#kim doyoung x black reader

[thesafecafe]

NCT 127: Helping their Black GF on wash day

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to help you out on wash day, and you let him, but not without some interesting adventures along the way!

CW: None really, sfw, fluff, specifically black fem reader, aspects of black hair, gifs not mine hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: This is not meant to be a reflection of the idol or their behavior in real life, this is simply a fictional depiction for entertainment purposes.

Johnny:

Johnny is no stranger to seeing you do your hair

he often watches as you do your hair, a quiet type curiosity in his eyes

when you ask him to help, he’s a little incredulous at first

“You want me to help?” 

but his brief moment of uncertainty is hidden instantly by fake confidence

“Of course babe, I got this! It’s me we’re talking about!”

spoiler: he does not have this 

he struggles getting the brush through your head, and detangling? a catastrophe 

he’s good at distributing the shampoo and conditioner, but then you’re on your own girl

blow drying is fairly easy, since all he does is hold the dryer where you tell him, and helping you choose a style

if you want help styling it? Girl, you better call the father, the son, and the holy spirit

your hair manages to get done eventually; it might look a little odd, but it’s done

“See babe, I told you I got this!”

Taeyong

curious little bean about your hair

is hesitant at first, as he doesn’t want to mess up your hair or hurt you

“Are you sure babe? You trust me that much?”

when you reassure him that you indeed do trust him with your beautiful hair, he’ll get all smiley 

asks you for step by step instructions, and is so so gentle

even when helping you put in products for washing or drying your hair feels like a full on scalp massage

which you compliment him on

“Ah, you like it? I’ll remember babe!”

the more you compliment him, the more he’ll melt, just falling in love with you harder at each remark

some steps have you helping him out, such as combing out your hair and blow drying

which he’ll insist he can do if he just watches a tutorial (he wants to be able to do it for you on his own)

but as he helps you do a simple style, he sees it as a bonding experience 

“Let’s do this again next time babe!”

Yuta:

Another curious one, but he is in awe of everything about the process

“This much product?! Really?”

you teach him the products, and he commits each one to memory

genuinely curious about a few of the oils and conditioners

“Do you think it’ll work for me? They smell really good!”

he steps in when your arms start to get tired, and you need help twisting it for pre parting

he realizes that you have to do this every time you wash your hair and his heart goes out to you

“Let me help again next time, it’s so much for one person to do all alone!”

he’s very sweet, taking breaks when you need, and gets you snacks, water, arms rubs, whatever you need

such a supportive boyfriend and wonderful listener

he’ll listen attentively as you instruct him on how to braid your hair, before the both of you jointly braid your hair into pretty box braids

“These are so good babe! You think I could get paid to do it?”

(as if he’s not a full time celebrity) but you tell him yes anyway

nothing wrong with a confidence boost

Doyoung:

Intimidated off the bat

you have a LOT of hair, and Doyoung knows so LITTLE about it

will whine a little bit before he settles into the idea

“Babe, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a hair dresser, hence my job choice.”

but when you say you’ll ask someone else, he protests immediately

pulls you back into the bathroom with a pout on his face

“You can’t ask them! They don’t know anything!”

you spare him of the fact that neither does he, but you allow him to help

he kind of observes first, allowing you to demonstrate

when you offer him a brush or a comb, he takes the, slowly following along with your steps

your soft encouragement helps him to keep going, even earning you a smile

“I guess it’s not so hard after all! Your hair is really pretty by the way”

it’s not his first time telling you that, since he loves your hair, but it still makes you shy

he follows your instructions completely, allowing you to guide his hands when he forgets a step

when you are eventually finished, Doyoung will observe your hair in the mirror, slowly turning your head side to side in his hands

“I really did that! We did it!” 

he’s cheering and happy, and he’ll be way more open to helping you next time, because practice makes perfect

Jungwoo:

“You trust me? Ah, such a confident girl”

a real jokester (but it’s to keep his nervousness at bay)

he’s praying he doesn’t rip any hair out

he uses a bit more than the recommended amount 

aka he squeezed the bottle too hard and now your hair is saturated in shampoo

but a little extra product never hurt anybody!

he’ll have you bent over the sink, pouring  water over the back of your hair with a giant bowl

Jungwoo, you don’t need to drown your client, come on now

he nearly knocks you of the chair during blow drying, but it is unintentional, (unlike some members)

it’s a bit of a bumpy ride when it comes to combing out and detangling, but you get through it

“All right, what’s next?”

he’ll think he’s a professional once you have him help you part and section your hair, massaging in your usual products

he watches in fascination as you style your hair, a curious awe present in his facial expressions

“You really are amazing babe.”

Mark:

why you decided to ask for help from Mark is a mystery 

“Yo, really? Are you sure? Dude, that’s like, huge!”

is grateful for the opportunity, but please help him

he does not know what he’s doing, and this is more of a tutorial than him helping

he’ll help by handing you different products, but he mostly asks questions about different things

“You have two conditioners? Wait why?”

you explain everything with patience, telling him what it does for your hair, and what works for your hair type

“So your hair is a mixture of two different patterns? Ahh, that explains so much!

he recognizes a few things that you have, like coconut and jojoba oil

but the purpose of leave in conditioner escapes him until you explain

it really is an interesting experience with Mark, especially when you mix together different products together

his mind is blown 

“Yo, you’re Y/N the scientist! Who else mixes things like that?”

He’ll help you trim your hair after you give yourself a silk press, admiring the way it looks, telling you how good you look

Haechan:

Oh, he is an excited boy

very, very excited, he has been waiting for this day to come

you never let anyone touch your hair, not even him, and now you want his help? best day ever

he’ll tease you though, telling you he’ll charge you for his services

“These professional hands come with a price babe” (such a menace)

he will use your product bottles as weapons of mass...hair destruction?

“I will conquer and vanquish the dragon!” he says while threateningly pointing a shampoo bottle at your head

the hair is not our enemy, put down the bottle sir

he is genuinely happy as he washes your hair, blow drying and oiling it after with no problem

(aside form him trying to knock you off the chair on purpose)

he helps you to do a roller set, which intrigues him 

“Oh, so  you have a dryer chair in the corner! I never noticed that was there!”

He will offer to help you get ready for bed after as well

massaging your scalp and making sure you have good circulation before bed

he will demand matching bonnets once he sees yours though, so be prepared to share

[hexonthepeach]

perfume - k.dy

pairing: f4!nct doyoung x fem!reader (past johnny x reader mentions)

genre: hana yori dango/boys over flowers/meteor garden/f4 thailand reverse harem au (mild allusions and characterization only)

warnings:

bully-to-friends-to-lovers, established relationship, polyamory, dom!doyoung, glucose father adjacent, scent kink, control over food consumption/bathing (for scent kink purposes only), gratuitous use of the l-word by anti-romantics, angst/feelings, flashbacks and history

🔞 edging, cockwarming, orgasm denial, oral (m/f receiving), passionate sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, bukkake, consensual negotiated kink (degradation, somnophilia), anal play (f receiving)

wordcount: 20k

author's note: this is a doyoung-centered continuation of my ongoing F4 au. it can stand on it's own but i recommend reading Dive for more context. Doyoung's role in the F4 is Sojirou Nishikado/So Yijung/Ximen/Kavin (playboy control freak) so this fic incorporates elements of his secondary romance within the original/adaptations, now with y/n.

read on AO3

fic headers / dividers credit to @ saradika + please do not repost

Freshman year, Kocher International. 

Head down in your books at lunch, trying so hard to escape scrutiny from above, you pretend to be no one. 

It shouldn't be hard to be nobody, otherwise ignored and immune to whatever social contract deliberates your life. In a better world you'd be invisible. It's a superpower you'd wish for much more over the usual playground answers of super speed or control of the weather. 

Let me be unobserved, you'd thought. Let me open a door and not worry about a bucket full of dirty mop water falling on my head or the inevitable posting of a grainy video of it, posted in a Telegram channel to fulfill some checklist made up by bored, rich monsters. 

Your four-generation-behind phone with its cracked screen proved useful in some regards; you never heard about these public pillories until some kind stranger sent you a screenshot of them, usually in the context of whatever plans they'd made to torture you again.

Every notification is already a pain, driving splintered glass into the pads of your fingers. Just now you're reading a text message from your father asking you to pick up more cheap instant noodles from the convenience store on your walk home to round out whatever scraps he's picked up from the local restaurant your mother bussed tables and cleaned dishes at when she needed extra money.

"Why is Saint Kim watching you?" your friend asks across the table. She's been looking up at the room this entire time, unable to give you even a moment of her attention or assistance to finish the English homework you'd been working on. You'd been rushing all day to finish it before afternoon class, after a late morning of delivery driving for your family's drycleaning business.

"Are you sure it's not the Devil?" you ask, parsing through the lines of a book you'd bought secondhand, trying to match verse for verse.

"No," she says, shaking her head when you finally look up. "Don't react. He's coming this way."

"Shit," you say under your breath, eyes flicking to your untouched lunch. "I need you to leave now. Take these trays and dump them and I'll meet you outside of 4th. If I make it."

You don't look up from your book as you mutter, but you follow her path and her hesitancy as she internally debates whether to heed your warning or watch from a safe distance.

Your handwriting becomes a scrawl of nonsense you have to cross out in sharp lines. You begin the verse again, holding your breath as you will your entire body and mind back to a manufactured calm. 

If you can't be invisible, you can at least play your role. You're copacetic by the time you see the tips of polished black wingtips beside you, before you hear the Saint clear his throat.

“Y/N.”

He drops a familiar, school-mandated clear cosmetics bag next to your ratty backpack. The already embarrassing stash of tampons and old chapstick has a new bounty including a "used" pregnancy test stick with a second line drawn in with pink gel pen jumbled into its contents.

"You left this . . ." he says, not finishing the sentence to indicate where he'd found it. You immediately hear a titter. Your flock of spectators is growing by the second and the useful idiot at its center seems wholly unconcerned.

"Thanks," you say, not bothering to look up or to even hide the bag. You keep writing, blindly, the English words just rounded shapes flowing from your shaking hand. 

Their kind fed off attention, your only defense is to starve them of it.

The Saint clears his throat, again. Apparently he’s not just unconcerned, he’s also unwilling to leave.

"Aren't you grateful Doie found it before someone else did?" You don’t have to look up to know it's Miranda who’s asked, glimpsing her manicure as she picks up your bag, green gems shining on perfectly-tipped nails. 

"Oh this must not be hers. I didn't think she could afford this."

You think she might be diving into the stash for one of the Lilies' pointed additions but no–you watch in horror as she plucks out the bottle of perfume you'd been carrying with you since your parents had gifted you a single, tiny box last Christmas. 

"Chanel?" she says, laughing. "No wonder you smell like my grandma."

"Probably a knock-off," another of the Lilies says. Ginger, by the sound of her grating voice. Her handwriting on the board in homeroom listing out your abortions is as familiar as the pink gel pen script on the extra large foil condom with xoxo slut written on it staring at you through the plastic.

"Definitely a knock-off. You have a nose, don't you, Doie?"

You look up, finally, at Saint Kim. He's alone for once–the other one, the Devil Kim that shadows him is still up on the second level, leaning on the railing over his shoulder. You watch the Saint’s small mouth turn into a moue of distaste, nose wrinkling at the proffered bottle.

"Authentic," he says, capping it before offering it back to you. Your field of vision is obstructed by that veined, pale hand–fingernails as perfectly groomed as the rich girls who surround him.

You reach up to take your most prized possession back only to find he doesn't let go, holding tight when you try to pluck it from his fingers.

"You should know . . . " he says, sniffing slightly.

You look up at him with alarm blazing in your eyes. Every word Kim Doyoung says to you writes your next damnation. You should ignore him, run, anything–but you can't look away once you've met his assessing gaze, his tall frame limned in the fluorescent cafeteria lights like he's carrying his own personal halo. 

Even seeing him at a distance every day can't depreciate how ethereally handsome he is. You know better than to swoon at that elegant face, night-black hair pushed away from his forehead. Beneath his family’s charities and his PR-scripted concern you know he’s just another ungodly creation birthed of nepotism and curated genes.

He leans in, carefully, musical voice a whisper. 

"You should know it doesn't suit you."

The laughter that follows is deafening.

No, you think. He's just as soulless as the rest of them.

“What do you mean actually sleep?" you ask, coyly, unbuttoning your romper. "Like after we . . . ?"

"I've managed 6 hours of sleep in 36 hours, y/n–” Doyoung seems to hesitate, dark eyebrows raising, hand pushing his hair back from his pale forehead. He snaps his laptop closed, at last, shoving it to the farthest edge of the bedside table.

No–you think–not hesitation. 

Frustration.

You've seen this man before. 

All work and no play made Saint Kim into a Prince of Hell. He'd spent the first 8 hours of your date day half-present–the other in the 4 hours of sleep he's gotten since some crisis at his family’s headquarters in London that usurped your vacation. 

A whole 2 days in which he hasn't held you at all. His rules, his chance, but you can't help but wonder what has him so clenched that he's barely even touched you since your date began at 6 am Bangkok time.

You'd taken two extra strength melatonin and slept like the dead, anticipating his early-riser schedule. Only you and God had to know you'd fallen asleep next to your day tour fit ready to be fucked in it. 

You’d made yourself so pretty only to find him in the kitchen hunched over his phone, laptop softly pinging with notifications. Doyoung had still been dressed in the clothes you'd seen him in the night before, ending his conference call to laser in on you hovering in the kitchen.

"Are you upset?" Doyoung asked.

"No," you'd lied, pushing the piece of paper he'd left the staff on the counter, his English handwriting crisp and formal. "What’s this?" 

"We have a few dietary restrictions today," he’d said. 

"Are you saying I am what I eat?" You’d asked, taking a bite of a plump strawberry. "Is this some kind of prep?"

"It's for the date," he'd said, resigned. "Just be patient with me."

Then he'd smiled, disarming you with a casualness you hadn’t seen on him in a long time, rubbing his eyes blearily under his thick glasses. 

"Can we go back to sleep?"

And so you'd settled into his grasp on your made bed, scrolling Insta and waiting for the inevitable alarm–which turned out just to be Jungwoo delivering two iced Americanos in some gambit of checking your progress.

"Missed the floating market opening?" Jungwoo asked, eyebrows raised at the sight of Doyoung face first in a pillow.

You'd silently mouthed your thanks, leaving the drinks to sweat on the bedside table as you changed into your second outfit of the day, occasionally drifting in to check on your sleeping beauty.

It was a rare delight to have him so vulnerable beside you, blanket rucked up beneath his chin and his white teeth visible past the sweet curves of his mouth. Without consciousness your partner for the day is just Kim Doyoung, the gentler side of the same creature who you knew would often choose a couch to watch serial television with you over a day trip if you wanted it. 

But this was different.

Now instead of using his precious time to fulfill what you'd felt promised in his casual brushes against your back when you'd finally traveled out, or the way he'd stroked your leg at brunch under the table (every bite chosen by him, of course), you're being railroaded into lying still while he sleeps. 

Again.

You continue undressing, letting him drink in the sight of the lingerie set he’d left in your room. You knew it was custom made by the way it lifted each curve he’d already had access to, tailored for you as if every millimeter of your body was to account for.

Doyoung's cheeks are hollowed, lip chewed. He pulls his glasses down and regards you even more as you continue to undress yourself.

"You do know what the word 'nap' means, don't you?"

"I'm not the one who hasn't slept," you say. "At least let me get comfortable."

His stare pierces into you as you turn around, stripping for utility rather than give him a show he clearly hasn’t earned. You check yourself in the floor-length mirror beside the bathroom, viewing yourself through his eyes as you pluck the lace over your curves to sit just right. 

“Do you like it?” you ask.

You may as well be speaking to the floor when you turn around, finding him buried in the pillows only by the dark fall of his hair.

“You can’t be that tired,” you say. 

You're used to taking a late afternoon siesta in peak summer but you're far too excited to even consider sleep right now. For one, it's sweltering–windows open to allow the noises of hawkers and traffic not far off to drift in.

Second, you've never been more turned on in your life. 

You can still feel the tingling in your toes from when he’d slipped his hand up under the hem of your shorts, teasing at the velvety smooth skin on your inner thigh as you tried not to choke on your mimosa.

You make your way to the bed languidly, crawling up the thick white duvet with a teasing smile.

"Just stay on your side of the bed, please," Doyoung says.

"Oh," you say, collapsing on top of the covers beside him. "Well you're no fun." 

"And you're impatient and uncouth," he retorts in a way that makes you wonder if he really means it. 

"Will you at least hold onto me?"

"Too hot." He rolls on his back, flapping his half-buttoned shirt in the breeze from the fans. You sigh dramatically, collapsing into the pillows in the middle of the bed. 

"You should get naked, then.” You say. “Don't be modest on my account."

He opens one eye to glare at you, finding you relaxed and inviting beside him. His throat bobs, gaze flicking to the ceiling.

"That year of celibacy really took a toll on you, didn't it? Two hours. Indulge me."

"Please, sir," you whisper. "I've been such a good girl."

It had been a stipulation of the F4’s latest deal–24 hours for you to recover from your first night before the gauntlet began. Doyoung had been more than strict about the terms, leaving you your own set of instructions including–not surprisingly–not touching yourself.

Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t think about masturbation constantly, at all hours of the day. He may as well have told you to try not to think about a white bear for how powerful the intrusive thought had taken over since then.

"You'll get your reward. Later," he says. He's an impassable wall, stretched out beside you, so you content yourself with staring at his profile. Even under these oppressive circumstances you appreciate the light dusting of freckles on his cheek brought out by the sun, the dark lashes dusting his cheeks over the slight bluish marks of sleep deprivation.

"Yes, sir."

It only takes a few minutes for him to snap at you again.

"Stop that," 

"Stop what?" 

"Getting so handsy."

You hadn’t even realized your hand had drifted over the plane of his belly under his white shirt, too absorbed with watching the muscles in his cheek spasm as you inched nearer. 

"Can I help it when you're right there?" you ask. "I thought this was your–"

Doyoung rolls you before you can slither any closer, pressing your back into the sheets with his hands on your wrists, knees digging into your thighs. 

If the intention was to get you to stop being uncomfortably turned on it has the opposite effect: you let out a moan of pleasure, legs twisting together for friction. He slams them shut between his own, groin pressed into yours.

He's as hard as you hoped, and you lift up into him to let him know you know it.

"If you don't behave I'll have to cancel this," he warns directly in your ear, sounding as choked as you feel. "I thought you were already trained." 

"Trained to fight back," you correct, pressing against him with your own strength.

"That's not trained," he says, lifting up. "I'll blame your lack of experience and experienced partners. Nothing we can't work on. Until then you'll follow my rules or I pull you from the game. Understood?" 

You let a few beats pass, accepting there's no way out and you don't have anything to throw back at him.

"Yes, sir," you pout.

"Now that's a good girl," he says.

Just as quickly as you were taken down you're let go, inhaling deeply now that you're not being pressed into the soft bed. 

"You really don't want to play with me before you sleep?" you ask, brushing your lips against his chin as he crouches over you. You’d be a liar if you didn’t say you enjoyed the way his nostrils flare a bit, working his pink bottom lip between his teeth. Whatever arbitrary rules he’d set for your time together you can tell he’s at least regretting it right now, stiff length brushing against your bare leg as you lift your knee to test it. 

“Are you trying to make me punish you?” he asks, voice husky. 

"I thought you liked it when I was a brat," you say, cocking your head. 

Doyoung sighs, eyes half-lidded. "I do. But not when you're using it to avoid intimacy."

Your throat clenches, a hard knot forming in it you can't seem to swallow as your face gets even hotter.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. 

“I think you know what I mean,” he continues. “It’s not like we both don’t have a habit of using sex as a distraction from anything emotionally challenging.”

You gape up at him in disbelief. 

Of course you’d never been able to hide that aspect of your last relationship with him when he’d often been right outside the door. All of the F4 knew how many times your arguments with he-who-should-not-be-named-especially-not-while-in-bed-with-his-best-friend had ended in you shutting him up by any means necessary. Not that you didn’t enjoy it at the time–but rather you understood it wasn’t the most healthy template for a relationship. 

"I thought this wasn't going to be about feelings," you blurt out.

“Proving my point.”

Doyoung tsks, tapping your cheek with his fingers–nowhere near a slap but just as effective, soothing the spot with his thumb. Soon he’s brushing your tears away when they inevitably spring up and you have to turn to hide their seep into the mass of pillows.

"If I wanted therapy I wouldn't be here, Kim Doyoung," you say, trying to bury your face in the piles of soft down. 

“Shh, silly girl,” He gently pulls you out from hiding, soothing you with a warm kiss against your forehead when you stop struggling and let him hold you, releasing that surge of emotion and writing it off to hormones and the sting of rejection.

“You know I’m speaking to myself here, too,” he states softly. “Bear with me, I’m learning.” 

"Do you even really like me?" you ask, face pressed into his chest. 

It’s horrible to admit this specific insecurity but you can’t help it. Being abandoned multiple times in your life when you’d finally, finally let your walls down would damage anyone’s trust. You’d hoped this day with him would be easy and carefree and light, not dimmed by the shadows of your anti-romantic histories. 

"I adore you, actually." He settles partially on top of you, leg wrapped over yours as he props himself up on his elbow. "Which is why I want to start this right. You wanted the F4 boyfriend experience. This is mine."

"Last I checked you’ve never seriously dated anyone," you groan, sniffling. 

"Last I checked, neither have you." 

Well, that connects. You swallow your fears, relaxing into the cage of his embrace, retreating a little from the vulnerability of being exposed.

"What kind of girlfriend experience were you expecting, then?"

A lazy smile gusts across his features. You can't help but find it a bit sinister after being handled so indelicately. 

“I don’t always know what’s going on in that empty little head of yours." He accompanies his statement with a brush of his thumb across your flushed cheek, tracing your semi-parted lips in a way that sends sparks down to your core. 

"I’d like to stop guessing and actually get you to let me treat you the way you want to be treated. Have you ever asked yourself what you want?"

You panic a little, considering his words. Living with disappointment had made this question a hard one to even consider. 

"I just want a good time. Isn't that what you want, too?"

Doyoung seems to ignore your ask, drifting into a relaxed state against the pillows. His hand traces the hairline at your temple. "You know I worry about you. All the time, actually.” 

His voice is lower, a little wistful, and it’s doing just as much as the slight brushes of his fingertips to make you throb all over again. A lack of sleep must have made him delusional, you think. This is not the Kim Doyoung you know.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

"Is that why you're always involving yourself in my business?" you ask, matching his tone in how breathless you are. You expect a quip, not the sincerity written on his face when he swoops in to press a gentle kiss against your lips, too fleeting to be anything but sweet and sincere. 

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do all this time? It certainly wasn’t just to get into your pants. I want you. All of you.” 

You're taken aback by his honesty. You'd always suspected his constant meddling in your affairs came from a place of interest but you'd never wanted to give him too much of a response–maybe a little afraid his fickle nature and fear of commitment would mean he’d give up on your friendship, too. 

Another thing you knew about Saint Kim: he had a tendency to run like a frightened rabbit at the first sign of emotional neediness in his partners. You'd never given him reason to believe you expected anything from him, but you'd also stopped fighting him on giving you what he desired to give.

It wasn’t just presents or expensive experiences, of course. He’d found out quickly those weren’t welcome without some cajoling. No–his art was in knowing what you needed even before you realized it, nudging it across your path. 

You’d figured out his deviousness after the umpteenth time someone was charitable at your little florist shop part time job, offering to fix your scooter in exchange for a nice arrangement for a proposal. As soon as you’d seen the fully restored bike outside and the customer didn’t return your texts you’d called Doyoung, completely unsurprised to find he was at the coffee shop next door, waiting to pick up his flowers.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you’d said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“What makes you think I’m giving you charity,” he’d responded, dropping a department store bag and your own custom coffee order on the counter. “You’ll wear this when I come to pick you up tonight at closing, including the jewelry and perfume. I need you to play your part again. The flowers are a consolation for the heart we’re breaking.”

He’d enlisted you as his defacto “new girlfriend” for the more difficult separations, and though you’d gotten your share of a glass of expensive wine thrown in your face more often than he ever experienced it (his type always went after the easier target) it wasn’t like he didn’t have a replacement dress ready and a nice dinner waiting after you’d cleaned off the Chateau Lafitte Rothschild. 

You have to face the fact that no matter how many times he’d treated you like his girlfriend, you’d never actually expected him to want you to be one. 

“I’ve waited a very long time for this, Y/N. Which is why I want our first time together–alone," he adds quickly. "–To be special."

It's difficult to believe him but you're spellbound all the same, watching pink dust his cheeks and his ears turn a shade darker as he most likely realizes how ridiculous it is considering him fucking you senseless the other night with the help of two other men. 

But you can empathize with his anxiety. Yesterday's Thai massage he'd arranged had helped you work out the flight or fight of anticipating being alone with him. It’s back now, but different. The way he's looking at you makes you feel infinitely naked, infinitely unlocked.

"What do you mean special?" you ask, wary, hoping to see some glimmer of uncertainty or falsehood in his gaze. You want to believe it's a lie or just some artful prank, trying to ignore your heart flip-flopping in your chest. 

It’s a mistake to let him see you squirm considering it’s Doyoung’s drug of choice–his lips twist into another menacing grin as he plays with the charm on your necklace. Another of his little gifts.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Doyoung asks, dripping self-satisfaction. “Or are you going to chicken out on me?”

You turn over so he can't see your expression, realizing he’s throwing your own words from the night before right back at you.

"I haven’t decided if I want to date you, yet,” you say. 

