your cheek. he stops when he realizes that soobin is standing there, looking between the two of you with wide eyes. he particularly focused on beomgyu's arm that was around you, which striked you as odd.

beomgyu nods at him before shoving a hand out in front of soobin, "hi, i'm beomgyu! you must be soobin and this losers lab partner." you roll your eyes, shoving his arm off of you and making him pout. soobin tentatively takes his hand, shaking it almost robotically before letting go.

"so," beomgyu turns to you, bringing his face completely in your view. you notice the way soobin turns his head away, his face burning. "are we getting lunch or not?"

you lean back and gesture towards soobin, "actually, i was going to get started on the homework assignment with soobin." you smile at beomgyu who drops his obnoxiously and his eyes flicker towards the boy that was standing there shuffling on his feet. he looks back at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

you never talked to beomgyu about soobin, never felt a reason to. it felt better to keep those little memories you had to yourself, instead of loading all you grievance on someone you just met. so, to him it probably looked like you were looking for a hook-up.

"oh, that's cool! i'll just get lunch with taehyun and catch up with you later?" he taps your shoulder and gives you a shit-eating grin that makes you roll your eyes even harder than the first time. he skips away, smirking at you as he heads out the door to track down his new friend.

soobin looks at you, not for too long of course, before staring down to his feet or the ground beneath them you weren't too sure. he drums his fingers against his bookbag strap, the silence stretching on.

"uh, sorry about that…do you have any time to do the assignment right now?" you ask him.

soobin's head pops up and he seems to perk up a bit at the idea of you still wanting to hang out with him, "yeah down- i'm down!"

"we can go to my dorm, it's only a five minute walk from here. if that's okay with you of course!" you offer, pointing in the direction of your room. soobin blushes furiously, but nods his head in agreement. you smile, waving your hand and motioning for him to follow you.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

"me and beomgyu share this place, but he shouldn't be back for awhile. but you already knew that…"

soobin shucks off his shoes before looking around. it was a cozy and small dorm room that he can tell is properly lived in. plushies littered the couch, there were two mugs on the coffee table in front of it, he placed his shoes next to the others that were by the door. it smelt good too, like cinnamon and something else he couldn't name.

you watch as soobin scans the place, his head turning until it lands on you. he gets startled as if he forget that it was your place and that you were actually in it. you don't fight the giggle that bubbles up and comes out.

"we can go to my room, it's more comfortable." you smile at him and make your way down the hall and to the right where your room was, opposite of beomgyu's who was on the left. he follows you into the room and jumps when you shut the door.

you gesture towards the bed, "have a seat." he nods and rummages through his bag for the assignment, a clipboard, and a pencil to write with. he settles on the bed, but he doesn't move. he looks almost frozen as he sits there and you smile fondly at how shy he can truly be.

you sit next to him, climbing onto the bed and crossing your legs with the paper in your lap. soobin mirrors you, being sure to put a little bit of distance between the two of you as he does.

"i-i'm ready when you are." he says, scrunching his nose and pushing up imaginary glasses. your eyes linger on him a little longer than you intended, soobin's eyes shifting and his cheeks turning rosy as he clears his throat.

"right- um, first question is…what's your favorite thing to do?" you look up from the sheet for him to answer first.

"i would say m-my favorite thing to do is read or watch tv, it's what i do the most." he shrugs his shoulders while you write down his response.

"and what do you like to read and watch?"

"nothing much, just…what everyone else reads and watches." he answers, his hands fidgeting around his pencil.

"and what is everyone reading and watching?" you tease. soobin stutters over his words, his tongue felt tied as he tried to come up with a lie and think about what trending shows he's heard others talking about.

"i'm messing with you," you laugh, placing a comforting hand on his thigh. he tenses under you and you pull away, he immediately relaxes when you do. "but i did notice the jujutsu kaisen figure on your bag, do you like that show? it's anime, right?" soobin's eyes are wide when he looks at you, his mouth moving like a fish.

"you know about jujutsu kaisen? have you ever watched the show?" he sounded excited that someone recognized the figure, as if it wasn't one of the most popular ones out now. he had that same shine in his eyes that he did back in high school when he would talk about things like this.

you felt a little bad when you had to admit the truth though, "i've never watched it, but beomgyu always talks about it!" you try to make the situation a little better and give him a topic to bring up with beomgyu whenever he sees them again, maybe they can become friends too.

"oh…" he deflates, tapping his pencil against his paper.

"we could always watch it together, since we're going to be around each other the whole semester." you suggest to him.

"really? you would watch?"

"yeah," you answer honestly and watch with fondness as soobin smiles, sucking his lips into his mouth in an attempt to hide it. it reminds you of the day before he left, the same day you finally saw him smile.

you can't hold back when you ask, "how come you didn't tell me that you were moving?" soobin pauses, his head slowly lifting up to gauge your facial expressions and feeling the shift in the mood. "i mean, i know we weren't super close but we were science partners and i was a little hurt when i had to find out from the teacher that you left." your voice gets soft to show that you weren't angry at him, just curious.

"i-" soobin's hand comes out to comfort you, but he stops himself and drops it onto the bed and grips onto the comforter instead. "i wanted to say goodbye… i didn't even know we were moving until i got home that day." he mumbles with a small head shake.

"everything was already packed and they were loading up the u-haul truck. i hardly even had time to process it all and once i did i was in a new city surrounded by a bunch of new people. b-but believe me when i say i wanted to say goodbye at least…" and you do believe him. he sounded too sincere and his eyes reminded you of a sad puppy, his lower lip jutting out into a pout as he spoke.

he almost looked he wanted to cry and you couldn't have that, not over something so small. you were just curious as to why you never saw him again, you didn't mean to upset him in the process. you don't remember how or when but when you snap out of your thoughts, you're close to soobin. super close, with your hand pressed against the side of his warm face.

he was blinking at you wildly, his fingers gripped tight into your covers. you gasp, your eyes widening as you steal your hand away and pulling back. "sorry, i don't know why i just did that…"

"you-" soobin presses his lips together, furrowing his brows.

"i…?"