"Maybe not," he says. "But you'll have to pardon me for wanting to show you this good time you supposedly want while also treating you decently. Unless we're no longer friends?"

"We are," you say, biting your lip, "even if you enjoy torturing me."

"Torture?" He laughs, breathy. 

"Metaphorically speaking."

"You have no idea, do you?" You can feel the edge of his glasses as he bites the place where your clavicle connects to your shoulder, his hand snaking around your bare middle.

"You could show me," you invite, mid-gasp, as your body responds to his long-awaited touch. His fingers are almost cool in contrast to the heat in the room, tracing circles in your skin that have you squirming. 

"Is that a challenge?" he asks.

Why not?

"We don't have to have sex," you offer. "Maybe you could just–"

"Shh," he says, fingers skimming lower. "My terms. Are you going to stay quiet for me?"

You nod into the comforter, breath hitching as he touches you through the thin layer of your underwear, veined hand flexing as he molds the damp fabric to your body. It's such a delicate pressure but he's already memorized your shape, index finger sinking into your folds, gently rubbing a ring around your throbbing clit.

You're sticky and swelling with each pass, entranced by how good he is at teasing you, cherishing the way he sucks in his breath when he pushes into the indent of your hole.

“Doie,” you whine, leaning back into him, trying to get him to kiss you as he laughs into your hair. 

“Quiet,” he reminds you, kissing your cheek and teasing the seat of your underwear where they're soaked the most. "You want to take these off?" 

You shake your head, sensing it would be too easy of you to give in.

"That wasn't a question," he says, tugging down the band, leaving them trapped tight around your thighs. "I don't want you to wear them until I tell you that you can." 

You feel your core clench at the way his voice cracks, his fingers sliding back up to slowly and delicately draw a thread of moisture from your bared slit. You whine a little when he stops touching you, bringing his fingertip to your lips.

"Taste it." 

You let your mouth fall open, let him run it over your tongue, beginning from the middle and swirling over it. 

"Describe it," he murmurs. "If I like your answer, maybe I'll indulge you more." 

"Salt," you say, immediately. 

He tugs your hair, making you meet his eyes. 

"Have I taught you anything? I want specific notes. Flavors." 

You're transported back to the time he'd taken you to your first (and last) wine tasting. Spitting into a bucket and being lectured about body and tannins and soil conditions was the last thing you'd wanted to do after an hours-long trip to a vineyard but you'd indulged him, allowed one glass of what he considered the only drinkable wine on the premises. 

An unrefined palette, he'd called you. 

"Fruity and floral," you make up. "A nice lingering finish. Want a taste?" 

He looks down at you behind his glasses, equal parts amused and unimpressed. "Did you use the soap I asked you to?" 

Your brain glitches at that. Had you? You'd been in such a rush to go out–

You gasp when he palms your breast, squeezing the meat of it through the breathable fabric of your matching bra.

"I'll take that as a no," he says. "I guess you're not ready." 

He rolls off of you, leaving you in a lurch as you realize your legs are locked together by your underwear. You move to remove them, taking off your bra as well to avoid the awkwardness of being partially dressed.

By the time you're done you realize he's on his back, the hand that had been stroking you buried in his loose khakis. 

"What are you doing?" you ask, more than a little pissed off at the sight of him masturbating as if you aren't ready and willing to assist beside him. 

"Getting ready for our date. You can watch. No touching." He cracks an eye to look at you before closing it again. "Either of us."

"Are you edging me, Kim Doyoung?" Your menacing tone is entirely natural.

He hums a bit, working himself at a more punishing pace, knuckles peeking out from under his boxer briefs with each full pass over his length.

"Can't even look at me? Afraid you'll lose control?" You sidle down on the bed, beside his tensed thigh. You can smell a bit of the ozone on him from a morning in the sun, your knees knocking into his calves when you move over him.

"I don't trust you," he says, voice deeper than you've ever heard it.

"Is it touching if you finish on my face?" you ask when he finally blinks up at your presence, hovering over him with your breasts dangerously close to his clothed thighs.

"Absolutely not."

"Not touching–"

"Just. Watch," he orders.

He pulls himself free from his pants, surprising you with how dark and weeping his tip is as his thumb encircles it. Pools of white precum spatter on his lean, pale belly, your head dipping dangerously close–

"I said watch." He grabs at your hair, denied when you bend up again, showing him your dirty tongue.

He groans, fingers clenching air. "You were put on this earth to test me, weren't you?"

Still, he doesn't break his attention on the way you roll the drops you'd licked from his clean skin in your mouth, swallowing once you've fully enjoyed the taste.

"A little sweet you say," teasing him. "Drinking pineapple juice?"

"Brat," Doyoung says, but he's almost gone–eyes dark with desire, gently gripping your skull as you continue to ease in.

You're a master at following his lead, blowing a breath over the spot you'd licked, and then his length until his movements slow, cherishing the way you hold your mouth over his cock.

"If you can't give me what I want, then at least give me a taste," you say, sticking out your tongue in offering. You love the way he responds to the sight, needy and losing it when you hold eye contact, drilling into him.

"No," he echoes, weakly. He's too smart to push into your open mouth, instead driving his hips up to fuck his fist as you watch his glasses slide down his nose, eyes clenching shut. 

"You're no fun," you say. "Just a little swallow can't hurt?"

"No. Don't want to ruin it," he says cryptically, making a choked noise as you brush his fingers with your nose and he has to pull you away.

"I promise you it . . . It will be worth it," he manages. His jaw clenches as his movements relax, finally in control of you both.

"It better be," you say. 

You lower your lashes as your eyes flick between his cock and his face, stretching out your tongue to the point that drool begins to drip down your chin, splashing on his whitened knuckles and the tight stretch of his balls peeking out from his underwear. He bites his lip, breath holding as he starts to spiral.

The first thick rope of white rockets up his half-bared chest. Soon he's spurting even more, cum reaching his rucked up shirt, a little getting on his glasses. 

He's so out of it he doesn't fight as you wrest out of his limp hold. You clean up the sticky mess on his skin with your tongue, his abdominal muscles twitching under the light flicks and drags. 

"Want to give me some notes?" you ask, straddling him without resting any weight down, taking off his glasses. This time when you move to kiss him he rises weakly to meet you, lips parting to accept what you haven't swallowed. 

In truth, he tastes wonderful. Coffee, a little menthol from toothpaste and a hint of the watermelon you'd shared earlier mix beneath the coat of his spend.

He licks into your mouth until you moan, your body throbbing with unfulfilled pleasure. You follow him as he sinks back into the pillows, enjoying having him at your disposal, your core leaving wet trails on his thigh when you brush against the fabric.

"I'm going to wait until you're asleep and use you if you don't help me get off," you threaten, pressing soft kisses to his slack face. It’s no use. Doyoung has passed out again, lower teeth visible as he snores softly, forehead sheened with drying sweat.

Fuck it, you think. 

You ooze off of him to take your second cold shower of the day, and maybe get acquainted with one of the fancy showerheads in his massive walk-in while you use his special soap. 

It's not–technically–touching yourself.

Your mystery destination isn't an unknown–it's in every tourist booklet and blog you'd skimmed before your trip, thinking you'd be on your own to find a good spot to traverse to. But it still takes your breath away the moment the car door opens in the sprawl of motorbikes and delivery trucks and Doyoung takes your hand to pull you into Paradise.

Pak Khlong Talat is a bustle of energy well after dark, the time you know its treasures are delivered fresh and unbloomed, wrapped in newspaper and steeped in crushed ice. For as far as you can see the market sprawls along Chak Phet road, but even more overwhelming than the sights and sounds is the scent. 

Jasmine, roses, lavender. Thousands upon thousands of blooms strung up and tended to by night owl vendors, delicate arrangements hand-sewed by artisans streetside into garlands so well-crafted Doyoung has to tug you to keep you moving, onwards to some other unspoken destination. 

"I was worried you might hate flowers after working with them for so long. I take it you like it?" he asks, indulging you when you ask if you can take his picture at a particularly lovely hang of garlands, the purple-blue light perfect for the film you'd loaded into your father's old camera. Photography had never been your craft, but after your dad had passed you'd made an effort to capture more of your memories, cherishing what you'd taken for granted before.

“It’s perfect,” you say, admiring him through the viewfinder. "But can you look like you're having fun?" 

Your model is stiff, mouth a moue as he checks the street for other observers or a possible collision with a laden handcart. 

"Fun?" Doyoung asks, and you snap his picture on the offbeat, enjoying his look of surprise. 

“Like you've taken your date to one of the most romantic places on earth, after buttering her up with a night cruise of Chao Praya and finally letting her eat real food." 

He sniffs at a fall of marigolds, a smug look on his face that you commit to film, right before he sneezes. 

"For the record, we're eating after this. Som tam hardly counts as a meal, I just didn’t want that drink going to your head." 

You're shepherded through the vast warehouse of the main market, to an adjacent street, and into a non-descript building painted in a funereal white.

"Are we even allowed to be here?" you ask, once the key code is entered and you enter the strange business. 

"I called in a favor," he says, taking your hand, leading you up a metal staircase past a simple storefront of dried blooms and shelves laden with boxes and bottles alike.

An apothecary? An alchemist's shop? The purpose of the space eludes you.

"An atelier," Doyoung explains. "One of the most sought out in the world."

There's the distant hum of the city outside and a central air you're unused to in this climate but the upstairs is quiet–by all accounts either an office or a laboratory, or a mixture of both. The central working area is a chaotic but organized space filled with tables of glassware and dried floral arrangements contrasting potted orchids, small beakers of coffee beans littered amidst rows of labeled brown bottles.

"So this is how they make perfume," you say, inspecting a stoppered bottle labeled "Gerianol 10%".

"Not just any perfume. The best. Here." Doyoung leads you to a much less cluttered workstation, the desk arranged with the lights still on, a note detailing some instruction you can barely read before he slips it into the pocket of his slim-tailored pants. Beneath it is a notebook, scrawled with a perfect cursive English you recognize from the cards he’d included in boxes or bags whenever he’d bothered to claim their contents. 

"Sit," he instructs. You think he means the comfortable chair but before you can sit down he presses you to the desk, caging you in. 

"Sit," he repeats, hands on your hips through your slinky skirt, lifting you to the bench. You scoot back, carefully, the white blooms of some exotic flower brushing against your cheek until he can move the vase a careful distance. 

"Do you understand what we’re doing here?"

You can't possibly know what he means, eye level with the graceful column of his neck and his exposed collarbone beneath his translucent button-down, drowning in the melange of scents but most especially his clean, neutral cologne. 

"No," you say, honestly, heart beating fast. 

He picks up a corked flask from some kind of metal scale, dipping a thin thread of paper into it to waft it a fair distance from your nose.

"Before we came here--before you even agreed to this trip–I sent instructions to my friend for a specialty blend of their creation. It took quite a bit of back-and-forth–I even visited here last month to take a private class and make sure we prepared the base and middle to your standards."

"For me?" 

You feel dizzy, reaching out to take the sample and smell it again, his hand capturing your own before you can bring it too close to your nose. He wafts it for you, expectant as you absorb the details.

Indeed, it smells divine–exactly the kind of warm, bright notes that make your heart feel at ease. There’s something floral and citrus worked in, not too heavy, the finish leaving you with an impression of a lazy summer afternoon. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say. “Did you make this to match what you knew I liked?”

"Yes.” Doyoung exhales, looking almost sheepish. "I had some references. That cheap shampoo you never stop buying, the Lush exfoliator with the orange blossom, even–" he shudders a bit– "that awful Chanel you doused yourself in, in high-school."

"Coco Mademoiselle," you say. "It's been years since I–"

"It didn't suit you," he says, standing up to sample another bottle from the neat row. 

Something dawns on you, a distant memory locking into place.

"It was you," you gasp in realization. "You're the one who got rid of it. I should have known when you tried to give me that bottle of Jo Malone–"

“It had already turned. You need to store your scents away from direct light.”

“It was a keepsake!” There were very few possessions from your youth that you’d been able to hold onto–not only because your parents had been barely able to afford your school uniforms, much less gifts. What little you’d had was lost when your house was destroyed by the men your father owed money to, this small thing neglected in the destruction.

“It didn't suit you because it wasn't made for you," he continues. "You wore it because you thought it would make you fit in, when you should have made what you wore wear you–"

"Please, stop."

You have to bite your lip to the point of pain, remembering how excited you'd been to unwrap that tiny bit of luxury your parents had saved up to buy you, your mother sure the brand name would save you from another day of humiliation. You didn’t have the heart to tell them that the cutout ad from the magazine on your wall was for the model, not the actual perfume, but you felt loved by the gesture all the same.

Hundreds of thousands of won an ounce for it to only turn on your skin, well before afternoons spent on the basketball court under the thankless sun. That memento had aged from pink to a sickly rose unused on your cosmetic shelf, a totem from a time when you imagined yourself belonging. Before it had disappeared, like so many other things.

You can't remember the last time you'd worn anything, had never even gone near that section of a department store after the humiliation of being made fun of for smelling cheap.

“My dad skipped lunches and my mom worked double shifts to get that for Christmas my first year in Kocher,” you say. “Mira was the brand ambassador for that campaign, you know.”

Mira had been your idol even before you won the scholarship she’d established to attend Kocher. Perfect, beautiful, but most of all the first girl in their sphere to show you genuine kindness.

"It must be so easy for you," you say, wiping your face. You rarely cried these days but that memory was particularly painful, a reminder of how often you’d assumed Doyoung found you just as offensive. Not just your scent, you thought, but you.

Something to be tolerated. Below his regard. 

"Whatever you want, you can have. Whatever you don't like, you can get rid of. I'm sorry, I don't live in your world. I can’t just throw something away when it’s not useful."

"No," he says, quietly, abandoning his explanation. "That was thoughtless of me. I can replace it–"

“Can you?” You glare up at him. “Is this what you really want? To dress me up like your perfect doll and feed me from your hand so I’m more able to suit you?

Doyoung looks like he's going to be ill, every design in his head unraveling before your eyes. You’d feel sorry for him if you didn't know this was a lesson worth imparting.

"Don't ever offer to replace what you don’t know the true value of," you say, voice trembling.

There's a weighted silence as he considers his next words. You still haven't slipped away from him, choosing to hold your ground. How many times had you been forced to be the antagonist in some fruitless class warfare, unresolved? But then you also had a habit of finding battles in peacetime. 

You pluck the newest scent strip from his frozen hand and waft it between you, at the designated distance.

“Thank god this smells nothing like it,” you murmur. You offer him a wry smile, anger fading. “I couldn’t stand it.”

You feel Doyoung’s relief as he collapses against you, forehead against your hair as his arms wrap tight around your middle. You relax after a bit, cheek pressed to his collarbone as you breathe in his unique scent–a little like fresh laundry left out in the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “All these promises and plans and stupid details and at the end of the day I really . . . Don't know what I'm doing."

"I really don’t know what you’re doing, either," you say. "But I like that you try.”

"You do?" The hope in his voice makes your iciness melt a bit. You let your hands twine around his neck, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease with the gesture.

“I know it’s not easy for me to admit but I do appreciate everything you do for me, Doie,” you say. 

He doesn’t respond in words but you savor the shift in his demeanor, like a weight has been lifted from him. You think even he didn’t know it was there. You ignore the glassiness in his eyes when he pulls back, choosing to look at his notes instead.

“Are these all the ingredients?” you ask, working out a few of the more familiar words. “What’s op–?”

“First things first,” he says, rolling up his sleeves.  "Did you touch yourself?" 

"No," you say, surprised by the shift. "I followed your instructions. No products with scents. No underwear."

You spread your thighs to make your point. His hands hike your skirt up, over the breadth of skin to your hips and then to the curl of your belly, his breath hitching as he finds you already glossy.

It had been a bit of a gambit considering your riverside excursion but he'd allowed you a lemongrass-based repellent–the scent of which is still clinging to your bare skin as he kneels down to press a kiss to where his fingers had traced earlier.

You jerk a bit, conscientious of the workspace as he spreads you, just that light touch making your nipples harden beneath your thin shirt and bra.  

“Are we allowed to–”

“Shh. Relax and try not to spill anything,” he interrupts, breath cooling your wetness. “I just need some inspiration.”

“What?” 

"You’re so good already," he says into your sex, spreading you so he can lightly tongue at your skin. “Perfect little flower just for me.”

After waiting so long, you're torn between begging and shoving his teasing licks away, hand threading through his raven hair as the notebook slips from your hand.

"Kim Doyoung–” you gasp as he spears his tongue through your upper folds, nose nudging the sensitive bud. “–if this is another round of teasing I will murd–”  

You yelp as he hunches down to wrap your legs around his shoulders, hands re-occupied by exposing you as you try to stay upright. 

“Don’t worry. You can come like this. I want to know if you taste different after.”

You don't know what he means until his mouth closes over your clit, sucking just right. You jolt, pinched on the meat of your thigh until you can relax again, making little mewls as he rolls his thumbs alongside the point of contact.

“I want you inside of me,” you beg, feeling that fluttering sensation that heralds a build-up. “I wanted to come with you inside me.” 

“Soon. Just need to be good while I sample you.” 

“Sample?” Your hand sinks into his hair in panic, tugging, but Doyoung is too lost alternating between suckling at your sex and palpating you with a circling thumb, his beautiful hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread.

“Drip for me, first.” 

“I don't think I can–”

“You giving up already?” Doyoung scoffs, smirking up at you with reddened lips, tongue-tip darting against your clit. Every brush of soft muscle makes you spasm a bit, belly tightening unfulfilled.

You shake your head, panting. “I just . . . Doie I want you inside me.” 

“You can relax and take it,” he says, tongue wrapping around your labia, sucking slightly. Your head is buzzing, every stray thought removed by his exploration of you.

“Relax. If you don't I'll just have to try until you're begging for me to stop.” 

“No, please, Doie. I'll be good,” you plead. “Just . . . need something inside. Hurts so bad being empty.”

“Hand me a pipette.”

“What?”

“The one that looks like an eyedropper,” he says, hand open to accept like he’s performing surgery. You fight to find the right glassware with his mouth still on you, efforts more focused and intense as your legs tense with each hit. You find the rubber-stoppered glass cylinder, stomach dropping. 

“Is this safe?” You ask, gripping his mussed hair tighter when he pulls away for a moment.

“If you hold still, yes,” he taunts. You seize when you first feel the tip slip inside you. The glass is cool but warms to your body heat quickly, too slim to feel anything.

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re even pushing this out, you must be so tight.”

“I am. Too tight,” you groan. “Please don’t tease me anymore.”

He ignores you, focusing on his work, pulling the instrument free when he’s satisfied.

“Not bad,” he says, dropping it on the desk beside you before he’s back on his knees with his nose buried in your cunt. “Bet you can do better than that.”

“No, please, I need you–”

“Then drip for me,” he laughs into your leg, tracing the wetness down the crease in your thigh. You tense your hold on the desk’s edge when you feel his tongue prod at your entrance, muscle breaching your hole to lick into you. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat that has you plummeting just as he resumes stroking your clit through the slippery coat of your arousal. 

Finally, you think, feeling the advent of tears for how wound tight you are, how desperate you are to feel him give you just one more point of contact with the ache inside.

“Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you repeat, the noises obscene as he drinks you in, other hand on your hip to hold you against his face. It’s not even the stimulation that makes you begin to come but the audible groan he releases as he feels you quake against his mouth, heels snagging on his shirt when the first wave breaks and those little tics inside you turn into powerful contractions around his tongue-tip taking everything you can give him. 

He keeps licking you even when you’re begging for him to stop, nose tracing down to catch a stray drop from the back of your knee with a playful dart of his tongue. 

“Was it worth it?” you ask, folding over him as he wipes his mouth clean in your drenched skirt. You know it’s just the start but you already feel wrung out and feather-light, wicking away the sweat that’s beaded on your own face despite the cool, dry air of the room. 

“Hmm?” he hums a bit, disentangling to stand up and hold your face in his hands. His pupils are blown, sweat beading on his temples, but he looks as satisfied as you hoped he would be, your arousal drying on his slender features.

“All the prep,” you say. “Isn’t that why–do I taste as good as you expected after all that?”

Doyoung looks down on you, amused. Already you feel like you’re heating up again, with how his dark eyes flit to your mouth and back up again. 

“You think I prefer you prepped?” he asks, angling his head down besides yours to whisper in your ear. “The next time I eat that perfect little pussy of yours I want it to be filthy.” 

He traces the lobe with his teeth for good measure, pulling another moan out of you. “I’ll even make sure to wait until the other two have a go at you, first.”

You feel your heartbeat stutter as he presses his lips to your pulse point, tongue darting past his lips to dab at the sweat there.

“No, precious, I wanted to make sure the perfume we make tonight matches all of you.” Doyoung’s nose brushes your ear as he breathes in your scent. “Every time I wear it I’m going to remember the way you sounded when you first came for me and me only.”

The promise of it has you feeling a different kind of heat, dizzying for how much you want it to last past this night. 

“Fuck,” you whisper explosively, eyes clenched shut to stay fixed upright, fisting the thin material of his collar as he pulls you from the countertop and against the hard planes of his body. “I need you. Now. Please.”

“I like hearing you say that,” he chuckles a bit. “But I’m going to make you earn it. You can wait a little longer. You made me wait years, after all.”

You let him guide you into his lap, in the chair, pushed into the desk as he opens the notebook to another page. And another, until you take over and explore it for yourself. In the dim golden light from the street outside you catch glimpses of colors and drawings, notes written of impressions and memories you’d all but forgotten in your haze of grief these past few years. 

There’s even photographs taped to some of the pages–ones you know well by the fact that they’d been taken on your camera. Doyoung didn’t have Jaehyun’s artistic training but he did have an eye for capturing candid moments.

November, your first year of college. You’re standing in the first snow of the season, catching flakes on your tongue. You can still feel the burn of them, hear the murmur of the city dulled in a fresh blanket of white and taste the roasted yam you’d eaten, tossing it in your mittened hands until it was cool enough to peel. 

Doyoung’s shoulder is off-kilter beside yours, unable to capture himself in the frame for all his long reach. The peek of the striped scarf you’d knitted for him in gray and blue is all that’s visible of him under his peacoat, the mismatched weave of it captured even in this poor exposure.

“Base note: cedarwood,” you read, carefully, eyes hazing a bit with emotion. Evergreen.

“I still have it, you know,” he murmurs against your temple. “I only stopped wearing it because it started unraveling.”

“I’d make you another but I quit knitting after making three scarves,” you say, wryly. “Well two and a half, actually, I ran out of yarn on Jungwoo’s and made him a hat instead.”

“I thought you were just trying to get him to hide that ridiculous military haircut,” Doyoung muses. “Keep going or we’ll be here all night.”

“Now you’re impatient?” you ask, cementing your flirtation by shifting in his lap. You can’t ignore the feeling of his erection folded against the curve of your ass, or the way he grunts when you find a better seat with it nestled between your thighs.

“Sometimes I forget you were put on this planet to vex me,” he says. You’re lifted up by the waist, a hand on your lower back the moment you’ve found the desk for support, face above the book. 

“Why don’t you try reading until I’m satisfied you know exactly what you’re getting?”

You don’t fight him, elbows bent as he rucks up your skirt. You feel your face grow warm with blood as you find yourself exposed to him again, locked in by his legs and his groping touch reaching up beneath your shirt. 

"Base notes: amber and–" you have to fight to keep your voice steady as he swats your exposed curves, hard enough to sting. 

"Ambergris,” he corrects, voice fried with delight.

“Ambergris,” you repeat. “And white musk."

"Good. And?"

"Bisabol–" you begin, corrected with another slap on your ass that hits, hard, glass jingling on the table.

"Did you jump ahead?" He asks, knowing full well your eyes are swimming with tears. 

"No sir," you say. “I didn’t think that was a real word.”

"Opoponax." He says, reaching over you to grab a bottle, dropping a thick oil on you and rubbing it into your bruising skin. "Also known as sweet myrrh. Go ahead. Keep reading."

"Source: distilled from resin from ancient groves in Somalia, bought in Mogadishu from a local orchard, all profits to fund schools and clinics for women displaced by civil war." 

"Do you believe this to be a charitable effort?" He asks, hand spreading over your buttocks. You think he might be referring more to your arrangement than whatever is written on the page.

"No," you say. Your history and political know-how might be lacking but you've seen the wrong side of kindness. "It sounds like what people write to make themselves feel better about exploitation."

"Clever girl," he answers. You feel his nose brush against your skin, testing the mingling of scent with it. "Keep going."

You turn the page, swallowing back your protests. This spread is rich with text and color, a veritable garden bursting from the page. You fix on the first entry in the upper corner, bracing yourself for another faux pas.

"Heart notes: Turkish rose," you say. "What is this, poetry?"

"Aren’t you familiar with it?"

You shake your head, lips pursed in delight at the scrawl of English. “No.”

You let out a gasp as he bites the flesh nearer your back, the sting of it surely leaving a mark by the way the pain lingers.  

"Read it," he says, dipping over you for another bottle. “You’ll remember.”

"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows," you dictate, stumbling over every word and yet never punished for it. Instead Doyoung lets a steady drip of the bottle fall down the back of your leg to your knee, his fingers bringing up the rest to mix what he's already poured on you.

"Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine." 

You end your recitation in a whisper, leather binding and paper gripped in your fingers as he massages the oil gently into your tingling skin, careful to avoid where your legs are locked together in arousal. You're heady with scent and sensation, awaiting some reminder that this isn't just a strange dream you’ve wandered into.

"There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, lulled in these flowers with dances and delight," he finishes for you as he paints the rest up your spine beneath your shirt. You let him ministrate on your body as the words settle, as time recedes and you face a version of your youth you’re not sure isn’t just fiction. 

That book beside you, the first time he’d spoken to, long forgotten.

“Midsummer’s Night Dream,” you say, turning to face him again, settling between his thighs as he fails to meet your gaze. You lift his face with your fingers, cheeks indented by your gentle hold. “You remembered that, too?”

“It was the first time you ever looked at me,” he says. “And it felt like you saw right through me.”

No, you’re not dreaming. You’re the architect of this moment just as much as he’ll claim to be a cursory observer if confronted on it. 

You take in his mismatched eyes–one folding a little more than the other when he smiles at you ruefully. Those freckles you’d never really spent time examining, a happy accident of the time he’d spent with you in the sun. His fingers catching yours for a moment when you weren’t paying attention.

But most of all, the haunted cast where he’d lost sleep managing someone else’s problems. When he’d still been worrying about yours.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t think I ever really saw you until now.”

“What didn’t you see?” he asks, expectantly.

Six years of his careful distance from you, that coldness and disinterest just another mask for someone who was as raw and vulnerable and real as you if you managed to pry open their shell. His tendency towards control, towards the knife’s slice of cutting you so cleanly from his life no one would know your name unless he spoke it aloud.

There wasn’t another human being in their right mind who’d last that test, your only grace being that he’d thought you were untouchable. His best friend’s girlfriend, of course. But beyond that, one of his best friends. 

No, one of his only friends.

“What didn’t you see?”

It wouldn’t require money or taste or a family name to bring Saint Kim down to earth. Just time and small acts of resistance, like the beautiful shell remnants you’d spilled into his hands on that last trip to Maui together, when it had still been the five of you. Each ground down to a small disc with a perfect spiral at its center, a reminder of the beauty remaining in broken things.

You place the notebook in his hands, curling your fingers around his. The pages it’s opened to are sparsely constructed, besides the photographs nestled between. Only you two know what’s there, buried in black sands and blue waters. You can see his handwriting falter where he’s written the notes for this moment in your shared history, sketches of those shells, and flowers.

A single photograph of you watching the others playing in the surf, his shadow cutting across the stretch of your legs.

Top notes: Jasmine for sensuality. 

Orange Blossom for innocence. 

Plumeria, for admiration. a new beginning . . .

You recognize the creamy yellow-white flower he’d tucked behind your left ear when you’d fallen asleep beside him. A non-native plant to the island, you’d learned, worn to indicate one was taken. A weed, like you, now prized as a treasure.

“What didn’t you see?”

You pull back to look at him, giving him yourself without reservation. 

“That I think you love me . . .” you say. “. . . Like I think I love you, too.” 

He looks up at you, astounded, the chair beneath him creaking as he collapses. 

For once you regret being beside him when you’d heard the same words spoken to him by other people, pulled into their lives without you ever remembering their names. The difference between you, you once believed, was that they didn’t mean it. 

Now, you understand, they just never knew the true cost of losing him. 

You watch him collect himself, running a hand back through his hair and curling into his seat, memories forgotten in his lap, bedamned. You’re sure the engines of Hell are running hot for the way he can’t even look at you right now. 

He needs a way out, you think. You’d rather be drowned in other women’s wine poured over your head than be on the receiving end of his disregard again, the script already constructed in your mind before you’d found you had the nerve to sleep with him.

"You can be honest with me,” you say. “Tell me it's been fun but you're not interested in a relationship.”

“What?” Doyoung is just as confused as when you’d told him you loved him, as honest as you’ve been in both sentiments. 

“Your family will never approve of me. I’m just another fling you happened to take a more lasting interest in. It’s better this way. Cut me off, forget about me and move on.”

It's his turn to balk. You expect his pre-programmed response. Saint Kim's gospel for turning down the interested but uninteresting party: deflect, dissuade, detach. 

“No,” he says, face draining of color.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I can handle it. Really. We can still be friends.” 

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully.

“What do you mean, no?” you ask. “Isn’t that how this always ends?”

“You stupid girl,” he says, grabbing your face in his hands so you can’t escape, making you look into his warm gaze. 

"Don’t you get it? This was always about feelings.”

When his lips crush against yours you don't have to speak to respond, catching his head so you’re not suffocated by the raw emotion you can feel in every movement. You return each kiss until the breath is out of your lungs, until you're drowning in his scent as he forces you back onto the desk.

You’re impatient to feel him, everywhere, aware you’re ripping buttons as you open his shirt to gain access to his smooth chest, trailing kisses as far down as you can go, still unable to escape his tongue sliding over yours.  

“I wasn’t going to do this here, like this, but fuck it,” he says once he’s free, fumbling with his belt as he holds you to pepper your face and neck in a steady reminder of his affection. “I need you.”

“I need you, too,” you echo wholeheartedly, helping free him out of his clothing, pulling his length to where you’re still slick with oils and cum and ready for him. God, you think you’ve never been more ready to break around him, to show him what he’s brought out of you with this game.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore,” you whisper. 

You watch his face, breath held and heart stuttering as he sinks into you slowly, both of you gasping at the way your heat resists each measure of his continuous thrust. It feels like he’s barely in you when he stops, making you moan in dismay.

“Doie, please,” you say, trying and failing to wrap your legs around his slender hips to capture him deeper. You’re half out of your mind with that burning weight inside you remaining still.

“Say it,” he says, taking off your shirt to have access to your skin. He pulls down your bra, nipples tugged between his fingers as he assaults your neck with his tongue and teeth.

“It’s special,” you choke out. “Thank you, please–”

“Say it,” he corrects, twitching inside you but not moving an inch more. He curls down to nip at your breast above the lace, sucking a mark into the softest part. “Without the ‘I think’.” 

“No,” you resist, realizing what he’s asking too late. Your nails sink into his half-bared shoulder, head rolling against his. “You don’t get to torture me for that.”

“Don’t chicken out on me now.” Doyoung laughs against your cheek, hand splaying around your hip to still your squirming. “I can do this as long as it takes.”

He thrusts, just a little more, making you cry out in desperation as the contents of the desk tinkle behind you. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You think I love you?”

“So, so close.” He pulls out, rocking into you again to feel the seize of your entire body when you anticipate just how far he’ll go before denying you. A little more, at least, and you can feel how much it’s taking for him, see the strain in his body as he holds back.

“You love me,” you tease, this time not a question, no you think. “Saint Kim loves me.”

He sheathes himself in you fully, gripping your nape to kiss you as you clench involuntarily around him, protests in the back of your throat muffled by his tongue sliding across yours. He tugs at your bottom lip when he breaks free, fully smiling now like he isn’t buried completely in your cunt just warming himself instead of chasing his own bliss.

“What did you call me?” he asks, leaning over you to retrieve something. 

You take advantage of his distraction to snake a hand between you, slipping beneath your skirt before it’s grabbed, tight, and brought up to his lips. 

“Don’t cheat,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the cap of a bottle. 

“You never heard anyone call you that?” you murmur, opening it. 

You smell spring flowers and delicate citrus before it’s taken away, set aside when you nibble and suck at his sensitive ear to make him twitch, hands drifting across his ticklish belly down to his hipbones. He reads your intent again, stopping whatever silly task he’s doing beside you to lift your wrists to his shoulders. 

“The name is a little ironic, isn’t it?” you say, squeezing him experimentally with your thighs as you stroke his nape with your nails. You flex other muscles too–earning the grunt he makes as he feels you squeeze around his girth. 

He angles your head, pressing something wet and soft to where your pulse flutters in your neck. You’re immediately permeated with a light, airy, sweetness, the different scents revealed like a melody that ends in that richer, warmer scent from earlier. 

“Is that my perfume?” you ask. 

“An anointment,” he says, blowing across your skin to dry it and sending a shiver down your spine to where your bodies are locked together, that fullness and muted pleasure of him radiating down to your toes.

“I do seem to have a demon inside of me,” you sigh into his neck as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do they do that in exorcisms?”

“Blessings,” he corrects, adjusting with another grunt. “We’ll find out if it worked in about an hour.”

“An hour?” you grumble. “You think you can keep torturing me that long?”

“I think I gave you the key to your own cage,” he says, checking his watch. “About five minutes ago. Does it feel like longer?”

You mumble something into his rumpled collar, making him laugh beneath you. Even just that tiny movement has you involuntarily gripping him, abdomen clenched. 

“What’s that?”

“I’llsayitifyoumakemecome,” you repeat, embarrassed enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck again. 

“You think this is a negotiation, Y/N?” Doyoung’s hands are back on your breasts, thumbing the areola in slow circles that are very much a reminder of his touch earlier on your throbbing clit. You whimper, trying to stay still so he doesn’t figure out that if he continues to do that you might have a chance–

“You trying to make me come squeezing me like that?” he asks, breath ragged. “That seems like a quick way to end this.”

“You . . . you could just fuck me,” you wheeze, feeling the way he teases your pebbled, hard nipple with lighter brushes, his mouth quirked where it’s pressed to your forehead. 

“What if I want to make love to you, instead?” he asks. He inhales sharply at your body’s response. 

“Fuck, you liked me saying that, didn’t you?”

You nod, unable to speak, holding onto him in desperation as the combination of his words and soft strokes make you melt into the pleasure of every small motion of him inside you. You realize he’s unconsciously pushing into you, too, unable to keep his hips from pressing into yours. 

Overstimulation is making you hyperaware of the scratch of his unzipped jeans against your burning thighs, the random brush of his open belt against your belly. Time seems to disappear as he holds you quietly, letting you soak up the fragrant, radiating warm reality of him.

“I can wait all night for it,” he threatens, even just his lower register making you quiver a little around him. “Count every time you twitch and moan on me until you break.”

You’d felt him flag a little while he worked but now he’s fuller inside you, stretching you wide as he twitches to life. It’s even hotter than all of this build-up, you think, knowing he can act a menace but that the idea of you surrendering to him is what’s really getting him off.

Of course, you think, mentally steeling yourself like you’re preparing for war. In a way this is something like it, up against as formidable a foe as he is. 

“Doie,” you whisper, threading your hands in his hair as you nuzzle for his lips, kissing him softly and intimately, like it’s your first time. “When did you know?”

“What?” He goes a little rigid against you, unable to hide his rapid heartbeat with how close you’re pressed to him. You blink up at him, expectantly. 

“When did you first know you loved me? Really?”

He smiles, shyly, but you see the hint of anxiety on his features beneath his arousal. There it is, you think, having to hide your own satisfaction. 

“Is this a trick question?” he asks, warily, eyelashes half-lowered.

“Not if I know the answer,” you say, smoothing his kiss-swollen lips with a touch. “I don’t think it’s in that book, either.”

“Really?” He’s intrigued, a tentative rock of his hips against you making you dizzy. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, just as playful. 

“I’ll tell you later,” you say. “After.”

He sighs explosively, nose wrinkling. “You don’t know.”

“Want to bet?” you ask. It’s always a little thrilling seeing Doyoung presented with an opportunity he can’t resist. He fumbles for the notebook beside you, almost slipping out of you when he has to reach even farther for a pen.

“Write it down,” he says, smug as a cat who’s caught something small and easily toyed with. 

“Only if you do, too,” you say.

His answer is a pained sound of agreement, adjusting himself against the desk. 

“No peeking,” you say, flipping to a page in the back. 

“Wait,” he says, grabbing the book before the nib of the nice pen touches the creamy paper. “What are the terms?”

You ponder for a moment, feeling a grin slide onto your lips. “Doesn’t our perfume need a name? Whoever is right, gets to name it.”

You can practically taste his delight as he leans in to kiss you, forcing you to pull your page closer to you. You make him wait, filling the blank space as best you can with detail as he fidgets between your legs, sending small shocks of pleasure through you both. 

“Thank you,” he says in earnest once you’ve handed him it open to a new leaf, his hand and the notebook shaking a little as he tries to write mid-air, finally resting it awkwardly atop your head in order to scrawl out his own answer.

“My eyes are closed, Kim Doyoung.” 

“You’re a cheat,” he says, shushing you with an added thrust of his hips. 

You settle back on your elbows, already enjoying your victory as you feel the tiny pressure of his handwriting, hear the scratches of his sketch. You're more emboldened than ever when the leather binding snaps shut.

“Now tell me,” you say, looking up at him coyly. 

“Can’t I just show you–”

You snatch the book from him, turning to your entry. Then, to his horror, you rip your page free and fold it shut, tucking it into the pocket of his open shirt.

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “You had 24 hours, right? I’ll give you my answer tomorrow morning.”

Doyoung looks as if he’s tasted something sour. “You won’t tell me.”

“I’ll tell you that you won,” you say, looking down at his page. You trace the fresh ink with care, admiring his tight script and explanation. “February to April? How could I have guessed an entire season?” 

“Did you at least guess the year?” he asks, looking a little better for your affirmation of his win. 

You nod, finally feeling the discomfort of your position and resting your head against his warm chest. There’s nothing awkward about being wrapped around him like this, the late hour and strange, still space making it easier to forget the world outside.

“Hard to forget,” you say. “I thought for sure I’d never see you again after that winter holiday.”

Another break with Johnny, of course–but this one had been your choice. You’d finally felt the crushing weight of two years of contempt from the people around him, the Suh family matriarch at the center of it all, doing everything in her power to crush not only you but the people you loved. 

And then, when you’d needed him the most, Kim Doyoung had walked away from you, too. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you, either,” he sighs. “It was the first time in a long time you weren’t with us. With me. And it was my fault for pushing you away when you were just trying to–”

“It’s in the past now,” you cut him short with a finger pressed to his lips. 

The memory is painful, still–and you don’t want to sully this moment with it. You appreciate that even in his roundabout admission there’s a clear understanding for all you’d been through. You’d hoped he remembered that time from the past, when you’d first peered between the cracks in his carefully-manufactured facade.

Now you could be sure of what it meant to him. You feel like your own walls are crumbling, the light shining through. 

“So you chose the period of time when we didn’t speak to one another, at all?” you muse. “Not just one day?”

“You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he says. “You were on my mind every minute and every hour of those three and a half months.”

He pauses, sigh warm against your brow. “I couldn’t tell you when I knew, for sure. I certainly couldn’t admit it, then, even to myself. But sometime then, I realized I cared more about you than a friend.”

You’d never doubted he was capable of it, never doubted it might be true. But hearing him admit it, now you know why he wants to hear it from you, too.

“Say it,” you say.

He finally looks at you again, tired but alight with amusement.

“You first,” he says.

“Who knew three simple words would be so difficult for Saint Kim?” you tease him.

“Alright. Come here,” he motions, slipping out of you with a shared groan. He pulls you to a couch under the shuttered window, settling down and forcing you to straddle him. In this position he can’t stop you from immediately taking all of him, his eyelids fluttering when you bottom out.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not going to last,” you laugh, delighted by the way his nose scrunches when you clench around him. 

“Says the girl who’s sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He grabs on to your hips to roll them against his own, fingers tightening when you wriggle against him. “You’re gonna say it first even if I have to fuck it out of you.”

“Whoever comes first, then?” you offer.

“I can live with that,” he sighs, head resting back on the couch. 

You rock on your knees slowly, satisfaction warming you throughout as you force him all the way inside you. You let him hear how he makes you feel, pleading sounds and whispers every time he hits that place in your upper walls, curved inside of you perfectly. It doesn’t matter if you're in control you can’t help but hunt down that lovely rush of pleasure in your belly, twining your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself. 

“Good girl,” Doyoung praises, watching you in awe through half-lidded eyes. “You’re so beautiful. I always wanted to know what it would look like when you lost yourself with me.”

His words make you shiver, brushing his lips until he holds you against his mouth to show you how he likes it, less exploratory and more confident. It’s maddening how good he is at this, making you feel every single sweep of his tongue across yours, hand on your neck keeping you from escaping. 

“Don’t you want to–” you protest as he helps you to lay flat on your back across the length of the wide loveseat, settling between your thighs. 

“Oh god, Doie,” you whimper when he takes over, finally, finally, beginning to fuck you. It’s just as slow but at least he penetrates you fully before pulling out almost all the way, shoulders quaking as he holds himself up. 

“Promise me you'll let me dote on you for the rest of your life,” he says, not waiting for your response before driving into you again. His movements are barely controlled, grunts escaping the back of his throat when his hips snap into yours again.  

“I promise,” you hold onto him, back arching off the cushion to meet him, blissed out in the relief of each, careful stroke against your fluttering walls. That crescendo is happening whether you want it to or not, every overworked knot of muscle threatening to snap loose. 

“Promise me that no matter who you fuck you’ll always let me treat you right,” he says, voice breaking. “You’ll let me show you how I feel even when I can’t say it.”

“Yes, Doie. Yes.” You pull down on his shoulders, trying to move for you both, kissing his jaw and throat.

“Stop fighting me and take it,” he says, moving more easily with the thick coat of your cum, establishing a gentle rhythm. 

His voice has always made it hard for you to pay attention to anything else but he abuses that power now, murmuring guidance into your neck that has you tightening around him as he fucks you deep and slow. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well. Take all of me.”

You feel shivers up and down your body, nipples hardening tight as they brush against his chest, his hair tickling your forehead as he blindly kisses and licks at your mouth and chin. 

You’d thought he’d be concentrating on something else in his head to keep from losing himself but instead it’s you who's floating, breath captured in your lungs when he adjusts on top of you to pin your hips down, pressing your leg wide to bury himself to the hilt.

“You feel so perfect. I could really do this all night, you know,” he smirks down at you from where he’s supported on his elbow. “Is that what you want?”

“No, fuck, please,” you whine. There’s no thoughts in your head besides just how much you want that ache inside of your cunt to melt into real pleasure. 

“You want me to stop?” he asks, feeling how you begin to pulse around him as he swirls his hips up into that most sensitive part of you, his flat belly grinding into your clit. You gasp, leg locking around his, helping him work you apart.

“No no no,” you beg, face hot. “Just . . . just kiss me through it, please.”

Doyoung’s smile grows wider. “Say what you already told me.”

You twist your head against the cushion, earning his hand on your jaw as he makes you look at him while you break, kissing you between panting breaths. His confidence is written in the cocksure grin remaining on his mouth, more cruel when he bites at your bottom lip, hard, before licking the pain away. 

“Say it,” he breathes, slowing down on purpose. 

“I . . . ah,” you cry out, “I love . . . please don’t stop.” 

“What’s that?” he asks, pace punishingly slow. Your legs lose feeling, vibrations starting in the back of your thighs and tremoring down to your feet. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you repeat, nearly tipping off the edge, “I’m coming, I’m finally–”

He slows down right as you hit that crest, making you cry out in frustration. 

“Doie, I’ll kill you–”

“Say it,” he says into your lips, pulling out–too far–

“Iloveyou,” you exhale, seizing around him in time to your wildly beating heart.

“Louder.” He slams into you again, merciless.

“I love you, you stupid bastard,” you say, hanging on to his shoulders. “I love you!”

“Good enough,” he says, drilling into you until he can feel you break, orgasm sustained through the painful pressure of him losing himself in your throbbing heat, finding your mouth again, finally, to silence the repeated mantra on your tongue.

You kiss him fiercely, unloading everything words aren’t enough for, legs tied around his waist to keep him locked inside you until he’s fighting back, fucking you so hard the sound of it fills the quiet room. 

“I love you,” you repeat a final time for him, just to watch the way it makes him break, jaw slackening when he loses control, finally. 

He stutters into his own orgasm, teeth scraping against your locked lips, forehead pressed into yours as he empties inside you for what feels like forever, finally collapsing on top of you with a whimper when his arms give out and he’s as limp as his cock inside you. 

You scrape your nails across his scalp, soothing him. You don’t mind his weight, or the way you’re still pressed together with sweat and your combined spend. 

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he rasps, eyes dazed as he looks up at you. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head tightly. “Not for me, at least.”

“You’re not mad?” 

You know he means his inability to say the magic words but you crack a smile, just as pleased with yourself. 

“About the bet?” you ask. “No.”

Oh, it’s delicious seeing realization dawn on his face, little glimmers of surprise and horror bubbling up from his afterglow. 

“Fuck,” he says. You’re grateful he doesn’t deny it, rolling to the side in defeat. 

“Who told you? ‘Woo?”

You laugh softly, rolling over to pin him down with your leg, trapping him against the back of the couch. 

“You did, right now,” you say, relishing having him where you want him. “I had a hunch. And I know you, you’d never beg for someone to say something during sex–”

“I didn’t beg,” he corrects, grimacing.

“What was it? The first one to get me to say it? Bonus points if it’s on your cock?”

“Ah, well,” he says, perking up despite the fist pressed to his forehead in embarrassment. “Then you don’t know.”

“I’ll find out soon enough, Jaehyun wouldn’t–”

“You’re really not mad?” he asks, painfully reticent as you pull his hand away from his face and twine your fingers together.

“Not if it means I can use it as leverage,” you say, kissing his knuckles.

That doesn’t seem to surprise him, at all. 

“Good girl,” he says. “What do you want?”

A few years ago, give or take 

You’re a little too happy, an awful fact considering how much he'd missed seeing you this way.

Lately you’ve been sleepwalking through your life, all those tiny fractures and bruises finally having the time to mend–but healing is a painful process in itself. Doyoung had returned from his family’s formal Chuseok gathering in Singapore, eager to check in on you after receiving sparing responses from you via text.

You didn’t have a friend he could check in with instead any longer–not after that one girl had fled the country, the other ghosting you after their father was mysteriously laid off from a company he well knew did business with Suh International. 

He’s worried about you long before that, terrified that one last straw would break you even if by all indications you were strong enough to take it. After you’d had Johnny arrested and solicited a no-contact order you’d cut your ex off completely, moving to a tiny apartment far from where you’d grown up, changing your number. 

Only Jungwoo knew about it, and it was he who’d reluctantly offered your whereabouts to him after a few glasses of whiskey in their usual club. 

“She asked me to keep her info on lockdown. Got that hacker kid, what’s his name–Haechan? Wiped her socials off the map, so he can’t find her. He did good but you know Suh.”

Doyoung nods. They hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, probably because the idiot was combing through every civic office and apartment building in the city. Hell, he’d probably driven around until he found her by sight alone, knowing that animal wouldn’t rest until he knew her whereabouts, as stubborn about chasing her down as he was about refusing the F4’s help. 

“His mother called me to ask if the place he bought in cash was for her,” Doyoung says, knocking back his drink as he receives a text, heart sinking that it's not you. “Did you help him buy it for her?”

Jungwoo sighs. “No. I just got her rent halved with some coercion, you know? But then he goes and buys a unit in the same building with whatever stash he thought the Old Tiger didn’t know about.” 

The Devil Kim leans back, long legs akimbo as he gestures towards the server for a refill. “He’s waiting for her to go back to Chicago before he moves in. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I did not,” Doyoung affirms, turning away from the group of women at the bar sending looks towards their private table. “Let’s plan for when Madam Suh leaves. I can have her pull him into the London offices, considering he’s failing his courses.”

“Stone cold,” Jungwoo says, smirking. “Glad I’m not on your shit list.”

“Just don’t fuck with her,” Doyoung says. “Or fuck her.”

Jungwoo laughs into his glass. “Even I’m not that stupid.”

He’d thought he wasn’t, either. 

Not until you’d called a few days later, your speech a little slurred. He couldn’t have told you if what he was doing was important even if he was in a meeting, showing up to find you picking at a bowl of bar snacks in what he thought might be one of the nicer bars in your shitty part of town. Not as shitty as your old neighborhood, but it wasn’t a competition.

“Saint Kim,” you’d heralded him, raising an empty glass still smelling of watermelon and hibiscus. 

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone, here,” he’d said. 

You were dressed in one of your few nice outfits, a little on the revealing side for his tastes, but those had been Johnny’s you’d conformed to–animal print and thin straps, tastefully tasteless.

“I wasn’t,” you say, hiccuping. “Alone.”

For the first time in a long time fear spikes his blood pressure into overgear. Were you drugged? Was he going to have to fend off another predator who'd found you vulnerable?

You deserved the chance to move on but there was a real threat in what would happen to anyone who approached you without their permission. Johnny’s, yes, always, but the F4 had also agreed to look out for you well before your last incident at a club. 

“Who?”

“She left,” you say. He feels instant relief, reaching out to adjust the thin coverup slipping off your bare shoulder. 

“You make a new friend?”

You shake your head. “She’s nice. Met her in one of the ikebana classes work is paying for. Thought we were hitting it off but I must have said something dumb because she ran out of here, fast.”

You look up at him cautiously, too inebriated to realize he can recognize a set-up before it begins.

“You didn’t just talk about your ex, did you?” he asks, settling beside you at the bar. He orders something less ridiculous than whatever you'd been drinking, while you scroll through an Instagram feed, finger trembling over the screen. 

You look up at him, color-stained lips curving in an easy smile. “You want to see what we’re working on?”

Doyoung finds himself looking through a grid that is immediately obvious is not yours. His mouth goes dry, seeing rows of beautifully-staged floral centerpieces, the backgrounds as familiar as the back of his hand. You don’t seem to notice, going to the user’s story and tapping in vain to find the picture she’d posted.

“She deleted it already. Huh. Well, she texted me the picture–”

“Stop.” Doyoung places his hand over yours, his palm damp from the immediate flood of adrenaline. 

“So you do know Mona,” you say. You look up at him, expectantly, eyes glassy with the brand of hopefulness and naked curiosity he’s seen you charm everyone else around you with before. 