"you whis-whispered something,"

"what did i whisper?" you nervously ask.

he clears his throat, "you said that you missed me…"

you were taken aback, you didn't remember saying that but soobin said you did and he didn't have a reason to lie. did you miss him? when he left, you did think about him a lot. even after meeting beomgyu and graduating, there was little moments when he would pop into your mind and you would wonder how he was doing. if he was doing the same, thinking about you at that very moment.

you look at the boy who was so different from what you remembered. his muscular and toned body that was visible through his shirt, his legs that were a lot longer than before and encompassed by his jeans, his slender hand that held his pencil, his big and curious eyes that were no longer framed with glasses, his pretty and pink lips that were pouted so cutely. you wanted to lean in and kiss them-

your lips touch in a chaste kiss that lasts a second. when you pull back, soobin's eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were still protruded. you giggle, hiding your smile behind your hand and soobin's eyes crack open. he was blushing furiously and he had a sheepish look on his face.

"it's true, i did miss you…" you admit to him. you shove the classwork aside and crawl towards him. soobin's breath hitches when you start to come closer, his legs involuntary parting and allowing you to fill the spot between them.

you bring your faces close enough so that your breathes mingle between the little space there was. you slowly bring your hand up to his face again, your thumb rubbing under his eye. soobin's breath gets shaky as he lets your explore his face, gnawing on his bottom lip in nervousness.

you let your finger trace the bridge of his nose where his glasses used to be, "do you still keep your glasses around?" soobin brain was malfunctioning and he couldn't speak so he simply nods his head and points a trembling finger at his backpack that was on the floor. with a smile you hop off the bed to grab his glasses that were in a cute case before repositioning yourself to where you were.

you raise the glasses up to his face and gently slide them over his ears and up his nose. they were the same ones he had back then, except now they fit his adult features. they looked perfect on him, against the pink of his cheeks.

"so handsome," you mutter while continuing your evaluation of his face. letting your fingers trace the bow of his upper lip, soobin's stuttering breath making them moist. you look him in the eyes, "can i kiss you, properly?"

soobin swallows, his eyes sliding to the wall behind you. "i-i don't know how… i've never kissed somebody before." he whispers.

you were slightly taken aback, "really?" it was a little hard to believe that someone that looked like this has never kissed anyone. he shakes his head slowly, his nervous eyes finding their way back to yours. it was cute, the contrast between his striking visuals and his timid actions. and the fact that you were the first person to kiss him, be close to him like this, defile him was kind of turning you on.

with a gentle touch, you tap his lips. "just keep these open and follow my lead, hm?" soobin nods again, licking his lips and parting them, shutting his eyes as you move in close to him. you tilt your head to slot them together with his and soobin's fingers grip onto the blanket.

you take it slow and let soobin get the feel of making out, he's clumsy at the start of course. he can't quite find the right rhythm and sometimes he'll press too hard. he pulled back a little at one point and whispered against your mouth, "is that right?" you would grab him by the chin gently and hum in agreement before pulling him in again.

this time soobin melts into the kiss, finding the pacing easier this time as you capture his lips. wrapping an arm around his neck to keep him in place, sliding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and making soobin shiver. his whole body squirms as your nails scratch his scalp gently, a tiny whimper slipping into the kiss.

the sound sent tingles through your body and you wanted- no needed to hear it again. you grip the hairs and tug them just a little, just enough to tilt his back and deepen the kiss.

"ngh," soobin moans into your mouth, his pretty lips opening wider. you place a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto his elbows. you slip your tongue into his mouth and soobin allowed you to explore his mouth, moving your tongue against his. he finds himself liking the way it feels, his body heating up, his pulse racing, and there was another sensation happening…between his legs.

he can feel the way your hand slides down his chest and tense tummy, heading right for the spot that was throbbing. his breath hitching when your hand ghosts over his crotch, your hand warm against the prominent bulge. his hips twitch up into your hand and he moans at the contact, the friction was delicious and he wanted to chase it.

it wasn't until you started rubbing at the same time as he grinds into against your hand. he found that the longer you did it, the better it felt and there was something coiling in his belly that made his breathing uneven and his body tingle. it scared him a little and he would pull away from the kiss, pushing your hand off of him, "wa-waitwaitwait-" he voice was breathy and his face was flushed, lips red and swollen.

"what's wrong?" you ask with concern, your hand that was just making him feel good was now rubbing his shoulder in comfort. soobin's skin was tingling with every graze, but it was bearable and not as intense as whatever just happened.

he ducks his head in embarrassment, his voice low when he speaks. "i-it's just that was my first time feeling something… like that."

"did you not like it? we can stop if you don't wan-"

"no!" he shouts, his head popping up and his eyes wild. "n-no it's not that i didn't like it…in fact i think i liked it too much. there was this feeling, right here." he points at his lower abdomen, right above his cock that was still hard and twitching in the constraints of his jeans.

"it was really intense and overwhelming, it scared me a little. it was too much, too fast," his speech is fast, his face burning all the while. you giggle a little and let your hand drop back down to his hard-on. soobin jerks, his legs twitching at your sides and lets out a breathy moan as his eyes flutter.

"what you were experiencing was getting close to having an orgasm. you've never touched yourself before?"

soobin's body felt like it was on fire, "no, never…"

"well," you lean into his neck, letting your breath ghost against the sensitive skin. soobin swallows when you trail your lips along the side. "would you like me to be the first to touch you there?" he moans while nodding his head, giving you the consent you needed to hear.

you unbuckle the belt that was around his slim waist, unzipping the zipper and sliding your hand into his pants. soobin watches with heady eyes, blinking slowly as if he didn't want to miss anything. you pull his cock from his pants, the tip was glistening with precum and you press a finger into the pool. you bring your finger to your mouth, lapping at the liquid.

"w-what are you doing, why would you eat…that?" soobin stammers, but his eyes were glossy as he watched you lick up his precum. it made his cock twitch between the two of you.

"it's sweet," you simply reply. "wanna try some?"

soobin tentatively nods, one small motion of his head and you kiss him. immediately, you push your tongue into his mouth while wrapping your hand around him and lubing him up with his own precum.

"uhn," soobin moans, his hips slowly raising up into your fist and his hand comes up to squeeze your arm tightly. it feels so good, he feels so good that he can't even keep up with the kiss. his mouth going slack as he continously moans and whines.

the air between the two of you is humid, soobin's glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose from the sweat building there. his hazy eyes looking at you through his almost fogged lenses, letting out an assortment of needy sounds.

you start to jerk him earnestly, letting your hand go up and down his cock at a quick and steady pace. drinking up all of the whimpers and pants that soobin feeds you. he leaks profusely over your first, a tell-tale sign that this was in fact his first time being touched.

soobin couldn't think, his brain was clouded and his skin was prickling with pleasure. he couldn't control his hips that kept thrusting up, chasing after that intoxicating feeling of your hand on him.

"i-" he gasps when he feels that coil in his tummy again, coming at him quicker than the first time. he doesn't think he can stop it this time though, his body tensing as the pleasure ramps up and his orgasm builds.

"you?"

"i don't think i can hold back -" he choked on his words, shaking his head. his eyes were shiny like he could cry at an moment from feeling so good. you let your hand graze his tip briefly and that seems to be soobin's breaking point.

"i'm- i'm gonna cum," he breaths, his eyes rolling back and his hips kicking upwards in one final thrust. his body twitches, a long and high-pitched moan of your name flowing from his mouth as he comes in your hand.

he tosses his head back, his one hand that was in the sheets so tight that his knuckles were white and his other hand that was on your shoulder was shaking. he felt like he could see white as he came, he felt light and dizzy as multiple spurts of warm cum landed on his shirt and jeans.

you stroke him while he comes down, his breathing heavy and his bottom lip was now sucked into his mouth as he tried to regulate himself. "wow," you smirk, admiring the amount of cum that landed on his clothes. soobin gets shy, his face burning as he turns his head away.

"i'm sorry - i didn't mean to cum so quickly…" he apologizes.

"you don't have to apologize for that." you reassure him, sticking a hand into his mussed hair before reaching down to push his glasses back up his nose and making him crinkle it cutely.

"it-it's embarrassing… cumming just from you touching me." he mumbles, his eyes downcast in shame.

"not embarrassing at all, it's hot." you lift his head up and make sure he's looking into your eyes, letting him know you were telling the truth. he swallows, his throat bobbing and he nods his head.

you laugh, letting his face go and grabbing some tissues from the bedside table. "but if you came that fast just from a handjob, i don't think you would've fared if we went all the way."

soobin's eyes go wide, whimpering when the soft tissue touches his sensitive cock. "i-i… i could've lasted longer!" he counters, a little frown on his face as he said it. you tuck him back into his boxers and zip his pants up.

"really?" you raise an eyebrow, tossing the dirty tissue aside and climbing into his lap. you settle down, pressed directly against soobin's sore cock and moving your hips a little. soobin moans, his hands coming to your waist while nodding his head.

"well, we have a whole semester to figure that out now don't we?" you smirk, as you hop of his lap and start to head out of the room. soobin watches with a furious blush on his face as you go.

"w-wait, my pants!" he calls out, leaping off the bed to remind you off his cum-stained pants he was wearing. he pauses though, looking down and groaning. he was rock hard again. "dammit," he mumbles while shoving a hand between his legs.

how was he supposed to survive chemistry like this?

© lucidwntrr est. 2025 - please do not steal, repost, or copy !

Soobin’s good at keeping it cute, but the state of his room speaks otherwise. Busty figurines line his shelves and their big, sparkly eyes follow you. Most people’s heads would spin if they saw it. They’d try and fail at connecting the Soobin that appears in public and the bare truth of... Well. Him.

You sure did, the first time you had. A week ago. Poking your head in, it’s all that you were met with. Heads of pinks, blues, tiny tiny skirts, all an array against the backdrop of his decidedly dudeish decor otherwise. It felt like you had caught him jerking off, the way his ears went red and he sputtered and pleaded with you to just please go. You’re sure that the way you gaped, wide-eyed and stupefied, didn’t make him feel any better about it. But damn it, that’s just too good. He, your best friend, is an under wraps degenerate.

“Do you touch yourself to these?” you had asked him, covering your laugh with a hand because at least you had the conscience to not laugh right in his face. He had gone straight from red mortification to white and he snatched back the one you’d been turning over in your hands. It’s not like you were laughing at him, you guess. It’s more that you thought those ‘otaku’ shirts he wore lounging around the place were for ironic value, not… a precursor in plain sight to the state of his bedroom. To think that all that was stowed away behind that door that you’ve passed a hundred times like a rotten little secret.

What does it change? God, you wish you knew. The extent of your knowledge ends at the fact that you can’t quite look at him right in the eyes anymore without the thought flickering in the outskirts of your mind. Even as you sit curled up in his couch, littered with blankets that he kept because he knew that you liked them and would just steal from him anyway, and watch his back work in the kitchen.

How couldn’t you know? Literally how could it have sprung up on you like that? Are you a shitty best friend? But seriously. Soobin wasn’t a loser. He’s always been slow, easy nonchalance. You watch his forearms flicker as he tugs the freezer drawer open, full with muscle that’s never felt more at dizzying odds with what you imagined a dude that was into shit like that would have than it does now. The image it brings to mind of lanky, awkward limbs and a beard that crawls down the neck is not him. It’s frustrating. It’s been spinning in your mind, the thoughts bouncing off one wall just to hit another and then, like it has every day since you saw it, circling back.

It all boils down to one thought. The worst one, because it’s sticky and deeply unsettling. Because, since when did you start imagining what sort of stuff your best friend got off to? You wonder what the search bar of his go-to porn website looked like. You imagine what videos he gravitated toward, what about them had him clicking on them and then wrapping his fist around himself. It probably looks features something a lot like those figurines he has on display. You grimace.

Plopping down in an air of clean black pepper and musk, he offers you a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ‘Chunky Monkey’. A cheeky smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Still your Soobin, though.