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Doyoung pulls cash from his pocket, not caring how much he puts down except that he’s sure it’s enough to cover the amount he’d like to drown himself in right now. Enough to go blind and burn out the phantom of that face he’d put behind him years ago. 

“Put your coat on,” he says. “I’m driving you home.”

“But I’m not–”

“Now,” Doyoung says, grabbing your wrist. He’s barely ever touched you in the years that you’ve been friends, and it sickens him when he feels you freeze in fear and confusion, that trauma response buried so deeply it's in your bones.

He wants to be kind, he wants to be patient with you. He just doesn’t have it in him to be anything to you right now.

“What’s wrong, Do–?”

“We’re leaving,” he says, dragging you out into the bitter cold evening, the streets slick with sleet, your heels catching on the pavement as you stumble in his wake.

“Stop,” you yell at his back, trying to yank your arm free from where he’s bruising your skin with whitened knuckles. “You’re hurting me–”

“You’ll live,” he says, pulling you to where he’s parked his car, the engine roaring to life the moment you manage to close your door. He can barely look at you, realizing too late that your crestfallen expression is making him more upset than the lightning strike of seeing her name again.

“You didn’t ask my address,” you say, quietly, met with his silence as he drives much more dangerously than the weather permits. He's forced to speak with you once he's slammed the brakes at an intersection, red light shading you through the windshield.

“Tell me one thing,” he says. “Did you try to set us up by having me come there?”

You’re petulantly silent now, an answer in itself.

“Answer me,” he orders, hands gripping the wheel.

“I thought you’d want to–”

“Do you think we have the kind of relationship where you can just do whatever you want and get away with it?” Doyoung’s voice is calm but he sees you flinch at his words and tone, your shoulders moving under your jacket as you begin to quietly cry. 

It drives him deeper into anger, hitting the gas with a roar of the engine the instant the light turns green. 

“You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself for this one, Y/N,” he says, already regretting every word tumbling out of his mouth. “You fucked up.”

“I just thought you could both have some closure after that–”

The car jerks as he brakes in the side lane of the service road, cars roaring past them honking their horns. Your sobs are barely audible over the idling engine and the blink of the hazards he turns on while he tries to find calm, your face turned away from him. 

“You thought that interfering in other people’s personal lives would make you feel better,” he says. “No wonder you don’t have any real friends.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see your full body shakes still, can feel as that armor encasement you’d put together piece-by-piece over years of dealing with loveless reality falls back into place. And, years later–no, even hours later–he’ll remember how at the time he was stupid enough to think it was the right thing to say. 

You needed a reality check, he’d thought. A reminder that all the wishes and hopes in the world wouldn’t change the bleak architecture of it, uncaring by design and much easier to navigate without them. That moving on was the only path to this idiot’s dream of closure, something you knew nothing about for how often you’d let them pull you back into their world, blinded by sunk-cost and loneliness. 

All the things he wished he believed for himself, but without the benefit of your optimism.

“Fuck you, Kim Doyoung,” you say, opening the car door and slamming it shut without so much as a glance behind you. He’d waited to make sure you reached the nearest bus stop before driving off, calling Jungwoo to let him know you were here–crying in the cold. 

He'd seen you in passing.

His best friend knew a lie when he’d heard it, most especially from him. 

He wouldn't hear from you again until spring.

Kim Doyoung can’t sleep. 

He’s not allowed to. 

He can’t move either, arm going numb beneath your curled body, your breathing finally easing for the dozenth time since his trial began. You have horrible sleep habits–kicking off the covers, stealing the pillows–but tonight you’ve passed out with that same bone-deep tiredness he’d felt earlier, face beatific in the slivers of light piercing through the slatted shades. 

It’s close to dawn, he thinks, the cacophony of insects and birds outside transitioning from a quiet chorus to a full orchestral suite. Soon it will be too loud to sleep deeply. 

“Y/N?” he whispers, tentatively, not daring to move.

You don’t respond, relief rushing through him. It’s not that he’s desperate to join you in slumber but that he’s waited for you to finally surrender to REM. He needed you down. 

And you needed it, too. 

He’d negotiated with Jaehyun when you’d been in the shower, earlier, sacrificing precious moments of shared time exploring your skin and the new taste of you under the water to supplicate himself to his best friend and worst enemy in this moment.

“It’s a charter,” Jaehyun said, blinking sleep from his eyes but awake enough to be angry. “You’re not finding another one short term.”

“I emailed you the tickets. Cattle car but first class, at least,” he says. “Jungwoo agreed to give you his day, he doesn’t want to take her out until after dark, anyway. You can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Jaehyun had slammed the door shut in his face, but he hadn’t missed the budding smile on his friend’s face. At least one person was rooting for him.

That’s how he’d earned another morning with you. As always, making up for lost time.

You’re half out of the covers, one leg sprawled over the duvet as you sleep. You’d put on one of his softer button-downs, inhaling the smell of it after he tried to steal it back. 

“Please let me wear you,” you said. “I want to dream about you.”

Being around you like this is more comfortable than he imagined, as if you’re being slotted into a position he didn’t even know there was an existing space for. He’s woken up to women in his bed but you’re the first who’s ever asked him for this, particular experience.

“I used to have this fantasy, you know, whenever we crashed at your apartment.” He’d watched you go sheepish recalling, dates omitted for a reason. “Sometimes I’d lie there and touch myself thinking about you crawling into that guest bed–maybe a little drunk or you’d forget which room. Or maybe, you just wanted me to think that. I’d be awake but I’d pretend to be asleep while you . . . used me.” 

He experiments by tracing his fingertips up your bare leg, the peek of your lace underwear beneath the hem of his shirt maddening for how it curves into the crest of your ass, presented for him. A treat dangled before him, the command to partake only that you wanted him to make it slow–you wanted to wake to it.

He sucks a breath in, erection in his sweatpants hard against the band already from just watching his sleeping beauty. He finds every mark on your leg, every fine hair, thanking Heaven above you aren’t overly sensitive or ticklish like he is when his hand slips beneath his shirt to your belly. 

He slots himself against you, carefully, as if adjusting in his sleep. He has to wait for your breathing to even out again, slipping his free hand up to your breasts. 

“Used you? Did you not get off in this scenario?”

“I mean, yes. But it’s mostly about you. You wouldn’t say anything at all, you’d just fuck me full of your cum and then you’d leave me leaking it on your sheets and go back to your room. Or sometimes I’d crawl in your bed, if you were alone, and you’d cover my mouth so the others couldn’t hear it. And the next day it would be like nothing happened, you wouldn’t even bother to ask how I’d slept.” 

He loved how much of a slut you were, when you felt comfortable enough to share that side with someone. Johnny had certainly never appreciated the subtleties of your nature–too blinded by adoration to even consider degrading you on purpose. 

No, Doyoung had known for awhile you pushed the boundaries with him to see if he’d break.

Your nipples harden even though he’s barely handling them, discovering what shape your breasts make in repose as he tries desperately not to rut into the swell of your ass. Warming himself in you earlier had been one of the hardest challenges he’d faced but it had been worth it to learn you inside and out, to know how to make you grip his cock with that delicious little cunt of yours with just a kiss or a word that pleased you.  

You don’t wake but he knows he’s gotten through to that little lizard brain of yours when your legs rub together unconsciously, pushing back into him so his cock is settled between your buttocks. The friction from the lace is like the proverbial pea under a mattress–rubbing against his cock through the layers, catching on the veins and scraping the underside of his cockhead. 

It’s already a nice ache, one he ignores as he adjusts to better continue plucking and teasing at your body beneath your shirt, until you’re used to his touch enough to truly fall back under, once more.

You're so vulnerable, completely at his mercy as he brings his hand down to test the patch of moisture growing in the fabric, that lace sticky with your dreams of him. 

Use you, he thinks. You have no idea what he wants. 

Doyoung can play with the fantasy of you crawling into your boyfriend’s best friend’s bed while he’s passed out in the other room, determined to be punished for waking a sleeping monster . . . but it’s not what he's fantasizing about now. 

He takes time in stroking you, a single finger digging in between your lips through the fabric, listening intently for your breathing to change. You sigh, one of those full exhales one does in their deep sleep, but you arc back a little, into his touch, leg falling forward crooked so you’re a little more spread. 

Doyoung wishes he could move down there and use his nose to push you apart instead of his hand but that’s not your fantasy–not this time. You didn’t want him to spoil you anymore, completely underestimating his love for it. True, he didn’t often eat other girls out, too personal or just too much of a chore to figure out what they liked, but you weren’t ever going to be with him and not come from that first. 

Just the thought of tying you up so he can spend hours fucking you on his tongue is making his cock pulse, too hard to be ignored. He quietly pulls down the drawstring of his sleepwear, freeing himself so he can replace his finger with the much wider tip of his cock, biting back a groan as he rubs into that damp, soft lace he’d known would suit you the moment he’d touched it in the display box brought to his private buying room. 

You'd never know he’d already fucked himself with it before ever giving it to you, that errant fantasy of touching you finally realized as you whimper a little in your sleep at the soft push of him between your legs. He finds where your clit is getting just as swollen as the rest of you, bouncing against warmth and the promise of unspooling that need with his help, again.

Just his precious little cocksleeve, spoiled and worshiped, showing your gratitude by begging for it even when you’re unconscious. He tests the waters of the scenario by slowly pulling the seat of your underwear to the side, easing in between the fabric and your folds. 

You twitch against him, sheets rustling. He holds still, cock jumping and balls tightening with a little anxiety. 

He only has this one chance. 

Outside in the dark and quiet of the house sleeps the man everyone knows you’re really with, the one who doesn’t have to fight for an I love you to pass your lips. You’d never understood what it felt like watching you climb into Jaehyun’s lap whenever the whim took you, pretending you didn’t know what it did to him or the other two of them watching you.

Your breathing is shallow and your hand flexes a bit, against the pillow, but that’s it. Within a minute he’s grown more confident that you’re still asleep.

He reaches over you, pressing the pads of two fingers against the front of your underwear while he slips a little deeper between your legs, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the contrast between the satiny slide of you and the rougher cling of your panties. It’s a relief as he loses himself to it, rutting from the back while he applies constant pressure to your bud.

“Mmm.” You make a soft noise, but he doesn’t pull free, choosing instead to keep a hypnotizingly steady pace fucking against you. Your hips twitch against him, seeking out more contact, but he doesn’t rush–pressing his head against the back of yours and melding with you in the softness of the pillows and sheets. 

You’re so wet you’re soaking his pants, everything he collects tickling down to his balls pressed into your ass. He’s going to stuff your mouth with his fingers, when you finally open it, make you gag on them while he fills you full from behind. 

You moan now, voice syrupy with sleep. He doesn’t care if you’re still down, not with you gently pushing back, trying to get release.  

Not yet, you little harlot, he thinks, hips going still again. He’s burning at the wait, your cunt continuing to glide against him as you act out whatever is going on in your dreams, the movement making him insane for how closely it adheres to his desire to have taken you back when you were innocent, his little virgin weed learning what her body wanted, seeking it out in his bed.

“Treat me like one of the girls you don’t really like. Use me.”

Such an unending fantasy of yours that he never wanted you, almost sweet for how dumb you are–or just willfully ignorant. He’s always liked the second one better–your little game played out that you were one of them. Dressed in that school uniform, kicking your skinned knees, sucking on a piece of candy while four college-age idiots hid their bathing-suited boners under their robes, fighting or fucking around in front of you so you could keep up that precious little illusion of immunity. 

“Johnny,” you murmur in your sleep. 

It should make his blood run cold but as with all twisted-up and tangled desires it only makes him feel ignited, pulse pounding in his head. You’re still asleep and thinking of someone else, someone not even in this house, the guilt of it passing over him faster than a cloud on a breezy day. 

He rocks back into you, this time pulling out enough that he can find your soft hole, already tight again–the only part of your body not relaxed as he forces his way past the flutter of your opening, cockhead sensitive enough to sense the more textured g-spot where he knows you’ll come fast and easy if he fucks into it. 

“Shh,” he says, finally trailing his mouth against your jaw, pushing into you softly. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“Mmhmm,”  you reply, nuzzling into the pillow, curling into him. He pushes a knee between your legs, folding you into the bed beneath him as he begins to fuck you, finally taking you for himself and himself alone. 

You’re so warm inside, body adjusting to take him easily for how boneless you are, kitten-like mewls muffled by the pillow. It turns him on hearing the edge of pain there, the way you struggle when he pulls your underwear up so tight it sticks between your folds, clit rubbing against it the way he’d stroked himself to completion with it tied tight around his cock.

“Stay quiet or I’ll stuff your mouth full instead,” he whispers against your shoulder, feeling as always a little stupid but losing that internal cringe when you choke on a moan.

“Is that what my little slut was dreaming about? Gagging to tears on another man’s cock?”

He feels you tense at a bit at the suggestion, letting him use you in spite of the rougher handling. 

“That’s right. You said another man’s name in your sleep. Do you think that's acceptable?”

You shake your head, whimpering. 

“Such a whore you can't keep track of who's dick is inside of you. Tell me, who's fucking you right now?” 

“Doie,” you say, music to his ears. He'd always hated the nickname until you started using it. You were the only one–you were always the only one who made his chest burn with unsated desire when you said his name.

“Who owns this tight little pussy?” 

“You do,” you gasp out. 

“Are you going to forget me? Maybe I need to fuck you so hard you only think of me when you spread your legs for another man.” 

Doyoung feels electric at how easily you begin to crumble with just a few words, squeezing his dick so tight when he says something you like, even more when he makes it hurt. 

“Sleepy baby going to let me stuff every one of your holes until I’ve had enough? Use you like my own little doll?”

You nod, no longer capable of speaking except in a plaintive moan when he leaves you to shuck off his pants and pull down your ruined panties, pillow pulled beneath your belly to force your ass up. In this position he can drill into you deeper, burying you into the mattress with each thrust. 

“That’s what you get for crawling in here,” he says, fingers digging bruises into your hips to hold you down. “Keep your mouth shut and take it.”

The pleading, almost scared noises you're making have him hard and pulsing, two steps away from coming himself but in no hurry to. He pulls your hair to bring your head back, shoving his fingers in your mouth. 

“You like that?” Your cunt can't hide it, sucking him in. “Get them wet for me.” 

You drool over his knuckles, gagging as he fucks your mouth with them in an awkward rhythm to his merciless rutting. He spits into his hand when he's satisfied, fingers swirling around the tight rim of your ass so quickly it makes you buck. 

“Don't scream,” he murmurs, giving you two fingers at once. You make a noise through the pillow you're biting, gripping him tight. He's gentler with this, slowing, letting you adjust to take him.

“This is my favorite, right here,” he groans. “Feeling my cock inside you with my fingers. I'd fuck this tight little ass again but I want to feel you come like this.” 

He begins to stroke you harder, deeper, wet and sticky when his balls slap against your abused cunt. He keeps his fingers buried in you, scissoring you open as you take it.

“Come for me, Y/N, grip me good so I can fill that pretty mouth of yours.” 

It's a beautiful feeling when you begin to throb, contractions in your ring of muscle letting him know when you hit your peak. He fights the tingling in his balls, the urge to come with you painful for how long he's been holding it back. 

He talks you through it, instead.

“Such a good little hole,” he says. “You're coming so hard, baby, can feel it so well.” 

You moan, loud, as you break, loosening almost immediately, flooding him with sweet, hot warmth. He makes sure the last of those tics is gone before pulling out.

“Roll over,” he says, straddling you with a hand on the headboard, delighted by the sight of your flushed face and starry eyes. You already know what to do, tongue lolling and uvula exposed as he guides himself into your mouth, soft tongue swirling around his tip. 

God help him he's been thinking about this since yesterday, pushing deep enough to gag but not choke, fucking your mouth and the hot tightness of your throat when he hits it. It’s the sight more than anything that drives him to spill hot white ropes of cum into your mouth, pulling out to milk the last few splashes on your parted lips and delighting at the sight of you licking them with your spend-covered tongue.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, dropping down and kissing you, finally, tongues stroking each other until you finally pull free to breathe, blinking up sleepily at him. 

“You do taste different,” you tease.

“I taste like you,” he says, pressing soft kisses all over your face. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

“Did you like that?” you murmur. 

“I loved–” he pauses, watching the smile spread on your wet lips. 

“I love you, you know,” he finishes. You reach around his neck, comforting him out of instinct, but he doesn’t need it. 

“I love you,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue now that they've flown out so easily, the tightness in his chest easing as you rise up to kiss him. 

“It's beautiful to hear you say it,” you say. “But you're right, I know.”

“I think I even know the exact time and date,” you say, reaching between you into the pocket of your shirt to pull out that torn and folded art paper scrawled with your words and an amateurish sketch.

Tomorrow morning . . .

[Unknown number] [Tomorrow morning April 13th dawn is at 6:17] [I have something to show you. Meet me on the roof of the East Wind Hotel]

Doyoung looks at the text message again, hand hanging over the railing of a dance floor, conversation with the woman by his side forgotten. With the blur of a late night and a trip to a different hotel room, with a different woman, he'd almost missed it.

Probably one of the innumerable flings he's had, Jungwoo recruiting him to get every last lick of enjoyment out of Seoul before he enlisted. His friend snatches the phone from his hand.

“No business,” Jungwoo slurs, eyes bloodshot as he focuses on the text. “I thought you weren't working hospitality anymore.” 

“It's not . . .” There's something nagging at him, like a bird pecking at his skull in time to the drone of the EM, the buzz of conversation. A sense of deja vu so strong he's forced to cycle on it. 

“Pfft. I know you don't bring girls back to your kingdom,” Jungwoo says. “Stop working and party.”

Doyoung doesn't know why he feels compelled to see the cryptic message through, doesn't know why he races across town at 5 am, reeking of whiskey and another woman’s perfume, doing his best to sober up as the designated driver talks about the change in weather, the cherry blossoms in full bloom outside the window.

The morning commute is already surging and the destination central to the city so by the time he makes it he's out of breath from running two blocks away from a jam, head pounding.

“ . . . restricted for non-guests,” someone is saying, voice recognizable as an intern he knows from his leadership program, still stuck on night front desk duty. 

“I just need a few minutes, please. I need to take a picture–” He'd recognize that voice in a hundred years if he hadn't heard it, not just a hundred days.

“What's going on here?” 

You freeze, shoulders stiffening as you turn to face him. Not much has changed–a new haircut, same ratty old sneakers–but you look different. No longer a ghost, but just as untouchable for the skittish way you hold when he approaches, only the barest relief on your beautiful features.

You don't smile, don't even say hello.

You're scared of him, again, just that thought making him spiral.

“You came,” you say, exhaling. “We need to hurry. We need to get to the roof.”

Doyoung turns to the staff. “Is the roof access still shut down?”

“Stair access only, sir.” 

Your eyes go wide at the interchange, something like embarrassment passing over your features as you begin to laugh. 

“Of course this is your hotel,” you state, smacking yourself on the forehead. “Of course, why didn't I think to check that. God, I'm an idiot.” 

“We didn’t change the name when we acquired the chain so it would be unlikely for you to have guessed that,” he says. “What are you doing here?” 

“There's no time and it's easier just to show you. We need to get to the roof, now,” you say, grabbing his wrist and tugging on it towards the stairs. 

“Y/N,” he says, holding you fixed and pointing at the elevator. “We can take it up as far as we need to.” 

You're still laughing maniacally twenty floors up. “I was going to cry if I had to go up another flight of stairs.” 

“Are you really taking pictures?” He asks, gesturing at your camera.

“No, but I started carrying it the first time someone called the police on me thinking I was going to jump,” you giggle, wiping away tears. He feels delirious from lack of sleep, so maybe you are, too, but it doesn't seem to be the case as you spring out the doors, forcing him to guide you when you're lost in the executive suite hallways.

“I managed to sneak in last time, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten this far. I'm glad you came just in time, I think they were going to kick me out.”

He's surprised at how easily things have snapped back into place between you, no mention of anything that's happened as you race up the stairwell to the roof access. 

“Will you tell me–”

“Oh thank god,” you say once your through the heavy doors and collapsed on the green helipad, growing impatient when he props the door open out of habit. He's been up here many times, nothing remarkable about the space besides the legacy sign on top, view crowded by other buildings at varying levels. 

“Stand here,” you say, pushing him into place, turning him by the arms. “Do you see it?”

“I don't even know what I'm looking for,” he says, beginning to grow annoyed. 

“Look over there, at the People's Bank. Relax your eyes, it will only take a minute.”

He feels increasingly foolish but he does what you ask, cool morning breeze clearing his muddled head. The sky is washed in a pink and blue haze, the sun cresting the more mountainous region of the city behind you to bathe the city in solid gold.

“There,” you breathe, letting out a little sigh.

“What?” All he can see is a few birds passing over the vista of crowded advertisements and neon. 

“Do you see the light?” you ask. 

“There's tons of lights–” he begins, cut short by the blinding catch of the sun's reflection on one of the characters, then another. He spells it out slowly, guided by your hand holding his to each one. 

The bank: Sa. 

The next building over, also burning brighter with the touch of the sun: Rang. 

Then an advertisement that has been up long enough most of the original message is lost. Hae.

“How did you find this?” he asks, knowing it would be impossible for him to have ever seen this without knowing the trick of the light. 

“I didn't find it. Well I did–I had to search some buildings for it.” 

Later he'll find out you climbed close to fifty flights of stairs in the last two months, had spent every waking moment not working or in school breaking into buildings before sunrise to find that exact spot, forever amused at the thought you hadn’t checked his family's flagship hotel first.

“You don't remember getting the same message from someone else?” you ask. “I was worried you wouldn't come, again.”

Again. Something tugs the memory up from the oubliette he'd locked it into, Mona teasing him about sleeping in and missing their appointment.

Mona. 

His stomach falls, checking back behind him at the door as if that particular ghost will return to haunt him.

“She's not here. I wasn't trying to set you up,” you say, recognizing the dismay he can't hide. “Honestly. And I know whatever closure you find is yours and yours alone. You were right about that, too, I'm sorry.”

You twist your hands in front of you, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety. “I did this for me. Because I wanted to know what she tried to tell you, even if she couldn't say it aloud.”

You don't look at him, can't in order to continue. Doyoung feels like a live wire, exposed, two months of painful loneliness and a lifetime's worth of avoidance of this fact all surging through him in this moment. 

As much as he would prefer to leave he's not going to run like he did back then, when he'd ignored the hard parts to pretend like a friendship wasn't something more. Not with the stakes of losing this one.

“You once told me you were just friends, even if you couldn't be one anymore for her after you realized you loved her. How it broke you to be with someone you couldn't be with, who wanted something different.”

“Now you know. She didn't want to stay one, either,” you say. You look up at him nervously, regaining your confidence.

“I just wanted you to know that you were loved, Kim Doyoung. You still are.” 

You turn away towards the door, pretending not to have seen the tears dripping down his face under his glasses. He ignores them, too, not knowing what to say or do to make sure you never leave him again.

The spot never mattered to him, the word and it's confession forgotten in time. What changed that day was having you in front of him after so long, the way you were a reflection of him so many years ago, fighting to be by the side of someone who didn't know how to love you back, the right way.

He'd promised himself than that even if he couldn't say it, he'd show you.

“Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for interfering with your life, but that’s what friends do.”

You'd almost made it to the stairs when he'd wrapped around you from behind, the first ever time he'd held you in an embrace, unsurprised to find you shaking like a leaf as he rested a wet cheek against your hair. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Thank you.” 

You relax a little, squeezing his hand. In that small gesture everything is reset, everything is okay again. They won't talk about this for the next few years, even when Jungwoo asks how you'd come back into their lives so suddenly and without any indication that things had changed.

But they had. Deeply. 

“You can make it up to me by buying me breakfast,” you say, smiling up at him, wiping his cheek with your sleeve. “We have a lot to catch up on.” 

“Did I win?” you ask. 

Doyoung can only laugh, giddy, as you burrow into his side to smother him in kisses and teasing. You were put on this earth to challenge him, after all–always right there to match him in stubbornness and competition.

He presses his nose to your neck, inhaling the remnants of the scent you'd made together, one bottle for each, though you didn't have to know his formula was just a bit different.

“‘Tomorrow Morning’ has a nice ring to it, I suppose. It lingers well.”

“It was my answer, actually. I needed to see if I could break Saint Kim's vow of romantic abstinence before I made up my mind,” you say, smug as you move to get up. “Glad you were able to find out before your time was–”

You shriek as he pulls you down again, pinning you to the bed. 

“I still have a few hours,” he says, voice dangerous. “I'd like to hear you say it again.”

[zeroseuniverse]

His To Protect

Word Count: 870 Summary: "Have you ever heard of guardian angels?" Pairing: Doyoung X Reader

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I sit in the cold metal chair, my wrists resting on the table, my fingers clasped together tightly to keep from trembling. Across from me, two detectives—one skeptical, one furious—stare me down like I’m a caged animal. The air is thick with unspoken accusations.

"You have to understand," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't do it."

Detective Lee slaps a file onto the table. A collection of crime scene photos spills out—people I knew, people who had wronged me in some way. A high school bully, a spiteful boss, an ex who cheated on me. All dead. Some torn apart as if mauled by an animal, others suffering from "accidents" too convenient to be accidents.

"Then why is it," Lee sneers, "that every single one of these victims had a history of crossing you?"

I swallow hard. I don’t have an answer. Not one they’d believe.

Doyoung sits beside me, his hands folded in his lap, his face eerily calm. To the detectives, he's just my best friend, my most trusted confidant. To me, he's something else entirely. My guardian. My curse.

I glance at him. His dark eyes hold a quiet warning. Say too much, and they won't leave this room alive.

I shudder and focus on the detectives again. "I know how it looks," I admit. "But I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this."

Detective Kim, the calmer of the two, watches me with a calculating gaze. "Then who did?"

Doyoung tilts his head slightly, studying them. I know what’s coming. A distraction. An intervention. Something to make sure I walk out of here.

"You wouldn’t believe me," I say honestly.

"Try us."

Doyoung shifts in his seat. The light above flickers. Detective Lee rubs his temple like he’s suddenly developed a headache.

I take a deep breath. "Have you ever heard of guardian angels?"

Lee scoffs. Kim stays silent.

"They protect people," I continue, my voice even. "But sometimes… they take their job too seriously."

Doyoung’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. The room feels smaller, colder. The flickering light dims further, the air pressing against my skin like unseen hands.

Lee shivers. "What the hell—"

The bulb above us bursts. The room plunges into darkness.

And then, the screaming begins.

The darkness swallows the room whole. For a few long, suffocating seconds, the only sound is Detective Lee’s ragged breathing. Then—chaos.

The metal chair scrapes against the floor as Lee stumbles back. Kim curses under his breath, fumbling for something—probably his gun. But it won’t help him. It never does.

A whisper slithers through the room. Soft. Amused. "You should’ve let them go."

Doyoung.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Not again. Please, not again.

A sharp gasp. A thud. When the emergency light flickers back on, Detective Lee is sprawled against the wall, his body limp. A smear of blood trails down from his temple. Kim, frozen mid-motion, stares at Doyoung—at the thing sitting where my best friend should be.

His eyes are black now. Not the deep brown I know, but an abyss, vast and endless. Shadows curl around him like living smoke, licking at his fingertips.

Kim’s lips part. "What… are you?"

Doyoung tilts his head, considering him. "The only reason they’re still breathing," he murmurs, nodding toward me. "You should be grateful."

I push back from the table, my pulse hammering in my throat. "Doyoung, stop."

He looks at me, and for a fleeting moment, I see something soft in his expression. Something human. But it vanishes like a candle snuffed out.

"You don’t belong here," he tells me simply.

The air shifts. The walls groan. The fluorescent light above flickers, then steadies.

Kim is shaking. Lee groans, dazed but alive. Doyoung sighs, as if disappointed, and stands up. "We’re leaving," he says.

Kim finally finds his voice. "You’re not going anywhere." His hand grips the gun holstered at his waist, but I already know he won’t pull it in time.

Doyoung doesn’t give him the chance.

With a flick of his wrist, the gun flies across the room, clattering against the far wall. Kim stumbles back, eyes wide.

I grab Doyoung’s wrist, my fingers burning at the touch. "Enough," I say, desperate. "No more."

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he hesitates. The darkness retreating, the weight in the air lifting just a fraction.

"Okay," he says at last. "For you."

His free hand lifts—and the room plunges into nothingness.

I wake up to the hum of passing cars. The scent of rain lingers in the air. We’re outside now, far from the interrogation room. The station itself is eerily quiet behind us.

I sit up, my head spinning. Doyoung crouches beside me, his expression unreadable.

"You saved me," I whisper.

His gaze meets mine. "I always do."

I want to ask him what happened to the detectives. If they’ll remember. If they’re still alive. But part of me already knows the answer.

Doyoung stands, offering me his hand.

I take it.

Because I know, no matter where I run—no matter what I do—he will always follow.

Because he’s my guardian.

And I am his to protect.

[cherry-rosess]

The Sirens Game• kim Doyoung

♡PARING: idol Doyoung x famous reader

♥︎WORD COUNT:1,169K

♡ GENRE(S): Famous au, fighting, Scandalous, smut, angst

♥︎ SUMMARY: You find yourself at an exclusive, mysterious party one where the rules are designed to test loyalties and shatter friendships. Attending with Jaehyun, you think nothing of it until Doyoung steps into the picture. He’s always had a soft spot for you, but once you start talking, the chemistry is undeniable. You’ve never seen jealousy in his eyes before, but the moment he gets a taste of you, he’s not about to let anyone else have a chance. This party isn’t just a night of fun it’s a game of desire, and Doyoung is playing to win.

♡♥︎ WARNINGS: Smut eventually, angsty, bipolar, jealousy, toxicity

♥︎♡♥︎♡ NOTES: hii it’s my first time writing so I hope I do a decent job! Sorry for any misspelling! I got inspiration for this idea because I was listening to a song. Which I recommend to play while reading !!! It’s called In for It by Tory lanez. I’m not done with this story yet there will be a part two!! So if you want to be on the tag list for that please let me know!!! Enjoy! Part 2

Fame looks good on you. Maybe too good.

People don’t just admire you they worship you. Your voice? Addictive. Your beauty? Dangerous. They call you a siren, and honestly, they’re not wrong. With just a glance, a soft smile, or the way your lips move when you sing, they fall. Hard. You thrive on it the chase, the hunger in their eyes, the way they bend at your feet just for a second of your time. Maybe it’s because you grew up without a father, or maybe you were just born to be adored. Either way, men are nothing more than a game to you.

The young ones? Too easy. Immature, predictable, desperate. You play with them, dangle the promise of something real just out of reach, then disappear before they can even figure out what went wrong. Pathetic, really. But it keeps you entertained.

Older men, though? That’s a different story. Not too old—just enough to make it interesting. Experienced enough to make you hesitate. To make you wonder.

But nothing has ever truly held your attention for long.

Until now

It arrives after an awards show—an elegant, black envelope slipped into your dressing room. No sender. Just your name, handwritten in silver ink. Inside, a card with a web address and a single instruction:

RSVP.

Curious, you type it in. The screen goes black before white text appears.

"Enter your name."

You hesitate, then type: Y/N L/N.

Seconds later, the page refreshes.

"Y/N L/N, we are delighted to confirm your invitation to an exclusive event. This is not your typical party. You are required to wear all black, accessorized with jewelry of your choice. Heels are mandatory. No cameras, no interviews, no social media. For one night, we offer you freedom—without the weight of a scandal. Upon arrival, you will be assigned a partner for the evening. While you are free to socialize, you and your partner must reunite for specific games throughout the night. We look forward to seeing you."

Your eyes skim the message, heart picking up slightly. Games? Assigned partners? This was starting to sound… interesting.

Then, another notification pops up.

"Your partner for the evening is: Jeong Jaehyun."

You blink. The name is familiar. Too familiar. Your fingers move before your brain catches up, typing his name into Google.

"Jeong Jaehyun – member of the global sensation NCT."

Your lips part slightly. NCT…

Memories flood back—late nights watching their performances, your once-hidden crush on them before fame consumed your life. But one name, in particular, stands out in your mind.

Doyoung.

Sharp eyes, smooth voice, that effortlessly cool presence. He was the one you secretly lingered on the longest. And if Jaehyun was invited, there was a high chance Doyoung was too.

You smirk. This just got a lot more interesting

“Did you get invited to that party?” Jaehyun asks, glancing at Doyoung, who’s scrolling through his phone.

“I think all of 127 did,” Doyoung replies casually.

Jaehyun hesitates before asking, “Did you check who your partner is?”

Doyoung doesn’t even look up. “Yeah. Some girl named Ravyn Lenae. You?”

Jaehyun shifts slightly in his seat, suddenly aware of how dry his throat feels. “Uh… Y/N L/N.”

Silence.

Doyoung freezes. His phone goes still in his hands.

Jaehyun notices and lets out a small, nervous laugh. “Doyoung…?”

Doyoung snaps out of it, clearing his throat. “Oh. Yeah. Cool.”

Cool? Cool?

Jaehyun isn’t stupid. He sees the way Doyoung’s fingers tighten around his phone, the way his jaw flexes slightly before relaxing again.

Doyoung has only seen you perform live once, but once was enough. His members caught on early, teasing him every time your name popped up. He brushed it off five years older, never crossed paths with you. But then came that one interview.

When they asked about your type, you didn’t hesitate.

"I like older men. Honestly, I don’t care about looks it’s about how they carry themselves."

He ignored it at first. But later that night, alone in his room, he found himself thinking about it.

Now, here you are about to spend an entire night with Jaehyun.

Doyoung exhales slowly. “You’re lucky,” he says, keeping his voice even.

Jaehyun watches him carefully. “Look, I don’t want this to cause any—”

“It won’t,” Doyoung interrupts, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Have fun.”

Jaehyun doesn’t believe him.

Neither does Doyoung.

The night arrives faster than expected, and for the first time in a long time, you feel nervous.

Your stylist makes sure everything is perfect. The custom black silk Dior dress drapes over your body like liquid, hugging every curve in the most sinful way. Your long, sleek hair is adorned with a diamond headpiece that glides down your middle part, resting against your forehead like a modern tiara. No necklace—just delicate diamond earrings that shimmer under the dim lights.

Your makeup? Mesmerizing. A soft, icy blue that fades into a sheer white shimmer, highlighting your eyes and beauty marks. Ethereal, untouchable.

By the time the limo arrives, your heart is pounding. The door opens, and there he is.

Jaehyun.

Dressed in an all-black tailored suit, slightly unbuttoned to show a hint of his collarbone, his silver accessories catching the light just right. He looks at you for a long second before finally speaking.

“Wow. You look… breathtaking.”

You smirk, stepping inside. “Our stylists did their job well.”

The ride is quiet, thick with anticipation. When you arrive, the red carpet is lined with flashing cameras, capturing every second of you and Jaehyun stepping out, arms linked.

But just before you exit the limo, Jaehyun stiffens slightly. His gaze locks onto someone stepping out of the car ahead of you.

You follow his line of sight and your breath hitches.

Doyoung.

Your stomach tightens. Holy sh—

Dressed in a black silk button-down, slightly unbuttoned, revealing just enough of his chest, a silver cross necklace resting against his skin. His sharp gaze flickers toward you for a split second before he looks away, walking inside.

You don’t even realize your lips have parted slightly until Jaehyun gently tugs you forward. Cameras flash, your body moves on autopilot, but your mind? It’s inside that party already.

Inside. Where Doyoung is.

The moment you enter the party, you release Jaehyun’s arm. “I’ll be back,” you whisper.

Jaehyun nods, watching as you beeline for the bar.

Doyoung is there, a glass in hand, eyes trained on his drink like it holds all the answers to the thoughts running through his head.

You slide into the seat beside him, ordering a glass of wine before turning to him.

"You looked good out there," you say, voice low, playful.

Doyoung’s fingers pause around his glass. He doesn’t look at you immediately, but when he does—when those dark eyes meet yours—you feel it.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “I’m Y/N. You must be Doyoung.”

He exhales, finally allowing himself to look at you. “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you.”

He hesitates. “You and Jaehyun looked… good together.”

A smirk tugs at your lips.

“But do we look better together?”

His grip tightens around his glass.

"Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" he asks.

Your lips part slightly. Then, you nod.

And just like that, the game really begins…

I’m so sorry for ending it here ! I’m working on part two as I post this. It was getting very long so I figured why not split it in to two parts 😓 let me know if you have any questions!!!!!

[127luvr]

Hi can i ask for a male reader x doyoung, where they're both in school and they have an assignment to sing a duet, but doyoung just really chose m!r so that they can spend more time together. Then they kiss?

kiss ♫⋆｡♪ ₊

kim doyoung x male reader

doyoung had never questioned his life in music. he knew from a young age where he was headed--what path in life he wanted to pursue. he breathed music like it was his lifeline. it was the one thing in his life he never second-guessed. he knew he was good at it. at singing--at reading music--at conducting his class for an assignment--at teaching it when he became a student-teacher.

he was born for this.

you weren't as lucky.

the passion for music came from watching a performance of your school choir by chance. you were convinced that you were destined to pass by the auditorium at that very moment--destined to hear the way the ensemble blended their voices together so seamlessly--as if it was a body of water collectively sending waves to shore.

it was too late in the year to join the ensemble you heard, but you managed to squeeze in to one of the beginner classes. it was one of the things in life that you took seriously. staying after school for any extra help from upperclassmen. staying behind to see the rigorous practices that the advanced classes had. while you were graced with a natural talent for music, you still had so much to learn.

which is why you were the most excited when they assigned duets. the only strict rule being that it had to be someone that was in the choir program.

doyoung had taken a liking to you. watching you from the corner of his eye when you sat in one of their after-school practices. he watched the way your pencil followed along the sheet music as they sang, circling the dynamics on top--and underneath--the staff. he watched as your body followed the conductor's baton--watched as you sang along subconsciously to your voice part in the song. he knew without a doubt that he had to choose you for a duet.

he just wasn't entirely sure if it was for his own selfish reasons or for your raw talent.

"(y/n)?" you feel a light tap on your shoulder, the sudden sensation startling you. your binder slips out of your hands when you turn to doyoung, his nearness surprising you further. you can't help but gawk at him, ignoring the way your sheet music spills out of the binder on the floor. doyoung's eyes fall to the floor, his lips twitching slightly as he goes to pick it up for you. you are still watching him as he bends down, his long fingers quick with gathering your materials. you manage to look away as he straightens his posture again, holding his hands out to hand you your binder. "i know we aren't really familiar with each other, but did you want to team up for the duet assignment?"

he was one of the upperclassmen. one of the singers that stood out to you when you watched them practice. the critiques he received from directors were nitpick-y. always something about rounding out his vowels--looking more expressive. it was clear that they only picked on him for small things because they weren't able to find anything he was bad at. he didn't need to improve--but he did need to be pushed just like his classmates.

"yeah!"

you quickly realize that doyoung isn't in it for the music. he knows the song inside and out from the get-go. leaving you to scramble and learn the song even when you're not practicing together. this only makes you wonder what he was in it for. why he chose you of all people?

your practices were usually done in the school practice rooms. preferably one with an old piano in it--sometimes you weren't as lucky. but you watched as doyoung's eyes moved faster than his fingers, reading the music as he played the black and white piano keys. you were almost jealous of his talents. envious of his ability to multitask so effortlessly but he interprets your gaze differently. patting the space on the bench next to him so you could sit--instead of standing with your back to the wall, stiff.

"i like to learn the notes by playing them and then singing them. makes it easier to correct. do you want to try?" your hands hover over the keys, scared to play any of them incorrectly. if you were being honest, you only knew the name of the notes on your phone, where the keys were labeled. "here, i'll show you."

you don't expect doyoung to put his hands on top of yours, guiding them to where he was previously playing. but the piano is the last thing on your mind. instead, thoughts of doyoung's soft skin and dainty fingers replace any and all rational thoughts from your brain.

"the note in between these black keys is d. if you look at the piano you will notice that the pattern repeats over and over again, so the notes only go a, b, c, d, e, f and g. and then back to a. the black keys are semitones--flat or sharp. it just depends on what key we're in, you know?" doyoung finally takes note of your flushed face, his hands immediately clammy on top of yours as he watches you chew your bottom lip anxiously. "(y/n)? did you get any of that?"

"uh-"

"is there a way for me to keep you concentrated?" your gaze drops down to his pouty lips, subconsciously licking your own as you stare them down. this doesn't go unnoticed by doyoung--who has been yearning for your affection since your practices together started. "kissing you?"

for a moment you thought you had shared your thoughts out loud--only to find that your lips were still shut. doyoung was the first to bring up a kiss. that could only mean that he wanted to. that it crossed his mind before it crossed yours. he leans in, with his hands still on top of yours. you're aware of his nearness. the way his cool breath hits your cupid's bow. the way he smells like baby powder--and a little bit like sweat from being in this room for so long. your eyes finally meet again which causes him to tilt his head, raising his eyebrows as if to ask you for a second time.

"here?" but you're the first one to close the gap, the first to meet your lips together. completely disregarding the glass door. completely disregarding that someone might walk by. but none of it matters--not when doyoung's lips feel heavenly. and he's drinking you up like you're a glass of iced tea on a hot summer day. you almost don't want to pull away. wanting to stay in his warmth even if the positioning was awkward. "we can practice at my place next time."

[sweetcomicval]

𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑! | 𝐉𝐉𝐇

pairing: jeong jaehyun x fem!reader song choice: winter wonderland - laufey word count: 1.5 k PEACH & PINE MASTERPOST

The house was alive with activity as you and Jaehyun prepared Teo’s performance for the annual holiday talent show at his daycare. It was all he’d talked about for weeks, especially after he and Jaehyun decided he’d perform “In Summer” from Frozen. It was the ideal choice—fun, upbeat, and simple enough for a four-year-old.

Jaehyun took his role as coach very seriously. They practiced every day in the afternoons and extra on the weekends. He focused on teaching Teo the lyrics, the cute dance routine, and even slipped in some pep talks to build his confidence. Meanwhile, you were busy putting together the stage props.

“Alright, Teo,” Jaehyun said, crouching down to meet his son’s gaze. “Remember, you’ve got to start with a big smile—like this!” He flashed his brightest grin, which Teo mimicked with a giggle, showing off his tiny teeth and cute dimples.

When the music began to play, Teo took a deep breath and sang the first few lines of the song. Jaehyun watched proudly, his heart swelling with each note Teo hit. “Awesome, Teo! That’s it! Now, the dance moves—just like we practiced.”

Teo nodded, his eyes sparkling as he watched Jaehyun demonstrate the routine. The living room had transformed into their mini stage, while the dining table served as your makeshift craft station.

"Okay, let's do it one last time, and we’re done," Jaehyun said with encouragement. The melody kicked in again, and Teo shuffled side to side, singing about sunny days and good vibes. Jaehyun's eyes twinkled as he watched Teo, occasionally stepping in to offer gentle corrections.

When the song ended, you and Jaehyun clapped at Teo. “Sweetheart, that was amazing!” you exclaimed, scooping him into a hug.

Teo looked up at you with a mix of pride and nerves. “You think so?” he asked, his voice small but hopeful. “Absolutely,” you assured him, setting him back down. “You’re going to wow everyone, baby.”

“Of course,” Jaehyun chimed in, ruffling his hair. “And we’ll be right there, cheering for you.”

The preparations continued as the big day drew closer. You’d found the perfect outfit for Teo—a crisp white shirt and shorts to match the beach theme. You even changed the buttons to black ones to make him look like a little snowman. And you found a pair of tiny black sunglasses to complete the look.

For the props, you raided the garage, pulling out all the summer stuff: Teo’s beach toys, inflatable flamingos and balls, and even an umbrella. The stage setup looked like summer exploded in the middle of December, which felt oddly perfect. You wanted to capture the playful, sunny vibe of the song.

You and Jaehyun knew how much this meant to Teo and wanted to make it as special as possible for him.

Finally, the big day arrived. The daycare’s auditorium had been transformed into a cozy winter wonderland with twinkling lights and a massive Christmas tree. Jaehyun and Doyoung had been asked to perform a song, so you all had to arrive a bit earlier than the rest. “I can’t believe it’s finally time for the show!” you whispered to Jaehyun, squeezing his hand. “Teo’s been practicing so hard. I just hope people will like it.”

Jaehyun looked at you, his gaze warm and reassuring. He squeezed your hand back firmly and whispered, “They’re going to love it. He’s a natural.” His smile, genuine and kind, eased your nerves.

Teo’s grip on your hand tightened as you scanned the rows, trying to spot your seats. The parents and their kids started to fill the rows—everyone dressed to impress, ready to show off what they’d been practicing for weeks.

The lights dimmed, and the school’s head, Kim Soohyun, walked onto the stage with a friendly smile on her face. “Good evening, everyone!” she began, her voice clear and cheerful. “Tonight, it’s all about our little stars!” She paused, scanning the crowd. “To kick things off, we’ve got something special for our opening act. Please welcome NCT’s Jaehyun and Doyoung!”

The audience broke into applause, and your heart skipped a beat. The audience burst into applause, and your heart raced in your chest. Teo's eyes lit up as he looked at you, his little hand pointing to the stage. “Daddy's going to sing now, Mommy!"

You smiled down at him. “And with Uncle Doyoung!”

The music started, and the spotlights swung to the center of the stage, revealing Jaehyun and Doyoung in glittery Santa hats and matching outfits. They sang a lively version of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." Jaehyun’s deep, steady voice balanced perfectly with Doyoung’s lighter, more animated tone. Their years of singing together were obvious—every lyric and laugh felt natural, and their easy chemistry drew smiles from the audience.

The crowd clapped along, and you felt a wave of pride. Despite their crazy schedules, Jaehyun and Doyoung had made time for this, giving everyone a moment to enjoy and connect during the holiday season. When they finished, the room erupted into cheers, and Mrs. Kim returned to the stage, clapping enthusiastically. “Thank you, Jaehyun and Doyoung, for such a fantastic start to the night! Now, let’s move on to our main event—the talent show!”

The two men bowed and slipped back into the audience.

One by one, the children took the stage, showcasing their talents. There was a little magician who dropped his wand twice but kept going, a pair of siblings who sang a duet like Ryan and Sharpay, and a group of tiny ballerinas, with Eunji dancing alongside them. Each performance brought smiles and cheers, the room alive with proud parents and joyful energy.

When it was finally Teo’s turn, he stood backstage, clutching both of your hands. “Just like we practiced, sweetheart,” you said, bending down to kiss his cheek. “You’ve got this.”

Jaehyun crouched beside him, gently pinching his cheek. “We’re your biggest fans, Teo. Mommy and I will be right there cheering. We love you!”

Teo smiled shyly and gave you both a quick hug. "I love you too."

Back in your seats, you held your breath as his name was announced. The stage lights came on, illuminating the playful summer-themed backdrop you’d worked so hard to create. The music started, and the audience recognized Olaf’s voice. Teo stepped forward; his clear, sweet voice filled the room, a little shaky at first but growing steadier with each note.

When he hit the final line—“IN SUMMER!”—he spread his arms wide, with all the confidence he had in him. The audience erupted in applause, the loudest cheers coming from you and Jaehyun. Teo took a bow, really deep, and then sprinted off to the backstage..

Jaehyun leaned in close, his voice low in your ear. “Let’s go find him.” You laced your fingers through his and made your way through the rows of seats towards the busy backstage. Then you spotted Teo, surrounded by his friends, telling him he did great. The moment he saw you and Jaehyun, his face lit up. “Mommy! Daddy!” he called out, running straight into his dad’s arms.

“Teo, you were incredible!” You gushed, covering his face in kisses. Jaehyun held him even tighter. “We’re so, so proud of you, baby. Everyone loved it!”

Teo pulled back slightly. “Really?” he asked, glancing up at you both, his voice a blend of wonder and hope.

“Really,” you both answered at the same time, smiling at him like he was the brightest star in the room.

After the final act, all the kids were invited back on stage for the grand finale. The teachers handed out little trophies to each of them, their faces glowing with pride as they congratulated the children. Mr. Parker, Teo’s English teacher, approached him with a shiny trophy in his hands. “You did a fantastic job, Teo! And your English was perfect!” he said kindly.

Teo accepted the trophy with both hands and a wide, dimpled smile. “Thanks, Mr. Parker!” he replied cheerfully. He scanned the crowd and quickly found you and Jaehyun. Without missing a beat, you both stood up and raised your arms, forming a heart above your heads, a gesture to show him how much you loved and supported him.

On the walk back to the car, Teo skipped ahead, his trophy gleaming in the streetlights. He turned back to you and Jaehyun, his dimples showing as he grinned. “This was the best day ever!”

Jaehyun slipped his arm around your shoulders, and you exchanged a look—one of pride, love, and the shared knowledge that moments like this made all the hard work worth it. You knew this was just the beginning of many proud moments to come, and you couldn’t wait to cheer him on every step of the way.

a/n: this one came waaay later because i’m still sick 🥲 anyways, enjoy! feedback is appreciated 💌 i miss jaehyun like crazyyyy 😭

[tyongf-nct]

Hello! Can you write something with Doyoung incubus? That black wings he wore at the fanmeeting just gave that vibe

this is also saurrr late so i apologize 😓 i could not for the life of me find a picture of this despite knowing what you’re talking about so i channeled the energy from these pics instead

‼️ mind the tags folks ‼️

dynamic: kim doyoung x fem!reader

warnings/tags: smut, somnophilia, penetrative sex (fem receiving), tiny bit of dirty talk, dubcon from the outside but it’s actually consensual i just don’t have time to give an entire backstory okay i have no patience for plot 😔, oral sex (fem receiving), dream/reality confusion

~

A dark shadow passes through your vision, your eyes cracked open to slits. No discernible shapes are visible as you writhe in pleasure, a second orgasm coiling deep in your abdomen.

Without your knowledge, Doyoung glances up at your half-asleep face, grinning fiendishly as he tongues inside your hole. The heady taste of your arousal spurs him on, his luminous skin slobbered with it. You vaguely hear the wet squelching of Doyoung eating you out, unsure if the wetness between your legs is your dream or reality.

Between your legs, Doyoung nips your inner thigh once before moving to grip your ankles with either hand. He pushes them back until your hips pop from the stretch, relishing in the sight of your exposed core. You unconsciously let out a whimper, shifting in your sleep as the cool breeze from the open window drafts by. Doyoung adjusts the both of you until he’s positioned at your entrance, swollen cock in hand. He pumps himself languidly, staring down at you with dilated pupils.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking needy. Even in your dreams you crave me so badly,” he murmurs. The low timbre of his voice nearly wakes you, but an overpowering wave of calm washes over you, and you find yourself nestled back into a deep sleep. You dream of pale hands running over the dips and valleys of your body, nipples peaking under sensuous touch. You dream of a thick cock fucking you full of hot come, the excess of it spilling out as an indistinct figure wrings climax after climax from you.