“You got me ice cream?” you say, letting the sugar and cream melt on your tongue with a hum.

Soobin shoots you a glare. You have to snort. The question’s more irritating than genuine, and that’s why you asked it. When doesn’t he buy you ice cream? You never asked him to. If it’s, for whatever reason, what he wants to do though, that’s his money to spend. You’re blessed. “What are we watching?” he asks instead, taking up the remote in his hand from across the couch. The sleeves of his black cashmere sweater are bunched to his elbows.

“Dunno.” You lick off the spoon, tucking your legs to one side. “Probably some anime girls for you, though.” The words come out with a terrible, knowing lilt and a mean smile. You have to get the thoughts out from under your skin, purge them from your blood and put them out into the air so they can be more real and less like spiraling delusions. If you let the air settle on that too long, though, it’ll become heavy. And that’s also scary. Scarier, even. So you deflect. It’s freezing, anyway. Probably either the fact that it’s a crisp twenty degrees outside, or it’s the cold tub in your hands starting a slow creep into your bones. “What’s the heater set to?” you whine.

The way his gaze changes… Falters, even, on you. It turns into static electricity, standing the hairs on your arms and neck up with the weight of its presence. It flickers down to where you now realize your pale fluffy sweater has drooped off a plump shoulder so quickly that you might’ve blinked and missed it. But you didn’t, and you hate it. Because it makes all of this weirder. Your stomach goes up in a colorful explosion of butterflies and something that you should have stopped trying to poke three days ago while you were ahead.

Throat bobbing, Soobin laughs to himself with a bow of his head that brings his dark hair into his eyes. He shakes it all away and that plasticky smile almost looks barbed in the soft milky light of his living room. He’s prickled and gone red over countless jabs since that day, but something low in your tummy feels that it’s reaching a breaking point. You can see the strain beginning to tear at something he’s been keeping neat and tidy for a long, long time. And you just don’t know how to stop. It’s like sugar-high right on your tongue, sweeter than the sugar and the cream in your mouth as you blink at him and try to pin down just what exactly it is, sweeter than the flush in your cheeks that wholly at odds with your complaining about it being cold.

Speaking more to himself, he echoes a breathy, “Some anime girls…” The way he laughs over it makes you squirm, because it doesn’t sound like he really finds it funny at all.  “Pick whatever you want. I don’t care.” Tossing you a blanket, the fat knitted one that cradles you right back, he crosses his arms and settles in. His head hits the back of the couch with a dull thump. It illustrates the line of his jaw and the muscle there, working like he’s chewing over something. You always did like his jawline. It was a sharp, male thing in the soft set of his dimples and the sweet dark-chocolate of his eyes.

The air crackles. You both want to tuck into his side and recede back into what is safe and to see more about whatever… This is. This man you don’t know or understand how to interact with. You have some self-preservation in you, though, and there was warning in that slash of his mouth. An understated don’t touch it. Give it up. So you do the safe thing and you curl into the warmth of his side, just like you do every other night in your flimsy pajama shorts and your chunky socks to ward off the rest of the cold that you can’t cure with the crook of his body. Except now you know a secret.

The T.V. drones. You laugh when you’re supposed to, and so does he. You’re both good at pretending, you guess. That’s probably how things have ended up coming to this.

Taking a final spoonful of ice cream to your lips, it drools over the side and onto you. “Shit!” you say, assessing the damage where it fell on your clothes. It’s stained, that’s for sure. Your poor sweater. “This one’s my favorite… I just got it. Ugh.” Wincing, you peel yourself from his side.

Soobin sighs and stands up. “Is it ruined?”

“Probably.” You tug your lips to one side, looking up at him with big, disappointed eyes. Is the pout on your lips put on for him? Since when did you start doing that, too?

Those eyes flash again. Below the surface, you almost see yourself reflected in them. Sitting on his couch with the chub of your thighs pressed into him, sweat drooping so low it shows where the fat of your arm meets the swell of your breast, looking at him all new. You swallow thickly. If you can tell the difference in yourself, then he must be feeling it. A pit forms in your stomach. Are you being unfair?

Something fundamental was changed the moment Soobin went from your untouchable best friend to the sort of man that decorated his space with anime tits. For so long, you stubbed out every single stray thought about him. Because guys like that didn’t look at you, did they? It’s pathetic, and to some degree you can recognize that. But something did change, and it’s got your heart doing something new and different. You’re letting it run loose with the plethora of things you haven’t up until now.

“Look,” he says, before he has to clear his throat to speak more clearly. His cheek flutters with a clench of his teeth, a flash of dimple like sprinkles atop the sight. “I’ll go turn up the heater. Go grab a shirt, okay?”

You blink. He’d become a blubbering mess when you saw his room the first time. Now he’s sending you in there yourself? You guess that since the cat’s already out of the bag, he’s given up trying to pretend about what he is and isn’t into. Laughing at him was cruel, and driving it in harder was even more so. Picking yourself up, you pad to his room.

Trying your best to not make eye contact with anything that might make you more insane, you tug open his dresser. His whole place smells like him, mellow and handsome, but his room even more. You rifle through his stash of graphic tees and sweats and find nothing. Soobin keeps a stash of shirts just for you. His shirts won’t fit you—not in the way you want them to. Usually, he brings them out for you to change into when you’re spending the night and itching for that feeling of stolen clothes hanging off the softness of your frame. For something to hit you at the thigh and drown you in excess, to look like you’d swiped it right from his dresser and covered yourself in it. He’d bought them just for you; purposefully oversized. It’s just a matter of finding where he actually keeps them.

His closet, then? There’s only so many places they could be. You roll open the door and narrow your eyes. Hanging jackets, sweaters, stuff forgotten up high on a rack, and the bare wood scent of a closet mingling with Soobin’s that comes off his clothes.

There’s a box on the carpeted floor, one flap open. From it, dangles a bit of pale cream fabric. Intrigued, you dip down to your knees. Probably in here. You’ve exhausted the closet and the drawer and found nothing, anyway.