In the real world, Doyoung is doing something similar, thrusting madly into your soaking center as he fucks you into the night. Animalistic desire drives him to an almost crazed level, his face contorting in pleasure as you toss your head back and forth in your sleep. Small whimpers leave you in time with every deep thrust, the old bed creaking loud enough that Doyoung is convinced you will awaken. It isn’t enough to stop him, though, as you suddenly cry out and your thighs shake with your second orgasm.

“Fucking hell,” Doyoung grunts, fingers tight on your ankles as he pushes in and out of you savagely, hot come spilling into you just as it did in your dream. Doyoung shudders and stills, letting his come fill you up and refusing to let a single drop out. He releases one leg to brush his thumb over your lips, feeling your soft breath as you slumber innocently. Doyoung collapses on top of you, letting himself soak inside your tight pussy and inhaling your sweet scent.

[chocojae]

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐒 — kim doyoung

summary ▸ seven signs you are in love according to not so love expert, kim doyoung ft. a tired and frustrated kun

genre ▸ doyoung x female reader | pure fluff | university au 

word count ▸ 3.2k

warnings ▸ none! 

luna’s note ▸ hello @beautifulchris​ ! I am your author for the exchange event held by @kflixnet​! i enjoyed writing this piece and really hope you will like this ♡ since the event’s main motive was to be friends, i hope we can get to know each other!

ONE: YOUR DAY STARTS AND ENDS WITH YOU THINKING ABOUT THEM.

Doyoung’s eyes widen as he notices the words he just scribbled on his notebook. He was spacing out in the lecture hall, and guess what he wrote? Your name, once again. 

It astonished Doyoung when he realised just how much he has been thinking about you these past few days. 

When he got to learn that you have a (secret) crush on him, all he did was think about you and notice your likes and dislikes. From him eating his breakfast and getting reminded (out of nowhere) that you love cats to him putting on an outfit of your favourite shade because you like that colour, his life was suddenly revolving around you.

It bugged him that it was you who occupied his mind 24/7 when it should have been his studies. Lately, he gets on his bus every day thinking if you would attend today or not and can’t help but get a little disappointed when he notices your absence. 

Something is wrong with him, but what? It’s the question that messes his mind the most. Doyoung angrily stabs the paper with frustration, his mind running a thousand miles per second, trying to figure out what could be the possible cause of his sudden curiosity and then his face suddenly drops. A tiny voice in his head whispers: You couldn’t like her back, could you?

Doyoung shakes his head violently, trying to shush the tiny voice. Through the corner of his eye, he looks at you for a split second. Right, there was no freaking way he possibly could.

Fine, Doyoung takes back whatever he said a few hours prior. There might be a possible, tiny, tiny chance that he might like you, romantically. 

He stares at your laughing figure for a little longer than he would before tearing his eyes off you, gulping soon after. God, why wasn’t he able to look away? Sure, you are attractive and kind but does he really like like you? Like as in a boy liking a girl? That type of like? 

He presses his lips into a thin line and steals another glance, soon feeling his cheeks burn up. Shit, have you always been that pretty?

“I don’t think this tragic piece of literature is supposed to be making you blush, Doyoung.” Kun squints his eyes at the younger male sitting beside him, noticing how Doyoung looked completely taken aback by his comment. 

Wait, Doyoung was blushing? BLUSHING? Now, that was unexpected. Doyoung cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. It’s just the weather. You know how hot it can get in summers here.”

Kun squinted his eyes, not satisfied with the so called answer. There was no way he was buying the “reason” Doyoung was beetroot red. It was a white lie. Sure, he agrees that summers are hot in here but with all the fans and air conditioners present and just a simple black t-shirt thrown over him, Doyoung couldn’t possibly be reddening because of it.

“Are you sure you were not checking out someone and blushing?” Kun asks with suspense laced through his words, crossing his arms and giving a look that indicated he was ready to hear the tea. 

“Jesus, no!” Doyoung responds immediately. Hey, it was the truth. He wasn’t checking you out or something, he was just glancing at you. Glancing. There’s a difference, okay?

“Sure.” Kun shrugged, not convinced and continued his explanation, hoping Doyoung would get whatever he was trying to make him understand. Doyoung slumped down on the table, Kun’s words becoming white noise to him. With his head resting on his arm, he dragged his eyes towards you. Hell, you look absolutely breathtaking—

Here he goes thinking about you once again, not like he could help it.

TWO: YOUR EYES ALWAYS SEEM TO SEARCH FOR THEM.

Considering that he thinks about you most time of the day, it should have been natural for Doyoung to accept that he likes stealing glances at you. It would have been easy if that was the case. But it’s not.

Every single time he is reminded about you or glances at you, Doyoung tries to convince himself that he does not like you. It is tiring, very tiring since he thinks about you so much that it makes him frustrated.

If he would tell someone about this train of thoughts running through his head, he is one hundred one per cent sure that it would conclude he likes you. 

The thought that he might have harboured feelings for you, for unacceptable for him.

He chose to ignore those confusing feelings, shoving them aside. But what he couldn’t control was the way his eyes always gravitated towards you, taking his time to adore you like you were his love interest in some cheesy romance novel. 

You looked so ethereal in his eyes, so beautiful that he believed you were the most beautiful person to exist. 

He sneaked glances at you now and then and most of the time, you were already looking at him. So when he looked back to admire you out of nowhere, you both were caught off guard and turned away in a beat at being caught.

 Kun, who observed this quite often, found it pretty cute and enjoyed teasing Doyoung about this. Doyoung would shake his head, saying he was just spacing out and it was not what Kun thinks. But Kun could see how just two seconds after calling him out, Doyoung’s gaze was fixated on you once again.

THREE: YOU RANDOMLY START PICKING UP THEIR HOBBIES.

Seriously, painting and Doyoung? 

Doyoung looks around helplessly in the room filled with what seemed like skilled and passionate students. They all seemed so focused and determined, unlike him who stood there awkwardly, face laced with confusion.

Doyoung should have been studying in the library for the upcoming exam, or doing his laundry that has stacked up for about two weeks now. He should have been anywhere but here, occupied with the set of brushes he has no idea how to use.

Painting never once intrigued Doyoung, so why was he here? Answer: For you.

Through his secret source obviously Kun, he found out you liked to paint in your free time. 

To Doyoung, painting was something uninteresting but since you liked it, he was adamant to try it out as this would mean him finally having a common topic to start a conversation with you.

In the past two months, Doyoung got so frustrated with himself that he accepted he liked you, and yes, romantically. He disclosed this to Kun, who didn’t waste a single second to tease Doyoung by revealing he already figured out his “secret” long ago by the way he gawked at you.

And the more Kun teased him, the more Doyoung’s feelings grew and so did his desire to get to know you.

He wanted to start a conversation multiple times but the blush on his cheeks whenever he was with you prevented him from doing so. Doyoung did draft the convo scenes with you in his head, preparing different things to say based on your supposed replies in his imagination.

But to actually start a conversation with you was hard. His mind just goes blank whenever he decides to start a small talk with you, and the script he had prepared for weeks in his head, gets blurry. He stammers, and he blushes. 

You too, wanted to talk to him and spend some time together but you didn’t have the courage to. He made you feel so euphoric, it was hard to focus on anything else, including your words.

FOUR: YOU GET FLUSTERED AROUND THEM.

Doyoung’s standing behind you. You are standing in front of him. The proximity is so close that Doyoung could catch the faint smell of your perfume lingering over him. 

Kun nudges Doyoung from behind, leaning in and whispering. “You are red like a tomato. Don’t be this obvious.” Doyoung nods. He could feel the loud thumping of his stupid heart and is doing everything in his power to avoid looking at you, not because he doesn’t want to glance at you, but because he knows his heart will beat louder the more he will look at you.

What Doyoung didn’t notice was the way you were being a mess too. Eyes roaming everywhere in nervousness, cheeks painted pink and your friends passing you a teasing look.

You are so sure that Doyoung knows you have a little crush on him, and that didn’t bother you— until now. Because he is behind you, just behind you. The prettiest and kindest man (with utterly attractive hands and a honey like voice) you have ever known is behind you. Your freaking crush is behind you.

It feels awkward, nervous and exciting all at the same time and the adrenaline rushing through your system makes you go numb. Do you look good? Is your hair alright? What about you back? Oh, you should have taken your roommate’s advice and done some back exercises so you weren’t regretting right now. And what about your perfume? Is it still there? What if Doyoung doesn’t like scents?

The train of thought was never ending, and Doyoung could relate too. He should’ve worn something more presentable. The tray in his hands was shaking. Why the hell did Kun pushed him to stand next to you?

“I hate you, Kun.” Kun raised an eyebrow at his words, a small smirk adoring his face as he answered back. “But you also love me for this.” 

Doyoung bit back a smile. Kun just knows him too well.

FIVE: YOU GET (UNNECESSARILY) WORRIED ABOUT THEM.

Doyoung has no right to worry about you but it’s the third day he hasn’t seen your pretty face and it’s making him nervous. What if something happened to you? Or what if you left the university?

Millions of baseless thoughts ran through his head, his body stiffening. You couldn’t have gotten sick, right?

But what if you did? Cold sweat broke out on his forehead at the mere thought. Doyoung’s ears perked up hearing the giggles of your friends and he looked at them curiously. 

Maybe he should ask them, but wait, wouldn’t it seem extremely suspicious when he would randomly ask about you? Screw it, he says to himself and marches towards your friends.

“Hi.” The sudden appearance of Doyoung made their giggles come to a halt and they were visibly confused. “So, I was saying that..” Shit, he can’t do it. 

“Do you have the notes from the previous lesson? I forgot to jot down mine!” He passes them an awkward smile, hoping they won’t catch his unusual behaviour. 

“Sure” One of the girls, which he vividly remembers seeing by your side the most, takes out a notebook from her bag, handing it to Doyoung with the same expression as earlier. “Here,” Doyoung mumbles a quiet thank you before completely disappearing. 

The girls, confused, shrugged their shoulders and decided to not think much, later joking about how you should have been there.

Doyoug gave Kun his best puppy eyes. “Please.” Kun sighed and asked, “Why can’t you do this?” 

“Because it would seem weird.” Kun raised an eyebrow at the reply. “And it wouldn’t when I will? 

“No, because even if it will do seem that way, you are not me. That’s why.”

“Your logic is so…….baseless.”

Doyoung clung onto his arm, swinging it in an attempt to persuade him. “Oh come one, please, please.” 

Kun closed his eyes. “I am deaf, I can’t hear anything.”

“Please, only you could save me from this misery.”

“Misery? Misery? You not being able to find out why Y/N has not been coming for three days has driven you into misery?” Kun’s voice was laced with sarcasm followed by an eye roll. “And FYI, I don’t even talk to Y/N that much.”

“Well, you can ask just out of curiosity. I am sure they would understand.”

“Then why can’t you do it?” 

“Because it feels weird!” 

“Just say you are shy.” 

“I am not!” 

“You are.”

“I am not, okay!?”

“Liar.”

“So?” Doyoung asks in anticipation, eyes full of hope darting at the tired Kun. “She is at her grandma’s. No big deal.” 

“That means she is okay, right?” Kun slumps down beside him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Doyoung glares at him. “What do you mean you guess? You didn’t ask?”

“Obviously dude, I am not her boyfriend or something!”

“You had one job. One.” 

“Not again.”

SIX: YOU PICK UP THEIR HUMOUR.

caution ▸ cringy dad joke ahead

Doyoung has been observing you every single time so it wasn’t long before he picked up your humour. You were the dad jokes type and while Doyoung wasn’t interested a bit in them, the humour grew on him and now he has made Kun’s life a little harder than it was before.

“Wanna hear a knock joke?” Doyoung grins at the annoyed Kun. 

“It’s not like I have a choice.” He mumbled. Doyoung cleared his throat, “Knock Knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Nobel.” There was still that grin on his face when Doyoung waited for Kun to respond. “Ask Nobel who?”

Kun rolled his eyes. “Nobel, who?”

“No bell so I just knocked.” Doyoung bursts into fists of laughter and smacks Kun’s shoulder. “Be real, isn’t it funny?”

“It’s not—” Kun pauses sensing a glare thrown at him  “It’s so hilarious, I can’t even laugh!” Kun sends Doyoung a small, scared smile and releases a sigh of relief when Doyoung takes the comment as a positive one.

If Kun is going to stick around Doyoung who will find humour in dad jokes because of you, you both better get married for his unthinkable sacrifice. 

SEVEN: YOU IMAGINE A FUTURE WITH THEM.

Doyoung grasps the bouquet of flowers tight in his hands. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and calming his nerves down. 

You can do this, Doyoung! He says to himself, glancing at the flowers in his sweaty palms. He is finally doing this, Kim Doyoung is finally asking you out. Seems unreal, right? For Doyoung too.

He had never imagined he would ask you out, but here he is. 

He was smitten over you, everyone knew. You were referred to as his crush but that label soon was ripped away when Doyoung started seeing you in a new light. When everything about you seemed more lovely than it could ever be. When your flaws, which he had previously ignored seemed so perfect to him. When instead of getting all nervous and excited, he felt warmth and comfort from your presence.

The tag of a crush got removed and replaced by the one called love.

He imagined doing everything with you, going out on dates, meeting your family, late night celebrations, unexpected calls and what not. It become clear Kim Doyoung was in love with you. 

He had finally mustered up the courage to ask you out, for real. His heart was beating a thousand miles per second. He doesn’t know if you were ready for this, or even if you still had feelings for him but he was going to do it. It’s now or never.

Doyoung had called you in a cafe near by, and as much as you were puzzled, you were internally screaming. You were attracted to him, no doubt. He was kind, he was cute. He was everything you looked for in a man. So when you met Doyoung with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and cheeks flushed red, your heart beat synced with his, uncontrollable and messy. Your palms become sweaty as you sat down opposite him.

“Hi, how have you been?” You asked, a smile spread across your lips. The talk started off great. It seemed so pleasant and comfortable with Doyoung and you wished you could stop time. The moment felt surreal. 

Doyoung cleared his throat before scratching the back of his nape. “I don’t know how to say this, but I um….I…..like you.” Wait, he what??? “What?” 

“I like you.” Your eyes were about to pop off. Are you dreaming? Doyoung noticed your reaction and was quick to say, “We will pretend this never happened if you are not comfortable.”

“No—. Well, I— oh, god. I like you too.” Dooung blinked a few times. Okay, what should he respond with now? 

“Here,” He handles the bouquet with utmost gentleness and care. His cheeks you red, and so were yours. 

“What I was saying is…..how about we get to know each other first? This would help us to decide if we want to become official or not.”

“Like, get to know each other on ‘dates’?” You asked with a broad smile.

“Yeah, small dates.” he smiled back and finally made eye contact and was washed over with the warmth that spread through his entire body. His shoulders relaxed and leaned in, ready to hear all about you. “So tell me about yourself, Y/N L/N.” You chuckled, the smile never leaving your lips.

You both were over the moon, and the memory easily become your and his favourite.

Doyoung smiled as he closed his diary. Reading his old entries, he felt nostalgic and happy. He glanced at your sleeping figure beside him. One thing that he had never ever regretted was loving you. He was grateful to have you by his side. 

You were his first love, and now, his wife. 

The diamond ring on your finger sparkled every so slightly in the dim light of your shared bedroom. Doyoung lay down on the bed beside you, staring at your sleeping face with a silly grin on his face.

It was your third wedding anniversary today and you being all excited and proud drank a little too much than you could handle,  knocking out soon after. Doyoung, being a smitten man for you found it hilarious, and adorable.

He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear and continued to look at you with fond eyes over flowing with love. He kissed your forehead. He loves you so much, and nothing can ever change that.

links ▸ navigation | masterlist | works in progress

luna’s note ▸ congrats for making it to the end of the story, i hope you enjoyed reading! thank you for taking out your time and giving a chance to this work ♡ as always, feeback is much appreciated! please share your thoughts as a a small feedback can change my day for the better and give me motivation to bring more of such stories to you.

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© chocojae 2023

[rockstaryuta]

ASTEROID BLUES is a cowboy-bebop inspired, x afab! reader fic series that revolves around the futuristic misadventures of easygoing bounty hunter, ln yn.

──── ✈︎ asteroid blues ...

info. wanted posters are not full plot synopsis. for individual fic information, please click on the 'here' underneath each section. sfw fics will be posted on 00127AM, while all nsfw works will be posted on ROCKSTARYUTA.

soundtrack. tank! seatbelts young jesus logic kimidakenotenshi soul scream interlude: past to present nct u

living bounty to bounty, who's your first target?

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE ──── ✈︎ sfw johnny suh ⌖ space cowboy ― fellow bounty hunter wanted for his ... unorthodox methods. the only problem? he's hunting you too. SESSION I. black dog serenade kim jungwoo ⌖ high roller ― wanted for a number of debts owed to some of the galaxy's most powerful syndicates. try not to get too distracted by that charm of his, or else you'll find yourself toeing the line between professional and personal. SESSION II. gateway shuffle huang guanheng ⌖ bartender ― wanted for the commodification and underground auction of information. secrets traded for a drink. watch your words and your glass. SESSION III. easy come, easy go lee donghyuck ⌖ con artist ― wanted for fraud, embezzlement, and that silver tongue of his that seems to constantly get him into trouble. or save him from it. whatever you do, just don't manage to become his next mark. SESSION IV. see you space cowgirl, someday, somewhere! liu yangyang ⌖ pilot ― wanted for illegal gambling and racing. in his world, the most important thing is staying one step ahead--so don't fall behind. SESSION V. boogie woogie feng shui zhong chenle ⌖ heir ― wanted for his outrageously large fortune tied to his namesake. he's playing a dangerous game in the galaxy's elite circles, so tread carefully, lest you become entangled with his high-stakes world. SESSION VI. honky tonk woman oh sion ⌖ journalist ― wanted for learning something he shouldn't have, wrong place, wrong time. whatever you do, don't underestimate him. after all, you know what they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. SESSION VII. stray dog strut maeda riku ⌖ thief ― wanted for his most audacious heist yet. a heist that involved stealing from the wrong person this time around. a person who wants the phantoms thief's head on a platter. be vigilant, or you might miss him before you even know he's there. SESSION VIII. see you space samurai click here if you have any further information about these fugitives

BOUNTY WORTH ₩2,500,000

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE ──── ✈︎ ®️ nsfw moon taeil ⌖ ceo ― wanted for the enterprise he has built from the ground-up. it's a shame that the only way to get to him is to become his personal assistant. SESSION IX. you're gonna carry that weight lee taeyong ⌖ hacker ― wanted for the infiltration and theft of millions of megabytes from the 119 conglomerate. he probably knows where you are before you do. ever heard of a digital footprint? SESSION X. cowboy funk nakamoto yuta ⌖ hit man ― wanted for the assassination of the galaxy's most prominent politician. watch your back. in his line of work, you rarely see him until it's too late. SESSION XI. hard luck woman qian kun ⌖ igp officer ― wanted for arresting the son of one of the most notorious cartels in the galaxy. he's not very willing to roll over and be captured, certainly not when he's trying to arrest you. SESSION XII. waltz for venus kim doyoung ⌖ doctor ― wanted for preforming back room operations and illegal modifications. his medical expertise is only second to his ethical ambiguity. try not to lose a limb. SESSION XIII. ganymede elegy xiao dejun ⌖ entertainer ― wanted for his most recent scandal involving a heated affair with the igp chief's wife. one that was destined to end poorly from the start. the world is his stage, avoid getting caught in the spotlight. SESSION XIV. pierrot la fou mark lee ⌖ collector ― wanted for the prized artifact that lies deep within his vault. seems like your employer is willing to do anything to get their hands on it, including sending you to charm your way into stealing it. SESSION XV. brain scratch lee jeno ⌖ informant ― wanted for the dissemination of information regarding neo zone tech. hailed as a whistleblower, he's wanted galaxy-wide. just don't believe everything he says, or you might just find yourself amidst one of his rumors. SESSION XVI. sympathy for the devil click here if you have any further information about these fugitives

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot @firstdonutllamafarm @yangasm @sunflowerbebe07 @scinclaitnoir @hyuka-bby thank you for supporting me! ♡ ⤷ for those who are / are not on my general taglist : please let me know if you would like to be included on any of these fics taglist!

──── ✈ see you space cowboy ...

[lavenderbexlatte]

Golden Age (Part 2: Kangaroo)

nct 5.9k words female reader insert Reader x Lee Taeyong x Ten Lee (feat. nct ensemble) suggestive/NSFW

🖤 warnings: non-idol au, quarter life crisis au; self-esteem crises, men with no jobs, men with many jobs, my personal love/hate relationship with kim doyoung, mentions of/jokes about sexual orientation, kissing the bros 🖤

connect with me! / masterlist

💛series masterlist

part 2: kangaroo.

Kangaroo, the bright pastel café on the ground floor of the same building that houses Pado, is an adorable and Instagram-worthy spot.

It’s empty when you arrive, save for one table where you spot the back of Taeyong’s silver hair across from a handsome and unfamiliar dark-haired guy.

But you pause in the door to stare, yet again, feeling ridiculous, at the staff.

They’re all pretty. Again.

The man at the kitchen door, the man at the coffee machine. One guy looks up from collecting dishes to smile and greet you, all dimples and wavy caramel-colored hair and straight pretty teeth, so good-looking that it makes you weak in the knees.

What is going on around here?

You decide that you don’t have time to figure that one out, and you approach the table where Taeyong waits.

The other guy is facing you, so he sees you first. A flat, analytical gaze, unimpressed eyes in a classical, beautiful face. Incredibly gorgeous, silky black hair falling perfectly around his face.

“She’s here,” the guy says to Taeyong, not breaking his weird eye contact with you.

Taeyong, for his part, turns in his seat and beams at you. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you reply, unnerved, glancing at him for a quick reprieve from the impromptu staring contest.

“Down, boy,” Taeyong says to his friend, waving a hand just inches from his face.

The eye contact breaks, and that sharp gaze goes down to the glass of iced coffee in front of him.

“This is Doyoung,” Taeyong tells you. “He’s harmless, I promise.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes.

“He’s mostly harmless,” Taeyong amends.

Doyoung brings the coffee to his lips, mumbling against the glass, “I just don’t know why you invited-”

You don’t get to find out if he’s lamenting your invitation to this brunch, or his own, because Taeyong interrupts brightly, “Sit next to me.”

Gratefully, you do just that, sliding into the wicker chair beside Taeyong. It’s a four-seater table, putting you diagonal from Doyoung, who is still grilling you with those cold and narrowed eyes as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Who else is coming?” you ask, praying that someone – anyone – is.

“I think Kun is going to take a break and come sit with us,” Taeyong says, with a vague gesture back toward the service counter. “And Mark said he’s coming.”

“Mark’s on his way,” Doyoung reports.

“You didn’t have a hangover after the other night, I hope?” Taeyong asks you.

You feel distinctly uncomfortable discussing the tame details of your previous night in this neighborhood in front of Doyoung. Maybe because of the way he’s watching you. Disapproving. Judging.

“No,” you say.

“Good. ‘Jun will absolutely take credit for that, though,” Taeyong smiles.

It takes a second for that soft in-joke to register. The water, you remember. Dejun gave you water. Right.

Doyoung’s attention has you distracted to utter embarrassment. All the feelings you’d had at the bar, about how ridiculous it would be for a man like Taeyong to be interested in someone like you, are coming back in spades.

Of course, his friends are judging you. Of course they don’t trust you. Little old you, coming out of nowhere and inviting yourself to their brunch just because someone was nice to you.

You were invited, you didn’t invite yourself, but that logic means nothing when faced with the plain reality that at least one person at this table thinks you don’t belong here.

Two, if you count yourself.

Luckily, you don’t get much time to stew in your personal hell, because Mark shows up and saves you.

The glamour from the other night is nowhere to be found, as he slings himself into the chair beside Doyoung, cozy in a hoodie and thick glasses. It takes the attention away from you, Doyoung’s face softening as he looks up and takes in Mark’s nonstop jabber.

“-only a little late,” Mark is saying. “Hyung, you really gotta find out whose G Wagon that is, because-”

A quieter voice, right beside you, makes you jump. “Come order with me.”

You glance at Taeyong, startled.

“We order at the counter,” Taeyong says. “Come on.”

It’s an escape, and you take it.

As soon as you’re out of direct earshot – Mark’s loud enough that you can still hear him plainly, but that’s a different beast altogether – Taeyong wilts.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he would be that way,” Taeyong tells you.

“It’s okay,” you say.

But Taeyong laughs wryly. “No, It’s not. Doyoung is protective and it’s sweet, but he’s spoiled by having friends who just kind of indulge his attitude. He doesn’t always remember that he comes across as a giant dick to other people.”

“He doesn’t. I didn’t think-”

“You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Taeyong interrupts.

Well, maybe you are a little nauseous from the negative attention. But it’s fine.

You honestly like that Taeyong has friends who care about him that fiercely. It means he’s earned that much love from them. Generally a good sign.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“He needs to be nicer. I’ll talk to him,” Taeyong promises.

“No,” you say. “No, he’s just trying to protect you.”

You don’t think it’s your place to explain exactly how much you simultaneously hate and understand and appreciate Doyoung’s hostility and the obvious love behind it. You don’t think you could succinctly explain it if you tried. So you don’t.

But Taeyong seems placated.

“What do you wanna eat? If you’re really okay,” he grins.

He hands you a menu.

The man behind the counter has been waiting patiently during your little exchange, but now that attention is on his café menu, he leans over the counter toward you. He’s the dimpled one who greeted you earlier. His name is stitched into the breast pocket of his t-shirt, in neat English. Kun.