What you pull out of that box is far from your collection of well-loved, oversized graphic tees. They come out frilly, delicate and strappy, all sweet in an array of pale pinks and buttercream yellows and they’re so scant it makes your face heat up just knowing he has them in his possession. There’s polka dots and stripes and they fall all over your lap as you, despite yourself, cannot stop pulling them out. It’s like a shameful game of how much worse can the next thing I pull out be? And it seems to get more impossible with each. It’s so heart-stopping it’s almost macabre.

They look just like the ones in plastic all around you right now, like the shit plastered on his walls. It’s fucking cosplay costumes. 

You are definitely, absolutely overstepping boundaries. No, you’re way out past that. This is so far out in the deep end, the water’s ear-high, and you don’t really know how to get back to where you can touch.

But who are these even for? Soobin may be a self-proclaimed otaku loser, but you know with a certainty that... Well. They’re not for him, right? Is there a girl? Fingers itching and throat dry, you fumble for a tag. Something. Anything that’ll relieve the new, strange fascination roaring in your ears. Everything you’ve already been plagued by is doubled down on, but your heart is also a spike in your chest. There is so, so much you didn’t know about him. And it's all been right here. Under your nose, and none of it did you notice. It makes your face numb, sends your brain in a thousand different, fuzzy directions. The Soobin you know is either a fake, or it’s just the very tip of the iceberg that makes up the whole of your best friend.

Your stomach, already in tight knots, drops down into your toes. Your heart stops in your throat. The fabric of the tag in your fingers reads in your size. Every single one of them does. Tugging out a tiny, ruffled white skirt, it’s the same. This thing would barely cover your ass, especially with how skirts fit on your body. But maybe that’s the point.

The room bleeds around you, the faces of those figurines and posters melting. Are these for you?

Soobin’s approach is too sudden for you to stuff them all back and hide what you were doing, even though your blood jumps to the surface you try as you might. The door flies open, and it’s like he knew, somehow, what you’d find.

“Fuck,” he growls, face wan. “Fuck, what are you doing?”

You want to drop the fabric from your hands like it’s hot. But you don’t, and it’s all the more incriminating, all the more mortifying. All those polka dotted cups and rosettes and lace send your cheeks up in flames as you blink dumbly at him, caught in the act. You wish for three seconds ago, when you could have stuffed this all back into the box and went back out there and pretended you didn’t see shit.

And you finally just don’t know what to say. You have no more pointed, mean jokes. Fragments of real sentences come fumbling out instead. “I.. It was… I was looking…” You don’t finish, choking on the thump of your pulse in your throat. But it’s not a lie. You were just looking for a shirt. This is just a symptom of a much bigger problem: that Choi Soobin has a stash of stupidly delicate costumes, and the evidence toward the possibility that he bought them thinking about you, or at least another girl with a body like yours, is damning.

“You were looking?” he says, eyes wild. He begins to shove them back where they came from like it’ll change the fact that you saw them. His hands tremble and shake. “I trust you to go into my room and you just start snooping through my stuff?”

Your mouth opens and you suddenly have a lot of things, but now they just won’t come out. Shaking your head, you watch as he cleans up the mess all except for the pretty set still in your hands.

His voice strains. “What the hell?” he says, exasperated and his eyes wildly searching yours. Gauging. Gauging how far too far is, and he may be a mess and he may be snapping, but the root and truth of that reaction is that you weren’t supposed to find it. His breaths come and go erratically. It looks like he might pass out, pupils blown wide and sharp.

The first words you can string along coherently come out flatly. “Are those for me?”

“What?” Soobin says, shoulders going rigid. “What the hell are you talking about?” He tries to laugh that off, a barked, unconvincing sound. “No. Fuck, no. They’re just… It’s a collector thing, alright? I collect them. I can’t believe you just…”

Dragging a thumb over the piece you still have, you eye the tag. When you walked in here for the first time and saw what you did, you imagined what Soobin might be into. Something like those petite girls that studded the shelves was what you landed on. It’s just the probability of the matter. It’s something you had to accept before you let hope hurt you. But this thing says something different, something that makes your tummy feel all tight.

“Give that to me.” He snatches it from you, still trying to pretend none of it exists. “Shit. Would you look at mec please? I’m not a fucking weirdo. I promise.” The word cracks.

That sounds like a plea to shove down the fact that he feels exactly like one. Like keeping little bits of lace fantasies like this is anything but perversion.

“Look at me,” he says, his desperation making it sharp.

When you do finally scramble up the last vestiges of your conscious thoughts, you hit him with a bare, “Do you want me to put it on?”

Soobin blanches further, as if he could. He looks like you just stabbed him in the chest. “What?” he stutters. “I… It’s not… I said it wasn’t for you.”

The pounding of your heart is the only thing you can hear. It pangs and pushes you over the cliff that you two have been clumsily teetering on for too long. “It’s pretty. What’s it from?” you say. What are you even saying? You should be asking him what all this is, but you can’t get the image of him deliberately surfing the web for costumes meant for your body. Of him opening that incognito tab and searching for plump thighs and soft cheeks and handfuls of body, just like yours. It brings to life something that you didn’t know you could feel.

“It’s… just a show. Just forget you saw it, okay? I know it’s weird. Let’s just go back and watch the movie. Please.” He’s still trying to scrub his hands clean, but god. It’s so wonderfully degenerate that he couldn’t. He couldn’t scrub the discovery from your brain no matter how hard he tried. This is the deep end.

“You don’t want me to put it on?” you ask, taking another gander at the cotton crushed under his fists. It’s erotic, really. The sight of something so distinctly feminine and delicate against him. In the hand of your best friend. “Is it for another girl, then?” The thought constricts around your chest. You would just have to shrivel up and die.

“No.” The word tears from him. Soobin runs a trembling hand through his hair, making a mess of the silky brown-black. “Damn it. It’s not for another girl.”

“Then can I?” you say, a final thread. It’s breathless.

The air stagnates around the two of you. And then it hardens and it breaks right in two as he opens his mouth, eyes tortured and blown black, and says shakily, “Yes.” Like it’s a stolen fantasy come true.