“I recommend the fresh fruit pancakes, or the soy sauce pasta. Depending on your taste,” he says.

“Kunie thinks up most of the food here,” Taeyong tells you.

Kun beams at you, but the glance he sends at Taeyong is exasperated. “That’s how it works when you own a business, hyung.”

You’re perusing the menu, but your mind isn’t focused on the food.

First Johnny and the rest of the bar staff at Pado, and the way they let Taeyong behind the bar despite him not working there. Now Kun, who is apparently the owner of this café and is also going to join your party for brunch.

Two businesses in the same building, where Taeyong seems to be close personal friends with the owners and operators.

It makes sense, considering that Itaewon is a small world with an even smaller business sector, but it also makes you suspicious.

Suspicious about what, you don’t really know. But suspicious.

You decide on your meal, anyway, and you tell Kun.

“Good choice. Best dish we got,” he tells you.

“Would you’ve said that no matter what I chose?” you ask, smiling for maybe the first time since you arrived.

Kun laughs. “Hey, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You’re digging for your wallet to pay as he teases, but Kun stops you.

“No, no. No need.”

You glance at Taeyong, but speak to Kun. “Is he paying? Because I can pay for myself.”

“Not him,” Kun corrects. “On the house.”

“On the house?” you repeat weakly. “No, I can-”

“Sorry, but it’s my café, not yours. On the house,” Kun repeats.

This is not a sustainable business model, but you can’t force the guy to take your money. Arguing is not something you feel like doing right now, so you just nod and let it go. You could slip him cash before you leave, maybe. Sneak it to one of the other staff members.

Taeyong orders several things, you assume for himself and for Doyoung. He doesn’t pay, either.

And then back to the table you go, where Doyoung has relaxed considerably with the help of Mark’s bright and boisterous company. He’s still talking about the G Wagon, as near as you can tell, and Doyoung looks genuinely interested.

“-parking permits, but-”

“I think that’s more than even I can do,” Doyoung says.

“Yeah, but I think if Johnny-hyung-”

“You need to order,” Doyoung interrupts.

It’s like he doesn’t want to be at the table with you for any amount of time.

Taeyong seems to think so, too, because he gives Doyoung a shoulder check as the other half of your party takes their leave. They exchange a look that Mark completely misses as he bounds away, calling out to Kun, and you do your best to ignore it, too.

Microanalyzing people isn’t usually your game, but then again, you’ve never met so many people at once who do things that need to be microanalyzed.

You’re alone with Taeyong again, side by side in those squeaky wicker chairs. You wish you could fully enjoy it, not so lost in your own thoughts. Not so self-conscious. How do people do this?

“I never bothered to ask, do you live far from here?” Taeyong pipes up suddenly.

“Oh,” you say, “Oh…”

He’s beaming. You take a moment to judge if telling the truth would make you sound dedicated or desperate.

“It’s a little bit of a ride,” you admit.

“And you let us drag you out again?”

You shrug. “I was interested.”

Understatement.

“I hope the food’s worth it,” Taeyong says. “But don’t tell Kunie if it’s not. He’s sensitive.”

His good humor is just so easy to fall into. You find yourself relaxing a little.

“You have work tomorrow?” he asks, next.

“Why the interrogation?”

“Last time we only talked about me and the guys. Us.”

You shift in your seat, tension leaving your limbs. “Seems like Mark loves to talk. I don’t mind letting him.”

Taeyong laughs. “Great observation, but I wanna know about you.”

The window to tell him about you is narrow, but he does his best to get it all. Your job (normal, boring, pays the bills), your apartment (normal, costs too much), all of your most recent biographical details (summarized as well as you can), he asks questions like he’s being paid to do it.

He is very strange. You like it so much.

The barrage of questions only stops when Mark, Doyoung, and Kun come back to the table hauling artful wooden service trays full of food and drink.

“I wanna go back in time and tell Chenle to go fuck himself when he suggested the wood trays instead of the plastic ones,” Kun says, as he sets down his burden.

“They’re pretty,” you offer.

“Pretty,” Kun repeats. “That’s what Chenle said. ‘Gege, the aesthetic!’ What about my sanity?”

You understand, then, what Taeyong meant. Sensitive.

It’s charming, though, and Kun is still smiling as he curses out the heavy engraved wooden trays and distributes the drinks. He gets every order correct, placing your delicate glass cup in front of you without a second glance.

The easy grace transfers right into the atmosphere, as the three men take their seats and strike up a new conversation.

Several times it strays to business things that intrigue you, names that you don’t know and situations that make you want to ask questions, but almost every time, Taeyong shuts that kind of talk down before it can go very far. That suspicion rears its head again. Baseless, itching suspicion.

These are nice boys, though, and you’re going to have a nice brunch.

--

It’s perfect, and it’s a disaster. Timing-wise.

The meal is finished.

Taeyong had just excused himself to the restroom. Doyoung and Mark are at the counter, chatting to Kun as he sorts out the register. And you’re left at the table, fiddling with your drink as one of the other staff members – short, round-cheeked – clears away the empty dishes.

“How was everything?” he asks you.

You meet his eye, with a quick diversion down to his nametag. “Great. Thank you.”

Renjun, if the embroidered name is to be believed, smiles, pushing his cute cheeks up even more. “Perfect.”

He’s stacking things carefully, and you’re ready to hand him your own plate, when the door to the café opens.

A man walks in.

You don’t believe in love at first sight.

But something similar must exist. Lust at first sight, intrigue at first sight. Something, because suddenly you’re burning with interest, blood pumping in your ears.

He’s blonde. Shaggy, fluffy blonde hair, teased into an artful mess. A singularly pretty face, strong features but a delicate impression, something between cat and siren. A lithe body under baggy clothes. On the shorter side, but you can’t imagine anyone being able to overlook him.

He lopes into the café, and he grabs Mark around the shoulders with a finely-muscled arm.

“Who-” You find yourself speaking before you can think, suddenly aware that you’re gripping your plate so tightly that your fingers hurt. “Who is that?”

Renjun glances up. He glances back at you. His expression is a picture of resignation, and amusement.

“That’s Ten,” he tells you.

“Ten.”

Obviously, Renjun mistakes your distress for confusion.

“I thought it was weird, too, at first” Renjun says with equal parts kindness and teasing, easing the plate gently out of your hands. “The name. But it suits him.”

Renjun excuses himself with the pile of dishes, then, leaving you to watch Ten and struggle with that feeling under your skin.

You only get a moment to yourself, though, because much too soon you’re hearing a shout of your name. Mark’s voice, drawing your attention. Mark is leading the other two over to you.

“-and hyungs have other plans,” he’s calling, apology dripping from his voice. “Sorry to, like, dine and dash.”

“That means not paying the bill,” Doyoung points out quietly.

Mark considers this. “We didn’t, did we?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes.

But you’re too busy freezing, deer in headlights, to appreciate the moment of humanity from Doyoung.

Ten is looking at you. Appraisal. Sparkling, intelligent eyes, a mean smile on his lips.

“Who is this?” he asks.

His voice is light. Airy. Dangerously pretty.

It’s perfect and disastrous that just as Mark begins to answer – “Oh, yo, that’s-” – Taeyong makes his return.

He drops into the seat beside you, so close that his thigh touches yours, warmth from his skin stark against the clammy nervousness of your own. You watch Ten’s knowing, probing gaze, in agonizing slow-motion, slide from you, to Taeyong.

“Hyung,” Ten says.

Younger than Taeyong, your mind registers unhelpfully.

“Did I leave my Loewe cap at your place?” Taeyong asks him, without preamble.

“Yeah. It’s on the cat tree.”

Taeyong recoils. “The cat tree?”

“Don’t freak out, you own a lint brush,” Ten says airily.

“Ten-hyung, the meeting is in, like, fourteen minutes, we gotta jet,” Mark says.

Older than Mark, you note, this time. Why can’t you think about anything important?

Ten hooks his arm around Mark again. “Fine, fine. Good to see you, hyung.”

“Thirteen minutes,” Mark says, tugging, “Dude-”

Ten turns his attention back to you, and that bizarre teasing coldness returns to his eyes as he scans you again, brazenly, up and down. “And…nice to meet you.”

Mark takes that as his exit. He grabs Ten right back, and drags him toward the door, Doyoung following with an incredulous expression on his face. You wonder, for a second, if he saw what you saw in all that.

Taeyong waves them out, seeming none the wiser to your crisis.

Once the door is closed behind the three of them, once it’s just you and Taeyong and the distant conversation among the café staff, Taeyong lets out a funny little half-laugh.

“I…also have to go to the meeting,” he says.

Now, that makes you smile. “You could have left with them.”

“I could have,” he agrees. “But I wanted to tell you that I had fun.”

“We didn’t do much,” you say, and after a beat, you amend, flustered, “Not that it wasn’t fun! It was! It just – I – you know.”

He doesn’t seem put out in the slightest, instead sliding a perfectly-respectable hand onto your knee and squeezing.

“Wanna go out again sometime?”

The next time you see Taeyong, it’s not at his invitation.

Not like he’s ignoring you, or anything. You text him plenty, and he’s even called once or twice late in the evening, treating you to a scratchy half-asleep voice that you think about for the next day straight.

But mostly, life is normal.

The only real change is the occasional invitation out.

The next time you see Taeyong in person, it’s at Pado again.

Jaehyun had texted you. It was an unknown number that had you scratching your head, when he sent you a bare-bones message in the middle of your Friday work day, inviting you to Pado that same night. It wasn’t until Mark texted to explain that it was his bad, that he gave Jae and the other guys your number without thinking to ask, that you understood.

And accepted.

Jaehyun, in the brief time you’d met him, seemed no-nonsense and clear-headed. If he wanted you to come out, it probably wasn’t a pity invitation.

Probably genuine, probably really wanting to see you. For some reason.

When you get to the bar, you find out the reason pretty quickly.

There’s a ‘Closed for Private Party’ sign on the door, handwritten in black marker on a sheet of ripped paper.

The bright little space is decked out with balloons and banners, all in a garish yellow sun motif. Only a few people, but all in party attire. Bright clothes, a lot of them yellow and gold. The bar is lined with pre-poured shots. Dress nice, be ready to drink, don’t worry too much. Those were the instructions you’d gotten. Apparently, everyone else got the same ones.

It’s a birthday party.

“A surprise birthday party,” Jaehyun tells you. “Kind of.”

He’s at the same table that you’d taken last time you were here, him and Johnny the bartender. You’d spotted them right away, when you arrived, slightly nervous and modestly early.

“What is ‘kind of’ a surprise?” you ask.

“When the birthday boy demands a surprise party and then helps you plan it,” Johnny says. “And then acts surprised when he comes in.”

You blink. “Who-”

“Haechan. Or, you probably – Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck, the bartender. From what little you know of him, that tracks.

“He’s just like that. He’s a Gemini,” Jaehyun adds, out of pocket, like he can read your mind.

“You don’t seem like the astrology type,” you tease.

“There was this one girl,” he shrugs, vague, “Couldn’t shake it even after she dumped me.”

“Tragic,” Johnny sighs.

You grin. “Who would ever dump you?”

“Girls love to dump Jaehyun,” Johnny sighs again.

You feel like that’s probably not true, but that’s a topic for another time.

“Not that I’m not happy to be here,” you say, “But why was I invited to this party?”

“You know Hyuck,” Jaehyun says, like it’s obvious.

You don’t know if meeting him once in passing could be considered ‘knowing.’ But whatever.

It’s been a long week. And honestly, it’s reassuring to know that people other than Taeyong want you around, rather than tolerating you for his sake. This whole situation is still a social whirlwind that you can’t believe.

You’d forgotten how sociable people who like to drink can be.

The bar fills up as you chat, the buzz of the crowd growing louder around you. Mark says hello when he comes in, and Kun from the café greets you with a hand on the shoulder as he beelines it to the counter. And two more men come over to hang at your table, nudging between Johnny and Jaehyun.

The first is a stranger. Long glossy black hair, a tight skimpy black vest with nothing underneath, the same caliber of good looks as everyone else you’ve met in these circumstances. Like there’s a visual requirement to get in the door.

“I don’t think you’ve met Hendery,” Jaehyun says.

“Guanheng. But Hendery is just fine,” the guy adds.

You must be making a face, because Hendery cracks a lopsided smile, showing slightly big, very straight teeth.

“International student first-world problems,” he explains. “Hendery. I like it, though.”

“It matches you,” agrees the other guy.

You peer at him closer, and you recognize the handsome face of one of the bartenders you’d seen the other day. the one in yellow. The one who flirts.

“Dejun,” he introduces himself, the name also ringing a bell.

“Dejun,” you repeat, trying to match how he’d said it, distinctly neither Korean nor English.

“Or Xiaojun. Or DJ,” he offers.

“I can handle Dejun,” you say.

He smiles. It makes his sharp nose and cheekbones look even sharper. And then he glances sidelong at his companion, taking in Hendery from head to toe, and his smile disappears so fast, it’s comedy.

“The hell are you wearing?” Dejun asks.

“I got a job at The BAT,” Hendery grins.

“Why?”

His smile doesn’t falter. “They needed someone and Johnny-hyung recommended me.”

Dejun fixes his pretty, derisive eyes on Johnny, instead. “Why did you do that to him?”

You can’t help yourself. “Is that another bar?”

“You could say that,” says Dejun.

Hendery elbows him, “Yes, it’s a bar.”

“They strip,” calls Donghyuck, passing by.

“Don’t say it like that. More Hooters, less Magic Mike,” says Hendery.

“Not the way I do it,” Johnny smirks.

His words paint a particularly vivid image, especially pared with Hendery’s scant outfit, but the alleged stripping isn’t the part that catches you.

You blink at Johnny. “Don’t you own this bar?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the point of working for the competition?”

Johnny snorts. “Yuta and Jungwoo aren’t competition.”

“The BAT is in the basement,” Jaehyun explains, singularly helpful.

“Of this building?”

“Three floors down from here.”

“These are also friends of yours?” you ask.

“Yeah. Jungwoo is coming up here tonight, I think. Soon,” Johnny peers around as he speaks, so much taller than the crowd.

Yet more bizarre information to file away in your mind, more names to forget in this infinitely-expanding circle of friends and business owners.

“I need a drink,” you decide.

“Shot are free,” Johnny says. “But so is everything else.”

“I’m not doing shots yet.”

“Yet,” Johnny winks.

He’s insufferable. You kind of love it.

As you wander toward the bar, you take the chance to scan the place. Taking in the other patrons of this private party, assuaging your own nervous curiosity.

In total, there are maybe forty people in the bar. Mostly men, but also more than a few beautiful, beautiful women. In the group of people nearest you, you can pick out one tall, graceful girl in a short rainbow dress, another girl in a tight silver turtleneck and a beret. You wish it only made you feel the warm pangs of admiration, but you can feel the sickly creep of comparison, too. Jealousy.

Beautiful women, to match the beautiful men that always surround Taeyong.

You find Kun behind the bar.

“Shots?” he asks you, with a greeting nod and smile.

You admire his dimples, as you reply, “You don’t work here.”

Familiar exchange, familiar bar.

“They borrowed me for the night,” he says. “Johnny-hyung wanted to get drunk, and he doesn’t drink on the job.”

“You agreed to this? Wouldn’t you rather party, too?”

Kun’s smile deepens. “It’s Hyuck’s birthday. He’s a little dictator. I was…politely voluntold.”

“And you’re a good sport.”

“I try to be. Shots?”

“Not yet,” you say, again.

You order something else, something that won’t immediately go to your head. Mixology isn’t your strong suit, but you’re nevertheless impressed by Kun’s nonchalance as he puts together your drink. He’s a barista, or a café cook, or something, and he’s slinging alcoholic beverages just as easily. Talented guy. It’s a good drink, too, in your unprofessional opinion.

When you get back to the table, pausing along the way to greet Renjun the waiter, Taeyong is there. You hadn’t seen him come in. He gives you a little smile, a pleased and catlike smile. He doesn’t seem surprised to see you. Only delighted.

The conversation, however, seems to have taken a turn.

“You got dared,” Johnny is saying. “You can’t wimp out of a dare.”

He’s leaning fully onto the tabletop, putting his height to use. Across from him, Dejun is standing pink-faced.

“I am not kissing Guanheng!” Dejun insists.

“I can make it a double-dare,” Taeyong offers.

Dejun looks wounded at the suggestion. “Hyung!”

“Why me?” Hendery complains.

Johnny just raises his eyebrows, and the implication is clear. Who else?

“Don’t be a baby. It’s just a dare. Right?” Taeyong looks at you for backup, and you raise your drink defensively.

“Not my circus,” you say.

“Not mine, either!” says Dejun, voice growing thin and shrill in his exasperation.

“If you’re worried about it being too fruity, all you have to do is kiss a girl, too,” says Jaehyun, still completely deadpan.

Hendery looks for a second like he wants to argue with that, but then he shrugs.

“That’s not how it works,” Dejun says.

Jaehyun’s dimples pop as he holds back a smile. “Sure, it is. Look.”

With a glance and a pause, Jaehyun dips to one side to peck Taeyong on the lips. Then he zeroes in on you, weaving around Johnny to get a little closer. The only girl within reach. You look at Taeyong, who’s laughing, and you decide, hell, what’s the harm. Jaehyun pecks you, too, just a brush of the lips, just to prove a point.

It makes you laugh, too.

Jaehyun focuses back on Dejun and Hendery, face a picture of serenity again. “See?”

You expect Dejun to argue more, but he just kind of nods.

“Rock solid logic, hyung,” Hendery says.

“Now it’s a double dare,” Taeyong says, decisive. “’Jun, I double-dare you to kiss Hendery.”

“I don’t want to kiss any of you!” Dejun insists.

Hendery’s eyes slide pointedly toward Jaehyun. “That’s not true.”

Dejun’s blush deepens. “I’m gonna go home, I swear.”

Part of you feels bad for the group effort of coercion, but then, part of you understands it completely. If someone reacts to teasing as dramatically as Dejun does, it’s irresistible.

“This is pathetic,” says Hendery.

They’re about the same size, same height, similar beauty and equal apprehension, but Hendery wraps himself around Dejun with something like eagerness. And surprise, surprise, Dejun’s arms immediately come up to return the embrace, an automatic action or maybe more.

From your angle, you can only see the back of Hendery’s shaggy black hair, but the nearer guys are watching with unmasked fascination as they kiss.

And it’s not a peck. It’s a kiss.

They pull apart. Dejun’s eyes are glazed over, his lips are too shiny. Johnny is doubled over, wheezing.

“Now kiss her, so you’re not gay,” Hendery instructs.

Dejun comes back to himself and sputters, “The – I’m not afraid of being gay, you guys just-”

“Then kiss her.”

Taeyong’s fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of your top make you braver.

“You don’t wanna kiss me?” you pout.

Dejun looks genuinely put out, like he’s worried about offending you. But you can tell that, really, he’s not in the mood to kiss the whole room.

Amused and endeared, you’re about to reassure him, when Hendery tsks.

“I’ll do it.”

Hendery materializes in front of you, then, a request for permission in his raised brow.

It’s nothing like the way he kissed Dejun (which, based on Johnny’s continued hysterics, must have included tongue or something). He gives you the same feather-light press that Jaehyun did, a ghost of a real kiss.

But you take hold of his shoulder, warm bare skin and the leather of his vest, and when he pulls back for a second you peer at him, hoping that he can read the mischief you’re feeling. You only just met Hendery. You don’t do this kind of stuff with people you don’t know. Or with people you do know.

Hendery understands, though, and he braces himself to lean dramatically to one side and kiss you again, deeper. Mouth slotting against yours, this time, fingers firm on your ribs and your cheek.

And ever so gently, Taeyong’s hand on the small of your back pushes you into him.

More than Johnny whooping, more than Dejun protesting loudly, more than Donghyuck’s nosy ass shouting over – “What, what am I missing?!” – you hear Taeyong’s soft, satisfied laughter.

Taeyong likes this.

Hendery laughs, too, when you finally separate. His is full-bodied, though, raucous. “Now that was a kiss!”

It seems like every person in your small circle is wearing a completely unique expression, running the gauntlet from aroused (Taeyong) to appalled (Dejun).

“Okay,” Dejun says. “Okay, I get it.”

“That could have been you,” Hendery tells him.

“That could have been me,” he agrees soullessly.

The drama of the moment passes.

Taeyong slings an arm around your shoulders. You can’t remember the last time you were held so casually. Affectionate, and close, and comfortable. He’s warm, and the gentle scent of his perfume – something light and no doubt expensive – makes the humanity of it even more real.

Kun rescues Dejun from further embarrassment, dragging him away to help at the bar. It’s fuller in here, now, more people than you would expect for a private party.

And as soon as Dejun disappears, Hendery and Jaehyun trailing away after him, others fill in the gaps.

Doyoung, wearing a pink crown and a tipsy smile, and another guy that you don’t know. They join you, Johnny, and Taeyong, the newest stranger dropping himself into Johnny’s arms.

He’s tall and wiry, fluffy brown hair nudging against Johnny’s cheek.

“Hyung,” he says, voice light and pretty and slurring just a bit. “Hyung. Hey.”

You would be paying this pretty new stranger more attention if you weren’t too busy being terrified of drunk, human Doyoung. He’s not being rude, and he’s not avoiding you. Is this what he’s really like, when he doesn’t hate someone’s guts?

“This is a good party,” Doyoung says to Johnny.

“Yeah?”

Doyoung nods, looking at you, now. “He throws a good party.”

You’re going to answer, but then you see Doyoung’s unfocused gaze slide down to Taeyong’s arm, hooked around you. The expression on his face isn’t quite as icy as usual, but he still looks put-out. Confused, a bit. His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something about it. He’s drunk, his inhibitions are down, and you’re about to hear what he really thinks. You brace for it.

But Taeyong speaks first. “Have you been enjoying the open bar, Doie?”

Like he’s being snapped out of a trance, Doyoung’s eyes snap back up to his friend’s face. “Duh.”

“These three are trouble,” Johnny tells you.

He shakes the guy in his arms roughly, making him yelp. “Hyung!”

Johnny is unconcerned. “Lightweights, all of three of ‘em.”

“I’m not,” Taeyong dismisses.

“Oh, I mean especially you!” Johnny replies.

Taeyong is indignant, “Jungwoo is so much worse. Look at him.”

Still half-limp in Johnny’s arms, the last guy pouts, mumbles, “You are so – that is so mean. You’re mean. Look at you.”

They’re not wrong, though. You can see Doyoung swaying a little where he stands, and this other guy is already flushing red all the way down his neck.

“This is Jungwoo,” Johnny says to you, shaking his captive again.

“The stripper?”

“Stripper,” Jungwoo says, still through his pout. “What have you people been saying about me? I own a business, excuse you.”

“Yuta owns the business,” Johnny tells him.

“And I help.”

Johnny just straightens Jungwoo up bodily, forcing him to stand on his own. The pout has not left his face, but you could chalk that up to his plush lips and round eyes. Maybe he just naturally looks that cute, all the time. Puppy-dog cute. You’re endeared.

“You help,” Johnny agrees, placates.

Jungwoo turns to Doyoung. “How could they do this to me?”

“Calm down,” says Doyoung flatly, unimpressed. “Go get another beer or something.”

“Hyung, my honor-”

You just watch as they bicker.

It’s odd, like every other social encounter you’ve had with Taeyong’s friends. Two of these people are in business, owning (allegedly, in Jungwoo’s case) property in this very building. You would assume, since they’re friends, that they’re in business together somehow.

Having enough money for that is difficult, but not impossible. It could be harmless, like some of them coming from family wealth. All it would take is a few fathers in big companies, knowing someone from school with a good tie to real estate. People rent buildings all the time, and it’s probably easier with friends.

But that gut feeling you keep having is back. The suspicion, the feeling that you’re missing something crucial.

Words enter your mind. Words like jopok, and chaebol.

Problems that you could be walking into, legal and social disorder that could be brewing under the friendly guise of these pretty, pretty boys in a pretty building right on the main street of one of the faithfully trendy and expensive parts of town. Not serious, necessarily, but messy. Complicated.

You could get in trouble.

But would you mind?

--

You’ve never been able to get out of your head long enough to enjoy things to the fullest.

Drinking with friends? You’re hyperaware of not drinking too much, not losing any belongings, not standing in the way or getting left behind.

Going out dancing? You want to look cool, but not too uptight, which leads to an awkward push-and-pull with yourself that is probably worse-looking than just letting loose and dancing all-out. Always aware of eyes on you. Even passing glances have you taking inventory. What are your hands doing? Are you standing normally? What does normal standing even look like?

You realize how much of a problem this is when you try to dance with Taeyong, two or three long hours into the birthday party.

He’s a good dancer.

Smooth and sexy, carelessly doing whatever feels good to the music. Every turn looks good, every smile is radiant.

You can do that, too. At home. Alone. Music in your headphones, no eyes on you.

Here, surrounded by strangers and acquaintances, you’re too aware of yourself. Too aware of how you look compared to Taeyong, next to Taeyong.

So every few steps, you find yourself freezing.

Relax, begin to dance, let him lead you into silly body rolls and let him pull you close, and then…freeze.

Too aware that there are people watching.

And people are watching.

Glances from people you don’t know, staring and laughing and teasing from people that you do. It’s not even a bad vibe, necessarily, not negative attention, but it brings your usual self-consciousness into full focus.

Donghyuck teasing you as he weaves past clutching Renjun’s hand, Hendery watching you with approving eyes as you press yourself to Taeyong’s front during an Afrobeat song, Johnny coming by to give you the strongest lemon drop you’ve ever had. Every bit of it drags you back into the discomfort of your physical space.