And here you are. His soft best friend that he’s been harboring feelings so wrapped up and close to his heart for that not even you had the slightest clue, so pent up that he bought shit for you and never even expected you to wear it. Forced to watch you run around in cruel, risky shorts with the plush of your thighs and the dimples all free because he didn’t see you that way, right? And you’re looking at him with glowing cheeks, eyes hazy and round, shirt sleeve slipping, and it probably is just that.

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. Your legs are jittery and you feel all floaty as you steal the piece back and skip into the bathroom, disappearing.

The bathroom is not a hiding spot. It’s not a relief. Your breathing quickens as you shed your clothes and pull on these new ones, knowing what they mean. It quickens and drives you into such a frenzy that you have to give yourself a quick pep talk before stepping back out. Because, what if it’s not what he hoped? It’s a given by this point that he’s… into bigger girls, you guess. But what if you step out and his shoulders sag and he gives a tight smile, because on you it’s not what he had dreamed up when he went ordering these?

When you step out, the air is sucked straight out of the room. The flowy, cotton hem flirts high up on your thighs. The sleeves are puffy and round on your shoulders, coquettish, and they don’t try to hide their congruence with your shape. They don’t pretend that you’re made of straight lines. They work with your chubbiness, making a show of it. It’s all soft, white cotton and gossamer that represents a sleep shift. It’s comfy. You don’t want to tug it off, you find. You want to bend this way and press your arms together just so and to play with it. The headband with floppy ears on your head should be mortifying, too. A week ago you thought the figures on his shelves were nothing short of ridiculous, and now you’re dressed like one.

Soobin’s face is dead. He doesn’t make a choked sound. It doesn’t even look like he knows what to do. It’s a mirror of that look you had seen just the littlest bit of earlier, when you were testing the limits of him.

“What?” you say, fluffing the flowy, babydoll body of it and doing a spin. It moves with you. Without a doubt, he got a flash of your bottom in the swish of the pieces, “No?” 

“Please,” he chokes. “Come here. Please.”

Gathering up the willpower, you eat up the space between you and finally you’re in his space, on the floor beside him, dressed like this. It’s explosive. It’s like throwing a match into a puddle of fuel; fuel, being the pent-up, sordid need that Soobin has been made up of for so, so long. And fire catches.

Soobin’s mouth catches yours like he’s trying to eat you up. Bite into you like sweet pound cake. And oh, he eats. He tastes like sweetness, like the bite of ice cream he had stolen earlier. His tongue moves over yours, his teeth nipping like he can’t keep it at bay. Once the wall crumbles, all that’s left is the depravity. And Choi Soobin has a lot of that to spare, you’ve learned. You whimper and mewl into his mouth, brain racing to try and catch up with reality. It never really does.

He pulls back with tilted glasses and lips smeared with you. The shiver that starts from the base of your spine is more than bone-deep. “You taste so fucking sweet,” he says, out of breath and playing with the edge of a whine. A strangled growl. You don’t know, actually. All you know is that you want to hear more of it, want to hear him tell you that you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. “I knew you’d be sweet. I knew it. Can I please fuck you?”

It’s jarring. One second he can’t speak, the next he’s just… asking things like that. It makes you crazy. It flips your stomach over. “Soobin,” you say, lips wobbly.

That’s all he needs to hear. He’s like a dog that’s been waiting for a treat for too long for any sort of patience or tact.

The carpet abrades your ass as he tugs you by the hips down toward him. It steals the last bits of oxygen that you had been fighting to keep right away from you. It’s everything you never thought could happen and it’s coming to you in the form of your big, dumb best friend’s hands on you. Stars dapple the image of him reaching blindly up at his drawer like he can’t look away from you for even a moment. He fumbles, a clumsy mess that misses the drawer a few times, but eventually he finds what he went looking for.

Out of his dresser drawer comes a wand vibrator with a fat, rubber head. That’s it; you’re definitely not breathing.

You wonder if he bought that thinking of you, too. If he saw that shade of baby blue and all he could think, with such desperation, is that it would look good pressed between your shaking thighs. His cheeks are a dusty pink as he thumbs it on and it starts with a buzz. It’s been charged, then, and waiting. You also wonder if he’s pressed it to the slit of himself, thinking of the pretty spill of your thighs as he did it, thigh highs cutting into the chub there or any other thing he wanted to see you in.

The buzz starts on your inner thigh, first. He presses it there and watches how your body moves under it with a distinct, perverted delight. “Oh my God,” he says, straight from his chest.

Overcome with a lifetime of needing to hear that, you squirm. “Do you like it?” you ask. A stupid, air-headed question. But stupid and air-headed is just what you are right now. “Is it pretty?”

“Do I like it,” he laughs, the pads of his fingers rough where he dares higher on your thigh. The throb in your body takes the small crumb and doubles it. Triples it. Your entire center lights up. “Do I like it? Do you know how many times I came on my own stomach thinking about your fucking thighs? About fucking them? Saw you… Saw your shorts go up too high when you crawled and…” He can’t even finish, voice tightening. “Yeah. Yeah I like it.”

His hands are still trembling as he pushes the playful hem of the costume up. Up. He goes until he can see the full extent of your soft thighs, the seams of them pressing into one another all fluffy and soft and the true state of, the way Soobin looks at it, femininity and sex. He doesn’t stop until it’s ruched above your belly then above your breasts. And he stops to dig his fingers into your belly, to feel that it’s real and beneath him right now. That you are.

A moment of shyness creeps in as the air brushes all that exposed skin. The press of your breasts into the hunch of your arms that comes almost second to breathing as you feel his awareness on you, the tightening of your nipples that sends a buzzing thrill down your spine, all of it. And he’s seeing the full extent of what you look like beneath the soft, obscuring clothes. For the first time in a long time with him, you want to curl into yourself and hide it.

But it wasn’t Soobin that ever cared about the dimples in your thighs when you’d sport pajamas and stay over at his place. Not at all. That was all you. His adam's apple works, and then beseeching you with a sharp, heady, “No, please, let me fucking see you. I…” He wets his lips, eyes so dark that the chocolate there is just black. Shining. “Do you know what you’ve done to me, every day, for years? It’s not fair.”

Taking a stray hand, you drag it down. You feel the curve of your belly, follow it all the way down until you cup the roaring heat between your thighs. The place where all that softness meets, and it’s alive. It’s sending jitters through you. “You really… You seriously wanted me, Soobin?”

Soobin blinks. There’s a disconnect. Because where you keep asking him if he’s sure about this, if he thinks you’re pretty, that’s not what you find in his eyes. All that’s left in him is the need to eat something sweet, to feel all that softness arch into the hard lines of himself just so he knows what it feels like beyond the screen. Beyond the lowest of his perverted, melted thoughts. “Stop asking me that,” he says, voice hoarse. He slides his fingers beneath yours, still over the cotton of your panties but touching you right where it’s the loudest. Your breath catches sharply in your throat, heels digging into the carpet. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

You can feel your pulse. It’s all you can feel, really as he hooks his thumbs beneath the simple band of your panties and he drags them down the curves of your thighs. Slowly. Watching every inch. They’re a simple pale cotton, polka dotted. It’d send your ears glowing hotter if it were any other man, but this is Soobin. Look at what he’s got on you. Look at what he has hidden in that box, and whatever else he keeps stashed away in his brain that he wants to try out and do to you. He’s buzzing at the sight of them wrapped around your knees.

Nudging a thigh open further, he tests the buzz on his palm and kicks it up higher a few notches. Your stomach does a wild, deep flip. “Tell me if it’s too high, okay?” he says, breathing shallow. “Tell me anything. Tell me what you want me to do to you. Fuck, I’ll do anything you want.”

And then he presses it just above where you need it. You wiggle. It’s cruel. You were so ready. He remedies that by spreading you with two fingers, the sound of your wetness sending your hand over your mouth to fight the fluster, and pressing the head of the buzz right into your clit.

Lightning flashes behind your eyes. The sound you make is not your problem—not when you can’t even register it. You snap halfway up, nails digging into his wrist and the white in your vision swimming. “Soobin,” you warble.

“Fuck,” he says, caught on the sight of you. He tries circles, waxing and weaning the intensity. “Holy fuck.”

It doesn’t take long for it to all become too much. The shudder of that thing is violent, twisting up that knot in your belly so far that it stands the hair on your arms up. Your hips dig back into the floor, heels too. You need to be as far away from the sensation as possible. You need it right up inside you.

He takes a fistful of the fat at your hip, right where your tummy meets thigh, but that only works for a fleeting moment. You’re shaking and writhing on the ground, and he needs to be a part of it. Trembling with restraint, he hikes a leg of yours up, letting your plump calf float by his head, digging divots with his fingertips into your thigh to hold it up. Your body gives in to him, and it’s your favorite thing you’ve ever seen. The fact that you are built to take the shape of him like dough, and he is built to make that dent. It looks like his favorite thing, too.

“This is better,” he says, working the angle so that it hits the throbbing, sensitive underside of your swollen clit. You can only jolt and sob, spine aching to arch. “This is so much better. I want to die in them. Look at them. Look at your tummy. Please give me one. Please, I need it so bad. C’mon, baby. Don’t hold it back.” His voice is scraped raw. He presses a kiss into the inside of your knee and, like he can’t even stop himself from doing it, begins rolling his hips into the mess between your stricken thighs. A whimper falls from his bitten lips, but he won’t screw his eyes shut. The only thing he wants to see is this. You. All of it, every last bit, down to the way your tummy folds at the new sensation, tightening up. 

The friction of his jeans is it. Sparks fly. It’s like you’ve been struck by a live wire. You sob, digging your skull back into the floor. The release of it is white-hot, and it slows to honey as you listen to him curse and continue rutting his clothed bulge against you.

Oh, God. He pulls you in to taste your mouth again, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans so clumsily that you would laugh if you were anywhere else, doing anything else. But here, watching him so fucking crazy over you that he can’t control his hands, it’s got your head drunk on syrup and sugar. He springs out onto his stomach, and you can’t help making a noise into his mouth and tearing yourself from the heat of his mouth to catch a nosy look.

“Holy shit…” you say, still finding your breath, head still floating elsewhere in tandem with the ebb and flow between your thighs. And yet, it comes to life something new and starving at the sight. You knew your best friend was big and dumb and clumsy, and also now a pervert. But the sight still gives you pause.

You don’t have to be small with Soobin. He’s big enough to provide you that. Because your thighs might be fully and your tummy might spill over them when you sit, but as he takes them into his hands and positions you for himself just how he wants you and has got himself off imagining for how long, you don’t know, his palms eat up your frame. You don’t have to be small when you stare dumbly at the thickness and length and drooling tip has to be kissed away by him trying to distract you from it, all searing licks of his tongue as he presses the tip to your entrance. Your thighs are split around his tiny waist, tummy pressed into the muscle of his own, and there is no other way that Soobin would have it.

Bracing himself on the carpet beside your head, he guides the head of hick cock to your entrance. He just can’t stop kissing you, and you don’t even know if it's a distraction anymore, or if it’s just the need to be eating you whole. It doesn’t catch, slipping up through your slick and nudging your clit with a jolt.

Soobin’s teeth grit. You just laugh, bracing your forehead against his broad shoulder. He presses in true this time and you make a small, stunted sound into the fabric of his sweater. He’s big this way, too. You had seen it, but now you feel it. Scrabbling at his shoulders, you pull back to try and look in his eyes. Warmth radiates from your plush cheeks. 

“I know,” he says, voice close to a break. He shudders, sliding into you as slowly and quickly as he can manage. You feel every inch. The hold he has on your waist, your tummy, is ironclad. “One sec. One sec, please… I just…” His hips meet your bottom, and he’s all the way in. The idea of that, of your best friend inside of you, sends another pang of haze through you. “Okay,” he chokes and takes a hold of your hips. “Oh my God, you are… Okay, just… Like this.”

He swivels your hips in circles. You wince. It makes you aware of every inch all up inside of you, deep in your tummy. But then it starts to fade, and you start to take the shape of him like you seem to be good at. And he can see the moment it changes. “Okay?” he bites out. He’s doing so good.

“Okay,” you squeak. Okay as you’ll get. You just need him to make love to your body and show you exactly how he wanted to do it all those years you spent thinking he didn’t notice you. You need it right now, whining on top of you.

The wall breaks. The man that had kept this secret for years, so neat and strict that only now you’re seeing it? He’s gone. He is so far gone. All that’s left is the one that starts frantically fucking you like the degenerate he is. 

His hands and mouth are all over you. He tastes. He moulds the dough of your thighs to the shape of his hand, the point of your breast a too soft, too real weight in his palm, your tummy brushing up against his with every buck. He shudders at it all. “Baby,” he whines. His face crumbles, brows knitting and cheeks the same pink as yours. Curling his fingers into your hair, he feels you flutter. It sends his hips stuttering. “Another one. Another one, please. I can’t believe I’m fucking you.” The words come from his belly like they take everything in him to make. 

The sounds of his hips canting into your ass, the friction on your shoulders and back from the carpet, the way your belly body jiggles with each thrust he gives you. None of it matters. All of it exists just beyond your field of reality, which consists of his choking whines and growls and the second, more terrifying knot in your belly. “I’m trying.” You grasp at his shoulders, breathing in the musk of him above you. “More, Soobin. Please, I need more.”

That ignites a challenge in him. You feel it in the way his spine straightens and he falls into your neck. The concept that what he’s giving you isn’t taking you over the edge? He can’t handle that. Not after all that wanting and needing. Taking a bite right over your collarbone, which is made soft with a padding of fat on you, he tilts his hips, fumbles with his support behind your head, and he fucks you with a very simpleminded intention. You were going to cum again, and he’d lick the taste like sweet sugar right from your mouth. Each new, pitchier moan, he drinks it. His bangs stick to his forehead. It’s a miracle that his glasses are still on his face, but they fog around the rim where they meet his face. He’s flushed and all you can see is black in his eyes.

You dig your heels into the base of his spine. Deeper, you need him deeper. But how could he get any deeper into your belly?

“Where?” he cracks, shaking apart over you. His eyes are wild. It’s sudden, like he had been trying for so long to keep it down for you, but it’s consumed him finally. “Oh fuck.” His voice trembles with a noise that makes your brain go white. “I’m gonna… Baby, tell me where or I’ll…” The effort of his jumping hips, the tightening of his belly, it all works against him.

You don’t get to answer him. The world goes away again, and you shake apart under his chest. Your breasts press into him when you arch, and your tummy tightens so hard you almost wish it would stop so you could breathe. 

“God, your face!” he says, and it’s his final words. Soobin stills, a shudder starting at his spine and finishing with a sob into your neck, and he sacrifices what you know he really wants just in time to spill onto your belly. He shakes so much you think he might come down on you, but those sturdy arms keep him up just enough for him to kiss at your neck and pant warmth into your skin. He ruts a few more times, a final rope of white seeping warm and sticky into your psyche. And now, not only do you know what Choi Soobin feels like inside of you, what he sounds like and which exact angle he leans, but you also know exactly what it feels like to be painted in him. In your best friend. 

He pulls away when it’s all run through your systems and left nothing more than laziness and a molasses flood where your blood should be roaring instead and that afterglow chemical that makes you want to press your cheek into his chest and never leave. His face is a mess, glasses askew before he fixes them over his dusty pink cheeks, and he rakes his fingers through the damp hair at the base of your neck.

“Sorry,” he says, as if he’s finally coming back to himself. Not enough for the sight of his cum on your chubby tummy to not capture and keep his gaze, though. “I’ll… I’ll clean you up.”

It’s a question, the return of his nervousness. Are we still good? Is this weird? You just give him the slow, glowing smile of a girl that just had her brain turned to mush. “You’re a perv,” you say, giggling.

He left you a mess. You reach back behind your head and feel how the ground had teased it up. Your thighs are pink in the shape of his fingerprints. Pound cake, for sure. It looks fascinatingly a lot like he decided to top all that cakey softness off with strawberries and cream.

His eyes light up again and jaw ticks. Heart jumping in your chest, you laugh right in his face this time. It looks like, finally, you know the way to get under what Soobin pretends he is, right down to the core of him. Sugar-rotted. And he’s gonna wish you didn’t.

ash: okay yes this is super indulgent but i just see soobin and kai as the tubatus that could hold their own with a chubby girl. IM NEXT LETS GO!

you'd been grinding on his crotch for af least 30 mins now, simply edging him and then stopping when he got close. his whines and whimpers were adorable, his face all scrunched up and eyes closed shut while he tried to find friction in the air.

teasing him, "poor baby, is it too much? Want me to stop?"

shaking his head, your boyfriend gritted his teeth, no need for words to describe the common thought; neither of you wanted this to end. this was the limit for you, if he wasn't going to use his words then maybe you should go further

"can I go lower, my pretty boy?" you asked gently. the man looked ecstatic, as though you would've never asked. tying back your hair you slowly dropped to your knees while he quickly removed his pants and undergarments.

"first time for everything huh binnie?", as soon as those words left your mouth, you made quick work in taking him in your mouth. using your tounge in each direction, up and down, down the slit of his tip, and finally sucking him fully in.

his moans were angelic, the pure relief he must have felt after all that teasing. poor thing, although, his face as you continued suck him off was also beautiful.

his legs began to shake, you knew he was easy but not this easy, maybe there's more for you two to accomplish today after all. just then he shoots his load down your throat and on your tounge as you pull your mouth off him. "wanna try something else? how about i keep you warm hm?".

you peel off your shorts and underwear, right in front of him so he can take in a whole view (it's no secret he loves what underneath your clothes after all). getting closer to him, you get on top of his lap, slowly lifting yourself onto his dick.

"nice and warm right bin?", he's squirmy, his face is red but he's happy, and you're happy, happy together, in eachothers arms

tags : @apolloshell @hyukascampfire @tyunningism