Taeyong must notice, but he doesn’t say anything. He just readjusts every time you retreat, lets you move closer and farther as you need. He’s so patient. He’s so nice. And you’re just…unable to match his energy.

You wish you could be anyone but yourself, as you do this.

You wish you weren’t so…

[dearleove]

Our Season

— doyoung x reader au

summary: summer is the season of delight; happily spending your time with the love of your life under the bright sun kissing your skin. however, everything doesn’t stay within.

note: please don’t mind if there are any grammatical errors! ◡̈

genre: cute, angst

word count: 1,114

——————

Summer, a season of brightness that shines brightly upon your black-pearl eyes. Glittered sands that reflect from the light along with faded-colored shells. The noises of seabirds blending with the swoosh of the waves.

A red and white checkered mat was laid on the sand. Packed snacks and a camera were scattered along with our sandals, both of us sitting only bare-footed. I was sitting down infront of him while his hands moved up to my black wavy hair, playing with the loose strands.

My eyes gazed at the crystal sea of water.

“You seem to be enjoying the view,” Doyoung placed his chin on top of my shoulder, snaking his arms around my waist.

I giggled, “I love the view… it’s very pretty and peaceful,” tilting my head so I could see a clear view of his face.

Little black strands of his bangs were freely swaying, being blown from the fresh sea breeze. Sunlight hitting his pale clear skin, shining bright like his smile. His soft and plump lips is as pink as tulips from the field of flowers.

His eyes darted on mine, a smile formed on his lips causing his cute little eye whiskers visible.

He pinched my cheek, “It’s prettier when you’re in the view.”

I lightly slapped his cheek, “Kim Doyoung, you’re so cheesy.” we chuckled.

“C’mon, you like it”

“Whatever you say.”

Doyoung stood up from his position, snatching the camera that was placed on the mat. He walked backwards from where I was, watching him confusingly. As he stopped right at a perfect distance, he snapped me a picture and ran towards me.

“Come, I want to take you a picture somewhere,” he grabbed both of my hands, helping me to stand up with his support.

We ran as he dragged me near the shore, taking me tons of picture. I smiled shyly, doing different poses while gesturing me to keep on going. Suddenly, the wind started to hit towards our direction, causing my long length white dress to sway.

My hand immediately grabbed my dress, preventing it from flying too much and exposing my skin while my other hand is fixing the strands of my hair that were covering my view.

Doyoung immediately noticed my situation. He chuckled and walked right in front of me, placing my loose strands behind my ears. While doing so, I didn’t notice that I was already staring at his eyes.

Heart starts to beat faster, racing insanely as well as my mind. Everything feels like a dream; a dream that you do not wish to wake up to but to live forever in that feeling. The feeling of fluttering, to be with the love of your life and do things that both of you enjoy.

I thought this only happens in Disney movies, where fantasies of love are usually portrayed. Things went unexpected and couldn’t imagine that it is now happening in reality; being together with my long time college partner and confessing our feelings to one another.

Butterflies started to kick in my stomach and went back to my senses. My eyes went wide; surprised from his action. His soft lips was now placed into mine while he is holding my left cheek.

He paused, staring right into my eyes, “you’ve been staring for too long, I guess I surprised you.”

Cheeks started to ache from the heat and tension, forming red blushes like a tomato. Doyoung giggled, “you’re cute.”

“Stop,” I whined, hiding my face with my hands.

“Don’t cover your face, I like it when you’re blushing.”

He slowly pulled my hands from covering, showing entirely my shy and flustered face. I looked down onto our toes, still covering my reaction but it was no use. His soft hands lifted my cheek, defeatedly facing each other.

We stared at each other. Pupils in his eyes grew big and twinkling… they say a person’s pupils grow larger when they meet the love of their life or the person is in love, and that is exactly what he feels right now. He couldn’t believe that we’re finally together as he wished to the universe. What I also wished.

Doyoung has always have this thought to marry me, to grow a family and teach our children to play music just like him. He wants to be a good father, to take care and show his love to children as much as he does the same for me.

And I believed that he will definitely be the one when the time comes.

Despite being busy in work, he always ensure that I’m doing well and given each other some time; cuddles, conversation, and affection. When a problem occurs, he’s always there to comfort and listen. A man like him is very sweet, caring, and trust-worthy. Someone that will make you feel grateful to have in your life.

And he is right in front of me, standing closely. Our faces are few inches away from one another.

I closed my eyes, sensing his face getting closer to mine. Our noses are touching, the sound of his breath going lower until he finally placed his lips onto mine, passionately kissing me. Sparks grew larger, as if fireworks were surrounding us. The feeling of rollercoaster, the excitement and the sweet taste of cherry in his soft lips.

It lasted long ‘till he paused, still with my eyes closed. I waited for his response until he let out 3 words from his mouth.

the words,

“I love you”

He said with his soft voice

…until it vanished in the air.

Tears rolled down from my eyes like a continuously flowing river. I slowly opened my eyes and met by a dimmed sky, along with a sun that is soon to set down. Rocks were now more visible as the tide waves went low.

Everything was bright before, but it turned to be the opposite. The bright summer season was now nothing but feeling of desolation, an emptiness. Sparks that grew larger have now died down, nothing feels the same as it used to.

I still couldn’t believe and accept the fact that you’re no longer here with me.

The pain, the pressure. The faint smile painted on your face, the weakness on your eyes, reassuring me that everything is going to be okay.

It hurts knowing that you were in pain.

But, as what I promised to you, I’ll still keep on going as what you wished for. Although the universe didn’t grant what we truly wanted, I’ll do all of these things for you. I’ll try to grow stronger, to love myself more, especially to make you proud.

I know that you’re now in a happy and safe place,

please watch over me, love.

——————

[agustdef]

A Calm Day

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader.

Genre: Fluff; Slice of Life; Established Relationship.

Word Count: 1.9k.

Warning: None.

Rating: PG.

Beta Reader: @suhdays​ read it over and reassured me it was cute. 

A/N: This is a late birthday present for the sweetest of beans aka @hobeemin​. I wish I could have made something better, but also who would like a nice day with the dork known as Doyoung. I already told you happy birthday, but again I hope that you had a great days and every birthday to come is also great. 

Saturdays were a time for going out and enjoying yourself. For attending brunch, get togethers, parties, or even going on adventures. Or at least that was what YN was all about when she was in college and the few years that came after. The version of her that had a demanding job and a somewhat active social circle deemed Saturdays a day of rest. Sunday could have all the fun, but the day after a work week was for her to unwind.

Well, her and her fiancé who seemed to fail to remember what the word relaxation meant.

Which was why on the Saturday morning - more like early afternoon - after a particularly tough week she expected to wake up in bed alone. However, she opened her eyes to find Doyoung knocked out of the bed next to her. It surprised her, even more so because he looked like he was still within a deep sleep and not just lying there trying to sleep.

A smile formed on YN’s lips seeing him like that. The dork tended to work too hard and then not give himself time to recuperate. It was a constant point of issue between the two of them. But when he did take the time to relax it was beautiful. She found him handsome every second of the day, but resting Doyoung was just so beautiful. And he was peaceful to watch, though she tried not to be a creep about it.

Doyoung would never let her live it down if he caught her and she was not about to play that game with him.

So, after a few seconds of staring at his face in the sunlight she closed her own eyes and let sleep claim her again. She needed it.

When she woke up again though, the bed was empty and the clock told her she’d slept in past one. Sleep clung to her saying she could stay in bed longer, but she knew that she’d had enough and despite the goal of chilling that day she didn’t want to sleep it away.

Which meant that she forced herself up and out of the bed, swaying a bit as she tried to wake up enough to not faceplant the first step she took. It took several seconds and so blurred vision, but she pulled it together, but before she could fully lift her foot the door to the bathroom swung open and out came Doyoung.

He was shocked to see her, but a smile took over his face rather quickly.

“I was just going to come and wake you up,” he said.

YN narrowed her eyes and scanned over his features, noting the clothing that he was wearing carefully.

“What so you can make me go on a run?” she asked, though it was more like an accusation.

At that the smile on Doyoung’s face dropped and he rolled his eyes. The sassiness that was a large part of his personality always came out at the drop of the hat.

“No. I’m allowed to wear basketball shorts and this shirt without going to work out. I ran you a bath.”

There was still something suspicious about it all, but after a few seconds YN stop looking at him sideways and instead smiled.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” she said as she approached him, reaching up to pinch his cheek as she did it.

Of course, there was more eye rolling, but Doyoung smiled at her again. Then he leaned forward to place a kiss to her lips. It was gentle and warm, which somehow made her feel both calmer and much more awake. She enjoyed that feeling and pouted the moment he pulled away.

That was funny to Doyoung though and instead of giving her another kiss to stop the pouting he merely grabbed her hand and led her into the bathroom. There she found the aromatherapy machine going and a bath bomb dissolving into the water creating a nice lilac hue. It was one that she’d run out of a month before and kept forgetting to go buy more of. She’d mentioned in two days before when she wanted to take a bath but didn’t have it on hand, running her plans.

And that’s all it took to stop the pouting and start the heart eyes. Doyoung liked to pretend he was more standoffish than he was, but he was one of the sweetest people that YN knew. He always paid attention to what she said and with the week she’d been having, he must have known how much she needed even something as minor as her favorite bath bomb.

Doyoung had to have seen the way her lips parted to say something, because before she could get all soft on him he was talking.

“You can relax here for a while. But you have about forty-five minutes to get ready. We’re going out, so wear something comfortable and relaxed.”

Then before she could process that he was out of the bathroom.

Part of her wanted to call him back and ask what he meant or give him the small praise she’d been prepared to say, but she knew better than to ask his plans for them. Plus, the moment she looked back at the tub the ache her body felt hit and she wanted nothing more to sit in the scalding water. So, that’s what she did.

The moment she stepped in after stripping her body begged her to leave because of how hot it was, but she merely waited a second for it to adjust at her feet and submerged all but her head. More warning bells went off, but they left her seconds later and she felt herself become one with the water. The smell and feel of the lavender bath bomb melting away her pain almost instantly.

Everything just felt better in a bath where she didn’t have to focus on anything but herself. Not that she really did that since she practically drifted off in there and didn’t snap out of it until the water got a little too cool about thirty minutes later. She felt like a prune, but it was fine because she felt so good.

After she checked the time on the clock in the bathroom she got out, drained the tub, and hopped into the shower so that she could clean herself. From there it was quick work to get skincare done and herself moisturized and dressed.

As she pulled on her second sock Doyoung entered their bedroom looking ready to rush her only to stop when he saw her basically ready. All she needed to do was throw her hair in a ponytail, which was easy enough since she’d gotten faux locs two weeks before and they were lived in enough that she could style them any which way.

With her ready to go she and Doyoung left the house without much of a word to each other. Doyoung seemed in a rush so she didn’t want to slow him down by asking a million questions, however the moment he got them onto the highway she turned to him with a raised brow.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.”

“Where is somewhere?”

“A place.”

“What kind of place?”

“A place I want to take you.”

“A place where you want to take me to murder me?”

Though he’d maintained a straight face through her little questioning the last question caused him to groan and glare at her. She knew that he wasn’t planning to murder her and that he wanted it to be a surprise, but once she got into the groove of the back and forth it was hard for her to stop herself. That wasn’t new though, so though Doyoung was mildly annoyed with her antics he brushed it off rather easily.

“Keep it up and yes it will be where I murder you,” he mumbled.

That response elicited a laugh from YN, the kind where you threw your head back and smiled too hard. Something that only made Doyoung a little fed up with her, though she swore she saw him smile a little at it.

From there they just enjoyed the ride with a soft pop music playing as they went. YN watched the scenery change from building to forest and then back. And the next thing she knew they were pulling into the smaller parking lot near their favorite spot to relax near the Han River.

The location was a bit shocking, but she went along with it and didn’t pester the poor man anymore. Though that became hard as they got out of the car and he pulled a picnic basket out of the trunk. What they were doing was clear, but still so many questions entered her head that she just didn’t voice.

Once Doyoung had the basket he took hold of her hand and led her out closer to the river. They walked a few minutes before they reached a spot under a tree that they both liked. Thankfully, no one was under it or around the area, so they had a little privacy.

Happy with their spot Doyoung quickly unpacked the basket, swatting away YN’s hands any time she tried to help him out. Though that didn’t fully stop her and eventually he moved so quickly that she didn’t even have the chance to intervene at all.

“Sit,” he said once he finished.

That made YN narrow her eyes and tilt her head at him. For a moment he did the same before sighing and plopping onto the blanket he’d laid out.

“Please sit with me.”

With the rephrasing she plopped down next to him and took in what he’d brought for them to enjoy. It was a mix of all their favorite portable foods. Some sandwiches, kimbap, fruits, drinks, and part of their convenience store snack stash.

“I thought that we could spend the afternoon like this. We haven’t had the time to in a while, so it seemed to be a good idea. Especially before dinner with my sister, tonight” Doyoung said.

Hearing that warmed YN a great deal because it was thoughtful. She hadn’t complained about the lack of time spent together, but it had been something that popped into her mind a time or too. And knowing how Doyoung and his sister got along it was going to be stressful and there definitely need to be some dumping of stress before and after that dinner.

Though he also probably wanted brownie points for later because nine point nine times out of ten Doyoung was the reason things with his sister went awry and YN had to get on his case about it. But she didn’t think about that too long, just leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek before picking up a sandwich to eat.

Doyoung returned the favor and then joined her eating. Neither had had anything all day so they were beyond hungry and scarfed down half of the provisions within minutes. Not that either cared about the slobbish way they ate anyway. Food in their stomachs was the end goal.

Upon finishing their breakfast slash lunch, they both laid back on the blanket and stared at the sky.

“Did you finish that book you were reading?” Doyoung asked.

“Yeah. It was okay.”

“Can I borrow it? Looked like something I’d like.”

“Sure, but you have to let me borrow yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah, that one from a few weeks back.”

“Ooh. Yeah, that one was…”

The moment books were mentioned they both kind of spiraled down that path, discussing ones they’d read before and recommending others they thought the other might like.

Overall, it was a pretty chill day but that was all that YN could ever ask for. Sometimes you didn’t need more than company and calm conversation. Sometimes it was the thing that did the most for the soul.

[127luvr]

Can i request a Doyoung x male reader where Doyoung is having a hard time singing before but then when he met y/n, it got a easier since he would just imagine singing to him.

From Home

Kim Doyoung x Male Reader

Doyoung is not a spiritual person.

He would consider himself to have most—if not all—of his beliefs to be proven scientifically true or possible. He’s sure he’s not the only one in the group, but everyone believes in something.

He tries to keep his skepticism to a minimum when Haechan talks about how him and Mark were destined to be. How soulmates must be real since they were the prime example. But he could never wrap his head around how two people could be destined for each other. How they could get through anything and meet regardless of how they got to each other. He could never have a mindset like that.

Until he met you.

The weeks leading up to your accidental bump in, Doyoung was stressed. He felt underwhelmed with his singing—as if he weren’t being challenged enough. But there he was, in the studio day in and day out as they recorded a repackage for their album before going out to tour. He just didn’t feel the passion anymore. There were no nerves that settled in his stomach as he waited for his turn to sing. No rush that coursed through his veins when he heard how the harmonies finally lined up together after singing the same line in different registers.

It’s late one night when he’s rushing down the empty hallways of SM—sporting a black baseball cap with a mask that’s under his nose. He wants nothing more than to leave the building—done with all of the music that’s put in front of him by higher ups. There’s a crash when he rounds the corner, his baseball hat coming off as he knocks the sheet music out of your arms. It’s cartoonish—really—the way that you fall onto the ground with an umph and papers flying all around you. You look up at the culprit, shielding your (e/c) eyes from the harsh lighting above.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry, let me help you up.” Doyoung’s voice is like music to you, his slim fingers causing electricity to run down your spine as he helps you up. He gathers the music for you, bowing his head apologetically as he holds it out for you to take. You look at him for a second, frozen to the spot. Surely he felt what you did. “I’m Doyoung.” His eyes scan you from bottom to top, a smile making its way towards his eyes as he sees your (f/c) plaid pajama pants paired with slippers. When he finally makes eye contact you, he’s stunned, lips parting as he almost lets go of the paper in his hands.

“I’m (Y/n).”

Doyoung feels silly. Mostly for letting his mind wander. For merely considering the idea that you could have been sent to him for a reason. The past few weeks of getting to know each other were some of the best weeks of Doyoung’s life. He feels inspired—a lot more carefree than he used to be.

You notice how as time goes by he is more willing to sing around you. Even quiet humming as he stands in line next to you—you can tell he’s grown more comfortable with you hearing his voice. But Doyoung is not known for being shy. He is confident in his voice regardless of his condition—he knows he will always deliver. He can’t quite put his finger on why he is so nervous around you but he feels the thrill of singing again. Of having someone watch your every move as you sing your heart out to whatever song.

Eventually the two of you get close enough to share music with each other. Some that he’s composed just days after meeting you—a lot of it alluding to you.

“(Y/n). Your love for music is so contagious, you know? You’re like a happy virus whenever you go, I wish we could keep your music just for ourselves—for memory sake. But I know this will be bigger than us.” Your studio is small—almost too small that it’s suffocating you as Doyoung suddenly confesses to you, his eyes wide as he has his sweaty hands on the coffee table in front of him. “You make it easier for me. You make me feel so at ease that I picture you in every audience I’m in front of just so I know I’m singing my best. You make me want to show of what I can do—because I always want to impress you. Every time I close my eyes, I see your own (e/c) ones looking at me, I can never describe what the feeling is behind them but it makes me perform to my best abilities, (Y/n).”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at your heart. Knowing that you could be of help to Doyoung—the biggest star you know is more than enough to keep you going. “Admiration, Doyoung. How I look at you—I mean. It will always be admiration and disbelief.”

So maybe this is where Doyoung finally learns that sometimes people are just meant to be. That the two of you came together when the universe finally believed it was time. How you were destined to be the moment you both laid eyes on each other—instantly becoming each other’s muses and igniting the love for music that was buried in the depths of your mind—and heart.

[2cupids]

doyoung has a huge exhibition kink. he’s fucked you in multiple public and semi-public places and you two have never been caught yet but knowing any random stranger could catch him with his cock buried inside your pussy drives him crazy. his favorite place he’s fucked you was in the bathroom of a club. he kept complimenting you, saying that the neon lights of the club illuminated your brown skin beautifully, how it made you look even more stunning. one thing led to another and that’s how you ended up fucking in the bathroom, you were bent over the bathroom counter, legs spread wide and taking his cock so well, loudly moaning his name, not caring who might be able to hear. and let’s just say it didn’t take long for him to fill your pretty little pussy full of cum.

[lavender-z-love]

Code Red!

Kim Doyoung X Black.FemReader ♡

Warnings ⚠️: Mentions of Blood, Period Care, mention of Ex's, embarrassment, potential spelling errors, Fluff ♡

Wordcount: 1,200

It was a Saturday Afternoon, and your classes ended early for you. Your stomach was on fucking fire and you; yourself struggling with symptoms.

You wanted to call your boyfriend but... from past experiences they didn't like that, they thought it was dirty, you were looked at like you hadn't taken care of yourself in ages.

Yes, you managed to walk your ass back to your house, 'upset stomach' banging against your insides. It wasn't a far walk but you were tired indeed..Once you made it home your natural instinct was to rip off your pants and shirt then hit the hay.

And that is exactly what you did. In an instant you were sound asleep. An hour or so later your phone rings, you ignore it.. then rings again, you decline..at least 2 more times then knocking at your door.

You grimace in annoyance, why is everything getting on your nerves today? You opened the door and Doyoung was there. You signed glad he was here, someone who can easily ease your annoyance.

The pain was back so you motioned for him to come in and you quickly went to take a seat,"Hey, why didn't you answer my calls?" He asked worried.."I was napping, im sorry.." He closes the door then walks over to you squatting down in front of you.

"It's okay, I understand..ah-" he reached out to brush your hair from your face, in the process he felt your forehead.

"Y/n– You're burning up.."

"Yeah..its hot in here, ain't it?"

"No, Y/n YOU are burning up." You looked up at him, and he felt your cheek with the palm of his hand. Next thing you know you're being lifted up and carried to you room,"Doyoung..Im fine, I swear-" he moved the covers so that he could set you down then tuck you in.

However, he stopped in his tracks,"Oh Pumpkin." Your breathing staggered,"huh..w-what."

"Here sit right here." He sat you at a wooden stool next to your desk. Doyoung rushed out of your room- and you were still puzzled. Then you saw it, there was blood on you sheets..but when?

You weren't bleeding when you used the bathroom before, so why now. Embarrassment has never hurt so bad. You just know your eyes watered and everything was so blurry.

You darted into the bathroom, humiliated, ashamed. Now your boyfriend left, he's not coming back. Is what you thought. There was a quiet knock on the door and a soft voice behind it.

"Sweat Pea, are you in here?" He knew you were in there, he heard you sniffling,"What do you want?" You heard the doorknob twist but it didn't open due to you locking it beforehand.

"Let me in, Please. I want to make sure you're alright Y/n." To check on me? You thought..thats new. "No, please go, I'll change my sheets and you can excuse yourself." He leaning against the door at this point, lulling you from the other end.

"Sweet Pea, I already changed your sheets."

"Really?" You creep towards the door unlocking it, causeing Doyoung to srumble forward, falling into the bathroom.

"..You weren't lieing–". He walked up to you rubbing the arm he fell on,"Of course not..why would I lie."

"Oh no! Im sorry Doyoung!"

"Its okay, Sweet pea." He smiled sweetly at you, before taking your hand and spinning you around. When you realized what he was doing you quickly covered up. "Sweet Pea..It's really not that bad!"

"No! Its embarrassing.."

"Do you want me to help you with the clean up process?"

You stood ashamed,'How could he ask a question like that?' Clean you? "A-Ah.. No! I'll be out in a minute." You got out the shower..Finally spending at least an hour in there. You were sure Doyoung was gone. You changed into pajamas, finally feeling clean.

"Finally..Thank goodness he's gone-"

"Am not, so rude. You want me gone so badly?- Tsk, Tsk-"

He leaned against your door with arms folded. "I..",you tried looking for the right words, and you couldn't.

"I'm sorry Dong- I just..Why are you still here? Aren't you disgusted by me? Don't you think im filthy?"

He game you a look of puzzlement,"Why would I think that?" You hesitate- "My ex's..they didn't like it. So I just thought–"

You heard footsteps get closer to you,"Sweet Pea, Listen to me. I'm not your ex's, I'm a different person Y/n." He was right, he did have a point.

"It's normal, Im not disgusted by bodily functions", He admitted. "Here, Look at me Y/n, I've got you Princess. Let me take care of you. Okay?"

You nodded, and He gave you a kiss on your forehead. "Hmm..You're not burning up anymore, but I think I still would like you to lay down for a bit."

You listened and got comfortable, having Doyoung tuck you in. He grabbed a stool near-by and sat beside you.

"Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Doyoung, you don't have to. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I can go get a Heating Pad. A trash can for your nausea? Some pain killers?" You giggled which caused him to ask,"Whats funny Pumpkin?"

"Im sorry Doyoung, you're so cute. You don't have to do anything! I promise I feel better."

"Thank you Y/n, but I think you're the cutest!" He places his fingers on your sides and ticked you, having laughter for the most point but then the 'ouch!' Came.. Doyoung panicked a bit pulling his hands back,"Ah..Im sorry Y/n."

You smiled,"Its okay! Hey uh..I thought of something you could do for me."

"Yes?"

He gets up out of his seat and head to the door, ready for what you were going to request of him.

"Could you cuddle me?"

He smiled,"Oh of course my princess." He crawled onto the bed and stopped when he hovered above you. You reached out hold his face, as he leans into your touch.

"You're too sweet to me, I'm sorry I doubted you Doyoung." He leaned down to kiss you,"Hey, don't worry about it. If I were in your shoes I'd be embarrassed too."

You pulled back the covers allowing Doyoung to get underneath. He lies in front of you getting comfortable beside you. He was laying on top of you a bit, placing his head on your chest. "Doyoung.."

"Hm?" Your hands fiddle with his hair, arms wrapped around his upper back and lower back. "Thank you for being good to me."

He held his head up and looked at you. "Sweet Pea, Stop thanking me and focus on feeling better." He chuckled and lay his head back down.

Then followed by a "You're welcome my beauty. You smiled,"You're so pretty Dong."

"Hush you, its nap time."

"Okay, I love you." He rubs your tummy with his warm hands.

"I love you too princess."

Written On February 4th 2022

Quick statement for people who dont know, I used 'Dong' for short of Doyoung's Real name 'Dong-young' so don't be confused ♡ Ty

[thesafecafe]

NCT/WayV Masterlist (excluding some members)

Quick note: No nsfw requests will be taken for Jisung or Chenle, as it would be uncomfortable to write, and if you don’t see a member here, I probably don’t write for them. If you request a member that isn’t here, I’ll most likely decline your request.

Group

NCT 127 as your Twitter Moots

NCT 127: Helping their Black GF on wash day

NCT 127:

Johnny:

What You Did 

Taeyong:

Yuta:

BBHMM || sequel (soon)

Jungwoo:

You’ll Always Be Mine, Baby

Mark:

Haechan:

NCT Dream + Sungchan & Shotaro:

Renjun:

Let It Snow

Jaemin:

Chenle: 

Sungchan: 

Shotaro:

WayV:

Kun:

Was it worth it?

Ten:

Yangyang:

Xiaojun:

Winwin: