Hiii if reqs are still open can I ask for a coworker Doyoung finding out you're an onlyfans model....😭✋♥️
miss erotica
summary: you and doyoung are coworkers who maintain a strictly professional relationship… until he accidentally discovers your secret life as a lingerie model on onlyfans. tension builds, desires unravel, and when the truth finally comes out, you make him a filthy little offer he can't refuse.
pairing: coworker ! doyoung x coworker (of model) fem! reader
genre: smut, coworkers to lovers, slow burn tension, light dom!doyoung, lingerie kink, secret double life reveal.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, lingerie modeling, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral fixation (male receiving implied), cumshot on stomach/lace lingerie, cumshot on face (briefly mentioned), possessive behavior, light praise/degradation, slight overstimulation, photo taken for onlyfans post, doyoung jerking off alone at the end
wc: 3,6k
notes: omg, incredible request anon, i hope you enjoy it! thank you all for your requests, remember that they’re open, though it might take me some time to get to them due to my schedule🩷
working with doyoung had always been... easy. despite your desks being placed directly in front of each other, just a breath apart, the relationship stayed strictly professional. you weren't sure if it was because he was a workaholic who barely lifted his head from the screen, or if it was simply the nature of two people who lived parallel lives — polite, distant, untouched by anything messy or personal.
you knew the basics. he was single, lived alone, probably married to his job. you weren’t that different either — renting a cozy little apartment not far from the office, sharing your space with your two cats: milo, a silver tabby with a mischievous glint in his eye, and luna, a cream-colored ragdoll with lazy, half-lidded stares. you had exchanged bits of your life over small talk, shallow conversations at best. never more. never deeper.
what you didn’t know, what nobody knew, was that doyoung had a secret obsession — paying for content on onlyfans. not just any content. he was a loyal subscriber to a certain "miss erotica", a woman who never showed her face but showcased her body in ways that blurred the lines between art and temptation. he didn’t tell anyone. how could he? it was his private addiction, the one thing he allowed himself outside the endless deadlines and excel sheets.
then, one morning during a rare group breakfast at the office, the conversation drifted to pets. casual, harmless. you, smiling, pulled out your phone and showed a picture of your cats lounging by your living room window. milo, sprawled like a king, his silver fur shining under the sun; luna, tucked next to him, her cream coat like a spilled glass of milk against the dark wood floor.
"they're beautiful," someone cooed.
doyoung looked at the screen. and froze.
something pricked at the back of his mind. the silver tabby with the green collar... luna's cream fur... it looked familiar. almost too familiar.
he had seen them before.
but not here.
his heart stuttered, his throat going dry. he stayed silent, watching as you scrolled through more pictures, laughing, showing off your babies to the group. you didn't notice the way his eyes stayed glued to your screen, how his mind reeled.
because in one of miss erotica's most memorable posts — a shot of her ass in black lace panties, arching perfectly against a leather chair — there had been a cat in the background. a silver tabby. with the exact same green collar. and another fluff of cream lazing by a window.
doyoung’s stomach twisted.
no, it couldn't be.
he hadn't saved the picture. it had been months ago. it could be a coincidence. right?
he spent the rest of the day distracted, replaying the image in his mind, trying to grasp at details, trying to reason with himself. people had cats. cats could look similar. it didn’t have to be you.
and he almost let it go.
almost.
until summer came.
you traded your usual long-sleeved blouses for casual short-sleeve shirts, your skin kissed golden by the sun, the curve of your arm now exposed to his line of sight. that day, when you leaned across the desk to pass him a file, the hem of your sleeve rode up. doyoung’s eyes — traitorous, hungry — caught something.
a tattoo.
small, delicate.
a slender vine of wildflowers, curling around the back of your arm, the ink fine and dark against your skin.
he stared.
he knew that tattoo.
he had spent hours tracing it with his eyes on his screen, had memorized the way the petals twisted, the slight flaw in one of the leaves. miss erotica had that same tattoo. he had noticed it countless times while she modeled those sinful sets of lingerie — crimson silk, ivory lace, black leather.
doyoung’s heart slammed against his ribs. it wasn’t just a theory anymore. it was you.
he looked up slowly, meeting your eyes across the desk. you gave him a small, polite smile, unaware of the war raging inside him.
he swallowed thickly, his hands curling into fists under the desk.
fuck.
you were miss erotica.
and now, he couldn't unsee it. couldn't pretend he didn't know. every time you bent over slightly to pick up a file, every time you tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, every time you laughed low and sweet — it all layered itself with the filthy, burning images he'd paid to see at 2 a.m.
it was you.
doyoung hadn’t just stumbled across your profile. he had been looking for something — something specific, something that scratched a very particular itch deep inside him. lingerie. but not just anyone posing in cheap lace or overexposed shots. he liked the slow burn, the tease, the art of it. miss erotica was perfect. you had perfected it.
your content wasn’t explicit in the obvious sense. no faces, no messy, desperate angles. it was the suggestion of sin, the elegance of a body wrapped in silken temptation. intricate corsets, delicate garter belts, sheer stockings stretched over soft skin. sometimes, he thought the way you positioned your hands was even sexier than nudity — subtle, knowing. you wore lace like it was a second skin, posed in ways that made his mind work, made him imagine peeling each layer off inch by inch.
he had a thing for thigh-high stockings. for black lace that hugged curves and hinted at forbidden places. and miss erotica — you — had a way of making every single photo feel personal. like you were posing just for him.
he had spent too many nights gripping the sheets in frustration, whispering your name under his breath, not even realizing it. miss erotica. miss erotica. it was stupid how deep it went.
and now...
you were sitting across from him at your shared desks, tapping away on your keyboard, completely unaware that the woman who had made him lose sleep, made him ache with need, was breathing the same office air as him.
it felt wrong.
it felt so good.
he was drowning in it.
the realization clung to him like static electricity. he watched the way your fingers danced across the keys, slender and sure, the same fingers he had imagined curled in the waistband of delicate panties. he watched the way you tilted your head slightly when you read something intently, exposing the soft line of your throat, the same throat he had dreamed of marking.
he couldn't focus.
he couldn’t fucking breathe.
you had no idea.
the days after the realization were torture.
doyoung tried to act normal — professional, polite, like he hadn't spent half the night with your photos burned into his eyelids. but it was impossible. now he noticed everything. the slight sway of your hips when you walked past his desk. the way your fingers sometimes absentmindedly played with the hem of your blouse. the shape of your mouth when you sipped your coffee. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fucking fair.
he needed a release. he needed you.
so one evening, as you both packed up your things, the office mostly deserted except for a few lingering coworkers, he cleared his throat and said casually, "hey, y/n... you doing anything tonight?"
you looked up, a little surprised — it was rare for doyoung to initiate anything that wasn’t strictly about work. "not really," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "why?"
he shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "thought maybe we could grab a drink. just... you know, decompress a bit. long week."
you smiled — a soft, genuine smile he didn’t usually get to see — and nodded. "yeah, sure. that sounds nice."
it was a simple moment.
ordinary.
but his pulse hammered against his ribs like he had just won something forbidden.
the bar he picked wasn’t far from the office. dimly lit, cozy, tucked away enough that no one from work would accidentally stumble in. he watched you under the low lights, the way you peeled off your jacket, revealing more of your arms — more of that tattoo — and he felt his mouth go dry.
you ordered something sweet. he ordered something strong.
conversation started off light. movies, weekend plans, the weather.
but as the drinks flowed, the distance between you seemed to shrink. your laughter got a little looser. your glances lingered a little longer. he leaned in, elbows brushing yours on the tiny table, and he could smell the soft, clean scent of your shampoo. he could imagine burying his face in it, breathing you in as he pressed your body against his.
"so," he said after a pause, voice a little rougher now, "you live alone, right?"
you nodded, swirling the ice in your glass. "yeah. just me and my two little troublemakers."
"the cats," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth.
"mhm." you tilted your head, curious. "you remembered?"
he chuckled lowly. "hard to forget."
especially when those cats had haunted his fucking dreams alongside your lace-clad body.
you leaned in a little closer without realizing it, your knee brushing his under the table.
doyoung’s hand twitched, desperate to touch, desperate to confirm that you were real, that you were here, that he wasn’t losing his goddamn mind.
"you ever feel like people don’t really know you?" you said suddenly, voice soft, almost vulnerable. "like... you have this whole side of you no one even sees?"
you didn’t know what you were doing to him.
or maybe you did.
he set his glass down, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.
"i think," he said slowly, voice dropping, "some sides are meant for only a few lucky ones to see."
the air between you crackled, thick and heavy.
you swallowed hard, heart beating too fast.
you hadn’t realized how close you had leaned in. how close he was.
or maybe you had.
the space between you buzzed like an invisible wire pulled too tight. every time you shifted, his eyes flickered down, tracing the subtle lines of your body. you were painfully aware of it — of him — of the way his fingers curled against the edge of his glass, the way his jaw tensed whenever your knees brushed under the table.
you sipped your drink slowly, tongue darting out to catch a drop at the corner of your mouth. his gaze followed the movement like a man starved. you could practically feel the heat rolling off his body in thick, stifling waves.
the conversation faltered. it didn’t need words anymore. everything was felt.
"y/n," he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges.
you looked up, heart skipping.
there was something dangerous in his eyes. something that told you he wasn’t going to play pretend anymore.
"those cats of yours," he started, almost casually. "i swear i’ve seen them somewhere else before."
you smiled, slow, almost coy. "yeah?"
he leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek. you could smell the bourbon on him, feel the warmth of it seeping into your skin.
"yeah," he murmured. "in a... very specific place."
a pause. a deliberate, loaded silence.
you set your glass down carefully, the ice clinking sharp in the quiet.
"where, doyoung?" you asked, voice sweet, teasing. but your heart was hammering against your ribs, adrenaline and arousal twining together into something electric.
he watched you, pupils blown wide, fingers flexing like he was holding himself back from reaching across the table and dragging you into him.
"onlyfans," he said finally. barely a whisper. a confession.
the word hung between you, scandalous and heavy.
you didn’t flinch. didn’t look away.
instead, you tilted your head, a slow, sinful smile curling your lips.
"miss erotica," he said, the name coming out like a prayer he had whispered a hundred times in the dark.
you leaned in, so close your knees were fully pressed together now under the table.
your voice dropped to a purr.
"so," you breathed, "you’re a fan of lingerie, huh?"
his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, y/n... more than a fan."
the confession hung in the air like smoke, sweet and thick.
you let the moment stretch, savoring the way his body tensed, the way he shifted like he was seconds away from snapping.
"lace?" you murmured. "stockings? garters?"
he nodded, unable to look away from you, like you were the center of his whole fucking universe.
"all of it," he said, voice almost breaking. "i... i can’t get enough."
you licked your lips slowly, leaning back just a little to give him a view of the curve of your body under your blouse. teasing. tempting.
his fingers twitched like he was holding onto the last shred of his self-control.
"poor thing," you whispered. "must be hard, wanting something so bad and not being able to touch it."
his hands fisted in his lap, knuckles white.
"y/n," he warned, voice wrecked, pleading.
you smiled, wicked and soft all at once.
you leaned closer, so your mouth was right by his ear, your breath warm against his skin.
"what if," you whispered, so quietly it was almost obscene, "i modeled for you?"
he sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body shuddering like he’d been struck.
you pulled back just enough to see his face — the desperation there, the hunger, the need.
"real life," you said, your fingers ghosting along the hem of your skirt under the table, just enough for him to catch the motion. "no screens. no distance."
he was trembling. you were trembling.
the world outside the little cocoon of the bar didn’t exist anymore.
there was only this — the heavy beat of your hearts, the unbearable pull between you, the promise of something dirty and sweet hanging in the air.
"you’d model for me," he said, disbelieving, wrecked.
"if you’re a good boy," you teased, wicked and tender all at once.
he let out a low, broken noise, half-growl, half-whimper, and you knew — you knew — that tonight was going to change everything.
you barely made it through the door before he was on you.
doyoung kicked the door shut behind him, hands everywhere, breath hot against your skin as he pressed you against the wall.
"fuck," he muttered against your neck, voice low and trembling with restraint. "you drive me insane."
you laughed softly, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.
"patience," you whispered. "you still want me to model for you, don't you?"
he pulled back, eyes dark and wild, chest heaving.
"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, yeah. show me, baby. show me everything."
you slipped out from under him, sauntering toward your bedroom with a slow sway of your hips, feeling his gaze burning into you.
you could hear him curse under his breath, could hear the faint clink of his belt as he adjusted himself, trying to keep it together.
you left the door slightly ajar, just enough for him to peek in as you changed.
slowly, languidly, you stripped down, sliding the soft fabric of your blouse over your head, shimmying your skirt down your thighs.
you chose one of your best sets — a delicate black lace bralette and matching thong, the garter belt hugging your hips, sheer thigh-high stockings clipping into place with a soft click.
you posed in front of the mirror for a moment, adjusting the straps, making sure everything sat just right, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him.
"come in," you called sweetly.
the door creaked open and there he was, standing there, jaw clenched, eyes practically black.
his hands fisted at his sides like he was seconds from losing every ounce of control.
you turned slowly, letting him take you in — the curve of your ass in the sheer lace, the tight lines of the garter straps, the soft swell of your breasts barely contained by the delicate fabric.
"holy fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. "you're gonna kill me."
you sauntered up to him, slow and deliberate, your fingers trailing up his chest, feeling the tremor beneath your touch.
"sit," you commanded, voice like velvet.
he obeyed without hesitation, sinking onto the edge of your bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets.
you climbed onto his lap, straddling one strong thigh, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath you.
your soaked panties pressed against him as you started to rock your hips, slow, grinding motions that sent sparks shooting up your spine.
his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, guiding your movements as you rode his thigh like it was the only thing keeping you alive.
"fuck, look at you," he groaned, tilting his head back, eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping back to you, dark and hungry. "so fucking pretty, so fucking wet."
you rolled your hips against his thigh, your soaked panties dragging delicious friction along the hard muscle beneath you.
doyoung watched you with a look that was pure hunger, his hands locked on your waist, controlling your pace, forcing you to grind harder, deeper.
"fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice a wreck of desire. "you’re fucking yourself on my thigh like a desperate little thing."
you whimpered, grinding harder, feeling the rough fabric of his pants rubbing right against your clit through the thin lace.
"please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for anymore — more, faster, him.
he growled low in his throat, grabbing you by the hips and flipping you onto the bed in one smooth, desperate motion.
"can't wait anymore," he muttered, tugging his shirt over his head, undoing his belt with trembling fingers. "need you. now."
you spread your legs eagerly, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as he shed the rest of his clothes, his cock thick and leaking, curving up toward his stomach.
he crawled over you, one hand sliding up your thigh, tracing the garter strap, hooking his fingers under it and snapping it playfully against your skin, making you gasp.
"keep it on," he ordered, voice dark and low. "i wanna fuck you in this."
you nodded frantically, hips canting up toward him, desperate for any kind of friction.
he lined himself up and pushed in slowly, groaning deep in his chest as he filled you inch by agonizing inch.
"so tight," he breathed, forehead pressed against yours. "so fucking good."
you clung to him, nails digging into his back, moaning brokenly as he started to move — slow at first, grinding deep inside you, savoring every second.
the lace scraped lightly against his skin, the garters tugging with every thrust, the whole thing messy and desperate and perfect.
he fucked you like he couldn't get close enough, couldn't get deep enough, like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and live there.
then he slowed, grinding deep instead of thrusting, fucking you slow and filthy, making you feel every inch of him.
he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his cock still buried deep inside, his hands rough on your hips.
you cried out, legs trembling, the pressure building fast and brutal.
"wanna see you cum," he growled, fucking you harder, faster, making the bed creak beneath you. "wanna feel you."
your orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through you with a force that left you gasping, clinging to him as you shattered apart.
his voice was low, almost a growl against your ear: "where do you want it, baby? tell me."
you whimpered, meeting his eyes, feeling the heat of your own desperation mirrored in his gaze.
"on my face and... my lingerie," you whispered, voice shaking with need. "i want you to ruin it."
his eyes darkened impossibly further, his thrusts turning erratic, brutal.
"fuck. fuck, you’re gonna kill me," he muttered, pulling out at the last second.
he pulled out quickly, fisting his cock with a few rough strokes, and then he was painting your face with hot, sticky ropes of cum, groaning your name like a prayer.
you moaned softly, licking a drop from your lip, watching him through hooded eyes.
but he wasn't done yet.
he stroked himself back to hardness almost immediately, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach.
you arched your back for him, showing off the perfect view — the lace barely covering your ass, the garters framing your curves beautifully.
he jerked himself hard and fast, the obscene sounds of slick skin filling the room, until he came again, thick and messy across your lower back and ass, the cum soaking into the delicate lace.
you stayed like that for a moment, panting, letting it drip down your skin.
you watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, heart hammering, feeling every hot splash land on you, branding you, claiming you exactly the way you asked for.
he collapsed onto the couch beside you, chest heaving, watching you with a dazed, satisfied grin.
you lay there for a moment, catching your breath, feeling the slick mess cooling on your skin, the ruined lace clinging to you obscenely.
and then, with a wicked little smile, you reached for your phone.
you angled it perfectly — the sticky, creamy mess glistening across your stomach, the black lace sheer against your flushed skin.
click.
you uploaded it to your onlyfans with a simple, filthy caption:
"he made me a mess tonight."
hours later, doyoung sat on his own bed, phone in hand, heart pounding.
he opened your page and there it was — your body, still trembling, still glistening with the evidence of his obsession.
his cock twitched violently, already leaking, already aching.
he groaned low in his throat, unable to stop himself from palming his cock roughly, needing relief, needing you all over again.
he came in seconds, harsh and hot across his stomach, your name a broken whisper on his lips.
NCT 127 – When You Tell Them to Sit Down After They Say They Can’t Stand You
Johnny
Immediately bursts out laughing. "Okay, that was a good one." He’ll actually sit down, leaning back dramatically like, "Well, I guess I have no choice now."
Taeyong
Blinks at you in shock. He wasn’t actually mad, but your response completely throws him off. After a moment, he just sighs and obeys, mumbling, "Fine. But only because that was funny."
Yuta
Smirks instantly. "Damn, alright." He loves a clever comeback, so now he’s extra amused. He’ll definitely test you more often just to see what other things you come up with.
Doyoung
He stops mid-sentence, staring at you like, "Did you just…?" Then he sighs so dramatically. "I hate that that was actually funny." He sits down, but he’s shaking his head the whole time like he’s fake disappointed in himself for laughing.
Jaehyun
Gives you that look—the one where he’s clearly impressed but trying not to show it. He sits down without a word, resting his chin on his hand like, "Okay, continue. I’m listening now."
Jungwoo
Gasps. Then immediately sits down like, "Fair. That was fair." He’s grinning the whole time, though, and now he’s just waiting to see what else you’ll say.
Mark
Mans is flabbergasted cause like when did you become bold? But honestly he is secretly super proud of the witt! He sits back down without a word because you left him totally speechless. However it won't last for long just know he's gonna have a better comeback just wait for him to stop buffering
Haechan
Throws his hands up like, "Okay, okay, damn." He sits down but fake sulks about it for at least five minutes. Eventually, he just grins and goes, "That was actually kinda good, I’ll give it to you."
Synopsis 𖦹.ᐟ : when finally catching up with a friend, she invites you over for a sleepover like the good old days but you didn't expect the hot new addition to the family.
Warning : mdni, unprotected sex, cheating, fingering, light pussy slapping, oral sex (m. rec), soft dom doyoung, dubcon.
WC: 2.3k
A/n : I always believe in sub doie but saw some of his buff pics and 🤤
You knock on your friend's house door, excited for the sleepover you two will have, it could sound a bit childish, but it's your childhood friend that you haven't seen since you were teens, since your parents decided to move to the country side and at that time they didn't allow you any electronic devices talking about how you could get groomed online and you roll your eyes and whatever they say, when you went back to the city, you were surprised to see her at one of the coffee shops you went to, to buy some coffee, then you discover that her mother got remarried and that your friend moved out of the country and she's just here to visit her mother, then she suggests you two have a sleepover, like the ‘good ol’ days’ she says, but who opens the door wasn't your friend or her mother – this was a complete stranger, conventionally young man, sharp features, black hair falling over his forehead, his glasses pushed down , did she forget to mention a boyfriend?
“Uh who are you?” The man in front of you asks, and before you could answer your friend appears behind him
“Y/n!! Come on in” she says and you can see the confused look on his face but he opens the door for you to enter and your friend pulls you into the house that reminds you of your childhood – well not really, since they changed the decor of it to be more modern, she takes you to her room.
“Who was that?” You ask
“That's my mom's husband, or my ‘step dad’ like my mom wants me to call him” she rolls her eyes.
“I didn't know your mom could go that young?” You say and your friend laughs and you two start talking about what has been happening in the past years and all the drama that has been happening for the past decade.
“Girls dinner is ready” her step dad calls out and you two walk down and settle down the table
“Thanks for the food Mr. “ you freeze when you remember you don't even know his name
“Call me doyoung we're not so far in age” he says as he pours you wine in your glass
“Where is mom?” Your friend asks
“Oh she will be back late, hopefully before dessert, she is so excited to see you y/n” He says and smiles softly, his face is oddly comforting.
And true to his word, your friend's mom was back right before he started serving dessert, she greets you warmly, and talks about all the stupid stuff you did with her daughter on how you two would always sneak out to seem edgy just for you to go the library and read fictional books together, which getting reminded of it made you embarrassed because you knew you were never the cool or the bad kid, it made you look good in front of the adults, your parents being proud of you, the teachers trusting you and it did get you praise from grown ups but people your age never looked at you the same, you were the two goodie shoes while everyone was being rebellious, sneaking out to do drugs, stealing their parents booze, you preferred to stay safe, you would rather stay home, watch TV, maybe sneakily watch the sex scenes thrown here and there but now that you are an adult you sure love to party and drink now that you are of age, which take away the thrill of getting caught doing something you shouldn't be doing but, it indeed is still fun, after dessert you planned on helping to tidy up the place but they insist on you sitting and resting since you're their guest, they make doyoung keep your company while they clean up
“You are very gorgeous , you know? Do you do something related to modeling?” He asks and you can feel your face heat up, you mumble a small thanks, you two talk about small topics to not make the atmosphere more awkward.
You and your friend go back to her room to finally sleep, she makes you sleep on the bed after a constant back and forth and she grabs a sleeping bag to sleep in.
After a few minutes, she was already deep in her sleep while you were tossing and turning around, the bed and the general atmosphere of the room is new and your brain and body unable to get used to it, you sit up and huff qq tiptoeing out of the room and closing the door behind you gently, your bare foot padding against the cold floor as you walk to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, you walk into the dark kitchen squinting your eyes trying to look for at least a small source of light, suddenly the light gets turned on startling you before your eyes land on the man in front of you.
“Oh? What are you doing at this hour?” Doyoung asks and raises an eyebrow.
‘I got thirsty” you say and he nods before walking closer to you, grabbing a glass and filling it with water and hands it to you, you take the glass and mumble a quick thank you before drinking the water, after you empty the glass, he takes it from you
“You sure are thirsty” He says jokingly and chuckles as he washes the glass, you stay quiet not knowing how to respond
“Why are you awake now, hm? You couldn't sleep?” He asks gently
“Yeah, I guess I'm too much of a night owl” you say and chuckle nervously, resting against the countertop, scratching the back of your neck, you are never good at conversations, since you were a teenager, you were always awkward, you were convinced that when you grow up and become an adult your communication skills would get better over time, and it did, but it wasn't much of an improvement, your experience with guys is very slim, and now you have a very attractive man in front of you and you can't even do anything about it since he's your friend's step dad, making the thoughts of getting bent over the countertop and fucked by your friend's step dad appealing, but a fantasy may stay a fantasy
“I - well, I will go to bed” you stutter making you feel even more embarrassed
“You don't look so tired though” he says
“Oh well you must be tired” you reply
“I could be doing something better with that mouth” he hums, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your lips before pushing his thumb into your mouth, you can feel your face getting flushed and you can feel a slight rise in your body temperature, it felt like you were on fire as he pushes his thumb deeper, you look up at his eyes, they were already gazing on you, you Bob your head and a slight grin form on his face, his other hand coming up to run his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp gently.
“You're such a good girl” he murmurs before pulling his thumb out, his gaze lustful, his hands presses on both your shoulders pushing you down, your knees hit the hard cold floor.
“Come on sweetheart, you were so good at sucking my thumb” he encourages, your hands come up to the waistband of his sweatpants pulling it down along his boxers, revealing his hard veiny length leaking at the tip.
He suddenly grabs your hair pushing your face closer to his cock, you look up at him meeting his dark eyes filled with lust, you look back down and grab his cock giving it few strokes before licking the tip and he groans his head thrown back , hips thrusting pushing more into your mouth, making you gag before adjusting to the feeling, pushing your head back and forth, he bites his lips trying to control his moans in the fear of getting caught, his hips bucking forward pushing his length more into your throat, when he felt his release his hand grip on your hair tighten, the thrusts becoming more uncontrolled, his breath shuddering and before you know it, you feel the warm liquid down your throat and after he completely empties himself in your mouth he pulls out and gets dressed again then helping you off the floor
“Sleep well sweetie” and he's back to acting like he's your dad or whatever.
You would have left as soon as you woke up if it wasn't for your friend insisting that you should eat breakfast with them before leaving and the way doyoung was acting it made you doubt if Last night was just a way too realistic dream, he was acting like nothing happened and you thought — maybe you are indeed just had a wet dream about your friend’s step dad so you simply shrug it off.
You say your goodbye before leaving and driving home , it's until you go home and unpack your bag that you realize that you forgot your charger at the house which makes you sigh burying your face in your pillow before grabbing your phone and texting your friend if she can maybe bring your charger if she could.
By next day your phone was already dead you sigh planning in buying a new charger, it wouldn't hurt, but then around evening — eight pm you assume, since the clock on your wall isn't working as well, you hear a knock at your door and you get up to open it, for your eyes to lay on doyoung.
“Oh hi , I got your charger” he says and smiles
“Oh thank you, come in” you say and open the door wider for him to come in
“you have a nice apartment, cozy” he compliments and you mumble a thank you before asking what he would like drinking
“Oh maybe some water” he says while sitting on your couch.
When you hand him the water his fingers brush against yours as he takes the glass from you, you can feel his eyes on you as he drinks the glass of water.
“Come sit down” he pats the spot next to him, and you obey sitting in the spot he patted and as you sit his hands come up to cup your cheek.
“I couldn't stop thinking about those pretty lips wrapped around my cock” he says his voice breathy, his thumb stroking your lower lips before leaning in pressing his plump lips against your lips closing his eyes, his kiss passionate and deep, his tongue pushing into your mouth taking his sweet time with the kiss, his hands resting on your hips while yours comes up to bury in his hair, when his lips leaves yours it travels to your neck kissing gently down to your collarbone, the guilt was eating you, this is the woman that would take care of you when your parents go on dates husband, yet here you are letting him feel you up and toy with you like that, but the thrill of it.
the thought of getting fucked by someone you shouldn't, it made you even wetter, your thoughts cut short when you gasp feeling a hand over your clothed cunt, his fingers slide against your slit which makes you whine desperately and you can see the slightest smirk from on his lips, his other hand come up to pull down your waistband, pulling them down along your panties and his fingers rub against your bare cunt making you moan at the stimulation, sliding two of slender fingers inside of you curling them upwards making your hips buckle against his fingers, throwing your head backwards.
His gaze was lustful, dark eyes, semi messy hair and your eyes lay on the tent forming on his pants, and all you can think about was his cock
“Eyes up here pretty girl” he hums and adds another finger which makes you moan
“S-sorry” you stutter with your words
“It's okay baby, you want my cock?” He asks pouting mockingly and you nod desperately
“Use your words pretty girl” he pulls his fingers out of you and slaps your cunt which makes your back arches
“Yes please yes I need your cock please” you say desperately, your voice weak.
He didn't waste a second before placing himself between your legs and pulling his pants down and taking out his length slapping it against your cunt which makes you whine as it sends electricity through your body, he pushes his length inside and waits for a few seconds for you to adjust to his length before pulling it out and slamming it in making you let out a half scream, his thrusts being aggressive and rough, his hips slamming against yours, his cock hits your sweet spot, the stimulation making your eyes roll back, your brain function shorten, a thin layer of sweat forming on your body, your breath heavy, he slows down his pace as he feels you clench onto him and leans down to bite onto your neck which makes your back arch but his body weight restrains you from doing so, his hands coming to brush hair off your face, his pace picks up again when you reach your release gripping his shirt tightly while you orgasm, your eyes closing shut as his pace fasten up again making you whimper, his hands grips your hips as he feels close to his own orgasm groaning and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he spills his seed into your womb, his body weight resting on top of you, you wrap your arms around his neck, the moment cut short by his phone ringing which makes him groan, he gets off you.
“I have to go, but I will see you later pretty girl” he says before getting dressed, giving you a peck before leaving.
genre: soulmates!au, fluff, parallel universes, strangers to lovers (ish)
warnings: implied sex, kissing, swearing
playlist: Can’t Help Myself (NCT 127), I’m In Love with You (the 1975), Say Yes (Loco, Punch)
summary: In a skeptical culture where soulmates don’t always live happily ever after, you begin dreaming of your ideal man long past the average age of soulmate visions. You may love Doyoung in every universe, but does that really mean you’re meant to be? Even when the Doyoung of your reality is an idol?
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It happens when you least expect it.
You get ready for bed early on New Year’s Eve without the intention of staying up late to ring in the new year.
Your phone vibrates on the nightstand, displaying the contact picture of your best friend Meg.
It would be easier to ignore it and pretend like you’re busy, but you know that Meg is nosy enough to check your location. She’ll see you’re at home in an instant and call you a million times anyway.
“Hey,” you feign ignorance as you pick up. “What’s up?”
“I know that your ass is not at home right now,” she groans. “You should’ve told me! I would’ve taken you out with me and David!”
“Come on, you know I don’t really go out for New Year’s anymore.”
You stopped doing so a couple of years back due to the fact that it just made you feel more hopeless for the upcoming year. You have plenty of luck in your career and general day-to-day life, but the men you encounter in the dating pool are horrendous. New Year’s was just one of those holidays that made you feel lonely even in the midst of a fulfilling life.
“I know you hate third wheeling on New Year’s Eve, but I still feel like it’s a good opportunity to try meeting someone. Come out and meet us downtown!” Meg insists.
You look at the clock. 9:59PM. That’s not nearly enough time to get ready, uber downtown, and desperately try to ensure a New Year’s Kiss. You don’t have the energy to flirt with strangers these days, anyway. “Hell no. I’m good.”
Meg tries to persuade you for the next five minutes, but no amount of free drinks, food, or money can convince you to leave your place. At the end of it all, she finally concedes. “Fine, stay home.”
“That was the plan,” you say coolly. You love her, but her persistence in treating your singleness as a condition to be cured grates on your nerves.
“Want me to manifest a soulmate vision for you tonight instead of a New Year’s kiss?”
You snort. “Now you’re really being delusional. I don’t think my soulmate exists, considering that I’ve never had a single soulmate vision in all these years.”
The concept of your soulmate was the fallback argument of most people as a last-ditch effort to prevent you from giving up on dating. Usually it comes off disingenuous, like they’re just dangling a carrot above your head for romantic motivation. Meg and David, however, are soulmates—meaning they serve as a genuine reminder that soulmates do work out. Sometimes.
Everyone knows the common signs of a soulmate bond. First, the visions: 90% of all soulmate pairs report experiencing a series of visions about a stranger. They don’t appear as a background person either—soulmate visions are vivid experiences characterized by their extreme detail. Most of the time each soulmate experiences the other’s memories. Rarer, some soulmates would even share visions, allowing them to interact before meeting in the real world.
Dreams are the most common manifestation of this phenomenon, but there’s enough people that don’t have theirs linked to sleep to justify the term ‘vision’ instead. Most pairs start seeing their other half during their teenage years; others, like Meg, meet their soulmate so early that they barely experience any visions at all.
For those who do experience them, one fact is absolute across the board: all accounts of soulmate visions end once you see them in person.
The second, less pleasant aspect of having a soulmate is the intense physical reaction towards seeing them physically for the first time. Symptoms appear spontaneously with fainting, vomiting, and migraines being the most common. Around 30% of soulmate encounters end up with at least one party requiring some form of medical attention.
On this night, experiencing dreams of a stranger or feeling violently ill don’t sound like the most appealing things on the planet. You’ll pass.
Meg says your name, snapping you to attention. “…You really don’t have to ice me out for a soulmate joke, I can just stop.”
“No, you’re good. The soulmate thing is funny.” You force out a laugh. “If I happen to have a soulmate vision on New Year’s Eve, maybe that’s a sign that things will actually work out.”
“Oh, shut up, there’s no way for him to resist if you do have one.”
If. The word bounces around in your head. Of all people, even Meg wasn’t sure that you had a karmic link waiting for you.
“Well, you shouldn’t let my singleness ruin your night with David. I’ll talk to you guys later.” You hang up the phone before she can answer.
You see a text notification pop up on your phone, but you place your phone facedown on the nightstand instead. You lean onto your side and turn off your lamp.
The quiet of your apartment has your mind churning. Even if you do have a soulmate, would it even work out?
While a good number of the population encounters their soulmate in real life, the amount of successful relationships resulting from that encounter are surprisingly low. Confidence in soulmate pairings had lowered with the younger generations, especially with researchers studying the science behind soulmate dreams and reactions. Hopeless romantics believed wholeheartedly in soulmate pairs, while more pragmatic people posed the same question—if scientists are able to explain why dreams and physical reactions happen between two people, is there anything truly fated about it?
You’re not certain where you stand on the matter. Scientists aren’t close to discovering anything concrete anyway, so you deal with this big philosophical question in the best way you know: ignoring it.
No use thinking about it anyway, when you’re long past the average age of experiencing initial soulmate dreams.
You let your mind wander elsewhere as you close your eyes and drift slowly to sleep.
That’s when he appears.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Flowers surround you in an open field. The sunlight warms your face, and the breeze carries the soft, fresh scents of springtime. You balk as you look down at your hands; you’re holding an artist palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.
An easel right at the edge of your vision catches your eye. You turn towards it in hopes of making sense of the situation—maybe this dream was fulfilling a brief childhood dream of becoming a landscape artist—but you feel your heart drop.
The painting lacks any landscape at all. Instead, it depicts a near-finished portrait of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.
His eyes, dark but warm, catch your attention first. Combined with his pouty lips and slender face, he’s the epitome of your type. What’s the most striking to you, however, is the gentle nature captured in his expression. The pose you’ve chosen depicts his shoulders turned away from the viewer, yet his gaze stares at you directly. His lips are curved slightly upwards in a playful smile, as if he’s just teased the viewer. Unequivocally handsome features softened in all the right places.
There’s a quiet sound of shoes shuffling on the grass. A tuft of black hair peeks up from over the canvas.
“Do you need anything else from me?”
After a beat of silence, a full head pokes out from the side of the easel, and everything stops. It’s the man from the painting in front of you—smooth skin, soft smile, and perfect everything in all. He says your name once in the tone of a question, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Is everything okay? Are you upset because I moved?”
You open your mouth to speak—to clarify that no, everything is not okay and ask who are you, anyway? —but something else emerges from your lips entirely.
“You can move. I’m almost done. Do you want to see it?”
The words are yours, technically. You feel and hear yourself saying them, but your thoughts and emotions are completely disconnected from your body. The same goes for your movements; this artistic version of you mixes paint absentmindedly.
The man from the painting fully emerges from behind the canvas, revealing his full height. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple white button-up. His face in the spring daylight looks otherworldly; it’s clear why you’d chosen to paint him in this lighting. You’re certain that you’ve never seen him before, in your real life, but something about him feels familiar. Comfortable. He walks up beside you, peering at his likeness from over your shoulder.
You shift your weight from left to right. “Do you like it?”
He hums. “Well…”
You scoff. “You can be honest.”
“I’m kidding,” he laughs. It’s the kind of good-natured laugh that’s both contagious and friendly.
You’re about to say something else when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.
“You know I think you’re a genius,” he says softly in your ear. “That’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with you.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead as you feel your dream fade away to consciousness.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Light passes through a gap in your curtains and warms your face, waking you up from your springtime dream.
You sit up, blinking out the sleep from your eyes.
Your phone is in your hand and Meg’s number is dialed before you can even think by yourself.
“Happy New Year, bitch!” Meg’s voice chirps over the phone. “What’s up?”
“I think I just had a soulmate dream,” you say, breathless.
Silence. Then, her scream peaks the mic on her phone and nearly makes your ears bleed. You wince and move your phone away from your face to put her on speakerphone instead.
“You’re messing with me!” She shrieks. “There’s no way!”
“That’s the thing.” You rub at your temple, as if that will stop the ringing in your ears. “I’m not completely sure. Most people see their partner’s past memories, right?”
There’s some clicking on her end. “I wouldn’t really know, but I can look it up for you.”
“Most soulmate visions involve seeing past memories from your soulmate’s perspective,” she reads. “However, at least 20% of soulmate bonds report experiencing a vision of their futures instead. Does this sound like you? Did it seem like you were seeing something from the future?”
“Not unless I suddenly gain enough art skill to become an artist.”
For once, Meg is speechless. “You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding. I was painting his portrait. A very well done, professional looking portrait.”
“That’s crazy,” she snorts. Like you, she doesn’t even try to entertain the delusion that it could be a future version of yourself. You can barely draw a stick figure. “Well, some people see parallel versions of themselves, apparently?”
“Parallel versions?” You echo.
“Apparently some pairs claim that they see each other, but in other versions of reality,” she reports. “Sounds kind of romantic to me.”
“What’s the percentage of that?”
“No official numbers on it because it’s so rare. Mostly anecdotal stories.”
You snort. “Yeah, right. Sorry to get your hopes up. All that soulmate talk before bed probably just made my brain a little overactive.”
Meg’s line is quiet. “Well, I don’t think we can really rule it out yet.”
You don’t let yourself dwell on it. As many soulmate skeptics as there are, there’s an equal amount of people embellishing stories to try to strongarm others into believing. You’d believe in the idea of parallel universes when there’s something more than an online reddit thread to go off of.
“You can hold out hope. I’m moving on.” You rack your brain for other topics. “I still have that date tomorrow with that guy, if that makes you feel better.”
Meg floods you with questions—What are you wearing? Where did you decide? Can you send me his profile? You would normally regret opening yourself to too much questioning prior to any date, but you’re just relieved to steer her away from the concept of your soulmate.
The rest of your day goes by normally. You’re a little more fatigued than usual, but with the day off from work you’re able to finish all of your errands with extra time to rest.
You’re relaxing in your room as you watch YouTube videos on your TV with a face mask cooling your face. You open your laptop absentmindedly to parse through your emails.
One promotional ad catches your eye – Try a Spring Art Class for Free! You click it; the ad is for a local crafts store that you’d visited for a friend’s birthday gift. The store lists five promotional classes. You hover your cursor over a hyperlink titled Fundamentals of Portrait Drawing.
You nearly slam your laptop closed as you come back to your senses. One beginner class wasn’t going to turn you into an artist. You don’t have time to balance a whole craft with the demands of your full-time job, anyway.
Your phone vibrates. It’s Evan—your second date for tomorrow.
Excited to see you! He texts.
You type back a similarly empty message before turning off your phone. Your first date with him had been fun enough to warrant a second, but you don’t expect much this time around. That was a recurring issue Meg didn’t let you live down—every person you talked to seemed to be lacking in at least one area. Your ideal partner needed to be communicative and emotionally intelligent. They also needed to be ambitious with their own goals and community. All while having romantic chemistry with yourself.
Evan was lacking in the communication department, and you’d felt your interest wane since the first date. You wouldn’t have even considered the second date if it wasn’t for Meg in your ear to nag that your standards were too high. Sometimes, although you’d never admit it out loud, you wondered if you were even capable of a romantic love like that. It seemed too easy for everyone else.
At least your time with Evan would be mindless and relatively expectation-free. With that in mind, you drift off into an easy sleep.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Lips brush against your forehead as light as a feather. “Are you awake?”
You grunt your assent without opening your eyes.
A huff of laughter followed by another peck. “Very convincing.”
You blink your eyes open at that. A pair of dark brown eyes gaze back at you in the dim light. Your heartbeat, already strangely fast for someone asleep, quickens in your chest at the sight.
It’s the man from the painting. He’s propped his head up on one arm as he smiles down at you in open affection. His bangs are pushed away from his forehead, although the black hairs still cling slightly to his skin. His bare chest heaves as he breathes in deeply.
You sigh. “See? I’m awake.”
He laughs louder this time. His eyes crinkle when he laughs and his smile—his real smile—exposes a faint pink line of gums over his teeth. You understand why another version of you would be compelled to capture his likeness through art. You couldn’t explain it to someone if you tried; there’s something about his presence that’s ethereal.
“Why are you smiling?” He asks.
You kind of look like a rabbit, you want to tease, but, again, you’re unable to move your mouth on its own accord.
“Just looking at you,” your voice responds nonchalantly.
His smile softens at that. He reaches his free arm over and caresses the side of your face. His hand follows the length of your neck before travelling further down your back. Your bare back. It dawns on you that, underneath the silk covers, you are completely naked.
Your breath catches as his hand rests on the curve of your hip. His thumb draws small circles around the skin, which makes the nerves underneath electric to his touch.
“Hey now,” you laugh shakily. “What are you trying to do?”
He only raises an eyebrow before pressing light kisses down your neck. “What do you think?”
Your heart flutters. Against your thoughts, your mouth mutters, “I think I’m going to be extra tired taking care of the kids tomorrow morning.”
His kisses drift back up and stop with a final peck behind your ear. “I’ll look after them in the morning. You sleep in.”
“That may be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He huffs a laugh but pulls away from you.
You lean forward to re-close the space and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m joking. What’s wrong?”
His expression turns thoughtful. “Do you need me to pick up more things around the house? Leave work earlier? I know having two under the age of five is rough already…”
Your heart warms. You run a hand through his hair, smiling as he leans into your touch. “I love you and our kids more than I’ve ever loved anything else. Our life together is perfect.”
He presses a kiss into your open palm. His eyes turn playful. “You know what could make it more perfect?”
“What?”
He catches your lips in his, kissing you deeply. Your lips move against each other in a way that’s clearly familiar—soft to the touch but intense enough to take your breath away.
“Well...” He murmurs against your lips in between kisses. “What do you say we turn two into three?”
You’re pulled out of the scene before you can hear yourself respond.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You hear the wind rattling against your office windows as you leave for the day. It’s a chore to even get outside in the first place, on account of the wind pushing back on the lobby door. When you finally manage to exit the building, the wind threatens to blow you over with each gust.
You curse under your breath. It’s just another inconvenience added to today.
You’d shot out of bed with your heart pounding through your chest. Even someone like you couldn’t deny the obvious truth of the situation—you had officially experienced soulmate visions. While it’s unclear why your visions manifest this way, you cannot ignore the magnetic pull and strange familiarity tugging at your core whenever you see him. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before.
And you hate the idea that people might be right; that someone’s entire universe could halt and re-align at the drop of a hat with no rhyme or reason. Bitterness lines this worldview for you—clearly, you had been able to make a name for yourself without the promise of a fated partner. You love your job, you love your friends, and you’re at peace. All possible because of the time and effort you invested into yourself.
You’ve considered cancelling your date with Evan multiple times to fully sort out your emotions, but you push on. Your date with him feels like something bigger–a loose end that might tie all the chaos in your life together in a cohesive picture.
Evan leans against the brick walls of the restaurant. He straightens his posture as you approach. He’s much taller than you remember; you’d basically been sitting the entire time during your first date, and honestly you’d begun to forget specific features about him.
“Hey!” He grins as he holds the door open for you. “How have you been?”
“Pretty decent, all things considered,” you say as you duck under his arm. “Same old stuff.”
He laughs at that–a little too hard, considering what you said was not meant to be funny at all. “Come on. Nothing exciting on your side of the city?”
Yeah, let me tell you about the sensual yet also incredibly domestic dream I had about another man, you think. He’s probably my soulmate too, by the way.
“That weather is probably the most exciting thing about my week,” you lie with a pinched smile.
Evan lets out a laugh that’s again too loud as he pulls out your chair for you.
Throughout all of the small talk and pleasantries, you can’t really fault Evan for anything specific. He’s polite, relatively cute, and likeable. He actively listens and remembers the small details from your stories while also contributing to the conversation. He also seems really into you; his gaze lingers on your features and hangs on to every word you say.
You try to be an attentive date, but your mind keeps drifting elsewhere. You order another drink, but each sip of alcohol seems to make your mind swirl away even farther.
What do you say we make two into three?
Considering you don’t have a serious partner, you hadn’t thought about the possibility of kids in a long time. The caring tone that he used towards you still makes your heart race when you think about it.
Our life together is perfect.
Your own voice feels like a weapon stabbing at you over and over. It’s one thing to exist in these visions already; experiencing them without free will seems to shove all the possible outcomes down your throat. Is there really someone out there that can make you feel that way?
“Ready to head out?”
You snap back into attention as Evan stands by, waiting to pull your chair out for you. You appreciate his acts of chivalry even when you don’t deserve it.
Partially out of guilt, you let him take your hand as he walks with you through some nearby Christmas lights that the city has failed to take down. The atmosphere is perfect; there’s hardly any other people nearby, the weather has calmed down, and your date is kind and attentive.
Yet everything still feels wrong.
When you draw closer to your initial meeting point, he strokes the top of your hand with his thumb. “May I kiss you?”
Under normal circumstances, you would not kiss him right now. But another part of you urges you to try it. You technically know Evan more than the mystery man from your dreams. The likelihood of you feeling something with him should be just as high.
You nod with a swallow. Evan leans forward and presses his lips to yours. It moves too quickly, at first–he’s so nervous that he nearly misses your mouth, and you’re so on edge that you almost forget to reciprocate.
All to say that your first real kiss in forever is a complete dud. You move your lips mindlessly and calmly against his until you withdraw with a polite smile. Evan, for his part, looks mesmerized.
“Thanks for today,” you say with a smile.
“I…” He runs a hand through his hair. “My offer to drive is still on the table, you know. I could drive you back to your place. Or mine.”
Your stomach drops. “I–”
You must have a look on your face because Evan cuts you off before you can say anything else. “I’m just joking.”
It’s not a joke, clearly, but you accept the out. “I have some errands to run, and I don’t want to make you go all over the place for me.”
“Right,” Evan says after a pause.
The moment lingers another beat too long.
“Today was a lot of fun,” you lie. “I’ll talk to you later!”
You turn on your heel and walk away casually until you turn the corner. Then, you duck into the nearest convenience store and call an Uber.
Later, you hear the disappointment dripping from Meg’s voice.
“No, it was the right call to do what was comfortable for you,” she hums. “But did you really have to be thinking about your soulmate the entire time?”
“It’s hard not to when I just found out that I actually have one!” You frown, as if she can see you. “I tried.”
“I know,” Meg sighs. “Well, let’s hope you see him in your dreams again soon.”
An entire month passes. Specifics about the contours of your soulmate’s face and details of his body start to blur from your memory, but what you remember most is the kindness dancing in his eyes. The care in which he spoke about you and your little family. You fall asleep early each night in anticipation only to be let down in the morning.
Instead, it happens next on an irrelevant day. Your shoes are kicked off after a long day of work, and you’re halfway across your living room when a bright light sears behind your eyelids. You throw yourself onto the couch with what little consciousness you have left before plunging into darkness.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Meg brushes a stray hair into place. “There you go.”
The soft tones of a piano drift through the glass doors in front of you. You see the blur of a crowd outside, although it’s hard to discern through the frosted glass panes.
“Does everything look okay?” Your throat feels tight and your voice comes out breathy.
“Beautiful.”
“I’m scared,” you hear yourself whisper. “What if I’m believing in soulmates too blindly?”
Meg snorts. “A little late for that, don’t you think? If anything, you’re giving me the hope that I’ll meet my person. The two of you are absolutely disgusting together; if this doesn’t work out then all the rest of us are fucked.”
You don’t respond.
Meg rolls her eyes, tugging your arm to turn you to the left. A floor length mirror leans against the wall. It contains a lettered seating chart for all your guests with some names familiar and some foreign. You swallow at your reflection through the text.
It's truly an image out of a dream. Fabric drapes and hugs you in the ways you’ve always wanted. Your bouquet is made of elegant white flowers apart from a few blossoms popping out in shades of light pink. You’d so long put romance in the back of your mind that it’s jarring to see yourself like this. You smile at your reflection, embodying the image of elegance.
“It’s time then,” your voice rings, more confident than before.
The doors open in front of you, causing the crowd outside to rise from their seats. The piano transitions into a slow melody. The flower girl, waiting by the entrance with her mother, steps a few paces in front of you to begin dropping pink petals.
You walk down the aisle with your head held high. If you’re still shaken by your cold feet minutes prior, it doesn’t show anymore.
You’re not surprised to see a familiar lean figure at the end of the aisle. You are surprised, however, when he sees you for the first time.
His face lights up in pure elation. His smile broadens so big and wide that his gums peek out a little. There’s a light shine to his eyes that makes your heart clench. It’s as much your reaction as it is for this version of you. It’s almost too much to bear. He already looks ridiculously handsome in his wedding tuxedo, but the open emotion in his face (for you) makes him all the more mesmerizing.
You stop in front of him. This version of you has grown a little shy; your face warms as you raise your eyes up slowly to meet his.
You barely hear the officiant over the sound of your pounding heart. It’s only once the vows start that you catch what’s being said. What he’s saying.
“One thing I want to start off with is saying that we weren’t supposed to meet that day. I was helping my best friend, Taeyong, who was too hungover to pick up his phone that he’d left at a girl’s house…”
There’s a slight pause as a chuckle passes through the crowd. One groomsman—presumably Taeyong—rolls his eyes with a smile. It’s clearly a story that everyone knows well.
“The last thing I ever expected was for the girl’s very cute roommate to open the door. Let alone have the realization that they were the soulmate I’d been seeing in my dreams.” His eyes lift up, sparkling and happy. “Meeting you that day changed the entire course of my life. You are the best thing to happen to me…my best friend, confidant, and greatest love. Your love and endless faith make me a better man. I promise to protect you and be there by your side when things get hard. I promise to show up for you in all of the little moments—not just the big ones. I choose to love you in this lifetime and all the others that may be. I love you.”
You feel your mouth moving, but your mind races from the realization. This lifetime. All the others that may be.
This, like the dream of yourself as an artist, was not your life. Was Meg right? Were these glimpses into other versions of yourself?
You’d been completely different in the first vision. There is no chance of you becoming an advanced artist at this point, that’s for sure. The second dream had no identifying differences, other than the fact that you had two children with this man. This version of you seemed more like yourself, but Meg was the biggest outlier. She clearly hadn’t met David and doesn’t even fully believe in soulmates. Additionally, you’d been out of college for years—meeting him during school could not be a future possibility. Soulmate visions of other universes seemed so rare and far-fetched that you’d found it easy to dismiss it as a tall tale, but you didn’t know what else could explain this.
“I…” You startle back into this reality as you speak your own name. “…vow to take you, Doyoung, as my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
Doyoung, you think as he slips the ring onto your finger. I finally know his name.
“By the power vested in me by the support of this community and strength of your love, I now pronounce you wed. You may kiss.”
Doyoung squares his shoulders to yours. He’s a little too stiff in the movement, which makes you giggle. The sound of your laugh relaxes a smile to his face. He tilts your chin up with his hand so that your eyes meet his.
“I love you,” he whispers before pulling you, finally, into a deep kiss.
His lips are velvet soft and fit perfectly to yours. The crowd erupts into whoops and cheers that begin to fade into the background.
Not now, you think, distantly. It would be nice to stay here. For a while.
You’re pulled out against your will. You let yourself be lost in Doyoung’s touch until the end.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You type and erase strings of characters on your phone.
“…I enjoyed our time together, but I think we should see other people,” you read aloud. “Too dramatic?”
Meg waves a hand dismissively. “Who cares? You’re not seeing him again.”
“He’s a nice guy, Meg.”
“He’s boring, and you’re being toonice,” she replies. “Just send it.”
You do a quick onceover of your message before pressing the send button. You immediately turn your phone off and flip it upside down.
“Now that was dramatic.”
You glare at Meg from your position on your couch. She sits on the other side, scrolling through something on her laptop.
“So!” She says with a flourish. “What’s the plan?”
“…The plan?”
“Do you want to meet Doyoung?”
You’d had a handful more soulmate visions since learning Doyoung’s name. Your lives together spanned endless locations intertwined with different professions—from what you gathered from your visions, other versions of you had met Doyoung through school, work, and even a particularly strange meet-cute of being his regular barista. The peek into these various lifetimes left you curious and a little bit weary; each subsequent vision was harder to leave than before, and you’d experienced so many that slipping in and out of these other realities felt like second nature.
Without fail, however, Doyoung stays the same. Each version contains the same kindhearted nature you’d glimpsed ever since the first. You’ve never seen the same version of Doyoung twice, but you feel like you’ve known him your entire life.
Yet even so, the idea of hunting down your Doyoung sends a wave of uncertainty through you. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you.
“I…don’t know if I want to meet him,” you admit out loud.
You expect the worst reaction from Meg—a shriek, gasp, or even straight up shouting—but instead, she purses her lips. “Why?”
“I’m not sure he’ll be very impressed with me,” you say. You try to pick up your phone to look busy, but you glimpse Evan’s name on your screen instead.
Thanks for letting me know. I hope you find—
You put your phone back down.
Meg stares at you. “You think he’s going to be unimpressed because you have your shit together?”
“Well—”
“What if he’s a loser?”
“He’s not!” You shriek. In truth, you have no idea what your Doyoung does or where he is.
“Then what do you know about the Doyoung here that’s so larger than life?”
You don’t answer.
Understanding flickers across Meg’s face. She groans. “You didn’t even look him up?!”
You cross your arms. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“You’re so impossible,” she types furiously into her computer. “Do…young…”
You roll your eyes. “Like you’re gonna find him by googling his first name only.”
“It’s unique enough,” she protests, whirling her laptop screen around toward you. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Imagine if a guy this hot appeared in your dreams?”
Everything muscle in your body freezes. A strangled noise rips out of your throat.
Meg’s jaw drops, and she looks between you and the screen with open disbelief. “You’re fucking shitting me right now.”
Doyoung’s picture smiles at you clear as day from Meg’s laptop. Singer and Actor.
Wordlessly, you reach over and click the images tab. Pictures of Doyoung—your Doyoung—flood the entire page. He’s photographed in various styles, even modeling with big brands. You’d known that he was ridiculously good-looking, but you hadn’t expected something like this. You even recognize his friends Taeyong and Johnny that you’d seen in some visions; they’re clearly friends in this universe too, seeing as they’re posing in many group pictures together.
“That’s him…” you whisper.
“Holy shit.” Meg regains her senses and starts clicking through different website links rapidly. “Holy shit, dude! He’s famous!”
“I can see that!” You say as panic rises up your chest. Of all the perfectly normal Doyoungs you’d seen, your Doyoung had to be a celebrity?
“I was going to tell you to find him anyway, but this is insane!” More clicking. Meg shows you a digital tour poster that reads NCT 127 – THE MOMENTUM. “Dude. They’re touring. I’m buying tickets.”
Your head spins. You’d meet him by buying tickets amongst all of his fans. Your soulmate has a fanbase.
“Don’t,” you choke out.
“How else are you going to find him? Stalk him?”
She’s right. Regardless, you feel tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. Your voice comes out so quiet that it’s barely audible. “I’m scared.”
Meg’s expression softens. She sets her laptop aside as she envelops you into a hug. “I know. Let me just buy the tickets for you for now, and then we can think about it more. It’s in two months, so you have some time.”
You nod with a sniffle.
“Besides,” Meg smiles as she pulls back. “All of your visions have pretty much been sickly sweet, right? I doubt anything will change now.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Doyoung pulls you out of a restaurant through a gathering crowd. Flashes go off all around you.
Most of the group is made up of women shoving their cameras in your faces while completely hiding their own. There’s a slight murmur amongst them that’s still eerily quiet.
You pull the brim of your hat down lower, the fabric of your mask higher as you try to shield yourself from the attention.
Security opens the door to the black SUV first, ushering Doyoung inside first. It’s a brief pause that’s long enough for a fan to get you within her sights while security is distracted.
“Ugly whore!” She screams as she arches her arm back. You react too late as a plastic cup hits the back of your head. A cold liquid drenches you starting from your face and drips down your entire shirt.
You stand there in shock. Flashes and shutters sound off rapidly around you. The only thing that moves you, finally, is the security staff member physically lifting you into the backseat. The door slams after you, drowning you in silence.
The driver turns to hand you a towel, which you accept with trembling hands.
“Looks like our whereabouts got leaked, again,” you laugh, but the sound falls flat into the silence.
Doyoung’s eyes rake over your appearance. His expression contorts into hurt.
You want to massage the deep frown from his face, but you can already feel the tears threatening to surface. Instead, you dab at your clothing to dry what you can. The fan must have thrown a soft drink of some kind, since the drink leaves behind a sticky residue on your clothing and skin.
Doyoung looks like he’s on the brink of tears himself. “This is my fault,” he says simply.
You expect your voice to come out weepy, but it comes out hard instead. “It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It’s not! This is the work of people who don’t understand boundaries! You should be able to enjoy your free time without being stalked!”
It’s clearly a point of contention that’s been hashed out before. He settles into silence for the entire drive. The car eventually stops in front of a high rise building that the two of you walk into together. It’s clearly your shared apartment, traces of him and you strewn throughout the space.
“You should go shower and clean yourself off,” he says absentmindedly as he types something into his phone. “I’m going to make a quick call.”
You still hear Doyoung’s voice through the door when you emerge from the shower.
“Right. I was just hoping….yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to…No, that won’t be necessary. Thanks.”
You pull on your clothes and exit your bathroom into your master bedroom in the most nonchalant way you can manage. You falter still when you see Doyoung sitting at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
You join him on the edge of the bed. “Doyoung?”
He looks up at you; his eyes are rimmed with red. “Hey.”
“You talked to your manager? How was it?”
“As expected,” Doyoung says while avoiding your gaze.
“Is your company going to take any action?”
He frowns, then takes a deep breath. “They said they’ll do what they can.”
“Which means?”
“Just that. They’ll ‘do what they can,’” Doyoung's voice drips with sarcasm, “but it’s unlikely to actually deter anyone. These things might still happen to you as long as you’re with me.”
As long as you’re with me. Alarm bells ring in your head.
“Don’t.” The you of this reality must pick up something more because your concern swiftly rushes into anger. “I know this fuck-ass company is recommending you some fuck-ass solution. I thought we said that we would handle this together. We survived the leaked photos in the media—we can handle this.”
Doyoung doesn’t look at you. “It’s my idea.”
For the first time, the weight of this reality’s emotions flood over your own. You feel her shock down to your core, which is quickly replaced by raw heart ache. Your throat is so tight that you’re barely able to choke out the words. “Okay. Say it, then.”
“I can’t keep watching this happen to you because of who I am. There’s still three years before my contract ends. Who would want to go through any of this for that long?”
“I would,” you say quietly, “I will for you. What we have is too special to throw it all away.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Doyoung’s shaking his head. “It’s not fair to you.”
“Who decides what’s fair to me? Isn’t that my choice?” You snap, your temper flaring up again. “It’s pretty unfair that you’re disregarding my entire opinion in this.”
“We’re soulmates,” he murmurs. “Meaning you felt a biological pull when we met.”
Your heart drops. “What the hell are you saying?”
“You didn’t have much of a choice but to be drawn to me. Despite my lifestyle.”
“You don’t believe that. You believe in soulmates more than anyone.”
He avoids your eyes by opting to stare at the ceiling instead. “Well, maybe I’m starting to think differently.”
“So this is it, then?" Your voice trembles. “After all it took to just find each other in the first place?”
“I’m leaving tonight." He still doesn't meet your eyes. "This apartment is yours, but I won’t be coming back.”
You’re still absorbing his words when he rises toward the door.
“Doyoung.” Your voice is laced with despair. Still, you force out the words. “Say you don’t want me.”
“What?” His brow furrows.
You stalk after him, only stopping when your noses are nearly touching. “Say you don’t want me. Say that all of this was a mistake, and you don’t need us anymore. If you’re going to end it like this then you need to take ownership of it.”
Doyoung's mouth flattens and his bottom lip quivers. He takes a deep breath before exhaling and meeting your gaze. “We might be soulmates, but I no longer think that we belong together in this life. I wish the best for you, and the best for both of us is separating.”
It’s the worst he could say. Agony swirls in your chest. You collapse to the ground in a mess of sobs before he’s even left, but he continues out the door without looking back.
This version of you haunts the rooms of your house in a broken haze. You take to combing through every drawer, cabinet, and shelf as you search for anything that belongs to Doyoung. Nothing is safe; everything from clothing to picture frames get thrown onto the ground between bouts of hysterical crying.
Internally, panic courses through you. You’ve never felt stuck in a vision like this. Or felt the emotions of a vision so strongly. Everything about this vision is too real; this version of you feels everything so poignantly that you struggle to differentiate between your emotions and the emotions of this reality. You can barely think for yourself. Every sob comes equally from your soul.
Finally, when it’s deep into the night and your eyes can’t swell up any further from crying, you’re released from this nightmare. The you of this reality is left alone in a dreamless sleep.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
That’s only the first of a month-long string of visions. You’re thrown into visions at least once every day. They change between elated moments of intimacy to tormenting heartbreak at the flip of a coin. Destined to be together one day, doomed to fail the next. It gives you karmic whiplash.
The hardest part is dealing with the other versions of you. It’s increasingly difficult to separate your thoughts and emotions from whichever reality you’ve entered. Sometimes you stay so long that you think that you’ll be trapped in another body forever. Even when you finally return, all of the emotions follow you out.
After the latest nightmare, you wake up gasping for air. Not real, you remind yourself. You dig a nail into your palm until it bleeds, just to confirm that you’re in control of this body. Not my Doyoung.
You rub the sleep out of your eyes, pausing as the back of your hand comes back wet. God, were you crying?
Shaking your head, you get up despite the heavy ache of your muscles. Your neck is so tight that you feel like it could snap off your shoulders.
Your phone lists a barrage of text and missed call notifications from Meg. A series from an hour ago that starts with a brunch request and ends with I’m coming over.
Sure enough, Meg sits at your dining table. There’s some take out containers on the table in front of her along with two cups of coffee.
“Sorry I missed your calls,” you sigh while taking your seat across from her. “Visions.”
Her eyes scan over everything from the deep bags under your eyes to the gaunt lines underneath your cheekbones. You ignore it and bite into a piece of toast.
“I’m worried about you,” Meg says.
You grunt and take a swig of coffee. “Why?”
“You look like you haven’t slept in ages.”
Your tone comes out too harsh. “Well, no one told me that soulmate visions during nighttime actually take away from any REM sleep. I’ve been having them almost every night for the past, you know, two months, so I don’t think I’ve really slept in a while.”
“I never really had many,” Meg mumbles from her spot. “So I didn’t know.”
“Sorry.” You know that you’re behaving like a colossal asshole, but you can’t help it. You’re haunted by what could come next. Visions of Doyoung plague you night and day. You still have yet to achieve full autonomy within a vision, which means that you’re trapped inside another’s body as you witness interactions that you will never have—different people, different universes, and different outcomes. It’s terrifying.
“There is a way to end it,” Meg starts again. “I have the tickets.”
You tighten your hand on your cup. “No.”
“Why not?”
You slam your hand down on the table. “Because sometimes it doesn’t work out, Meg!”
Her eyes widen.
“I’ve seen so many universes where it does work, but I’ve seen the pain and hurt that’s possible when it doesn’t,” you continue. “I love him in all of them, but better versions of me still fail to make it work. There’s no way that I stand a chance when Doyoung’s literally an idol with a million options at his fingertips.”
“You never know,” she reminds you softly. “He could be seeing you too, for all we know.”
“And with his infinite number of resources, he’s never tried to find me?”
That shuts her up.
“I’m starting to lose it, Meg,” your voice is barely louder than a hush. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not half of the time because of these visions—it’s like my soul is fighting to be outside of this reality. Isn’t that a sign? All these other versions of me have so much more to offer. I’m the worst version of myself, and he’s the best.”
Meg reaches to grab your hand. “You’re not the worst. Not even by a landslide. Your soul is just trying to be helpful by showing your amazing connection.”
“For this life it’s only an amazing outcome for me,” you say, sourness oozing back into your voice. “I can’t do that to him.”
“You can’t do this to yourself, either. Have you considered that you’re already doing something to him?”
This time, she’s lost you. “What do you mean?”
Meg sighs, a sure sign of her patience finally running out with you. “There’s no way in hell that he’s not experiencing some sort of vision himself. Isn’t that worse for him, since he’s touring? You’re probably disturbing his practice and rest time.”
You’ve been so caught up in living these alternate lives that, admittedly, you hadn’t considered the insane work demands of an idol. For all you know, he could be experiencing all of these visions at the same time. You had no way of knowing if your Doyoung was also witnessing everything without a chance to speak for himself.
“It’s definitely worse for him,” you mumble.
“Exactly! And what’s the way to relieve you both of this? Meeting! Taking the chance of this concert in our city to let you both free!”
You hang your head in your hands. “Why do I have to ambush him like that? Isn’t that a lot?”
“You…” Meg stabs a finger in your direction. “…are not a celebrity.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Doyoung…” Meg pulls up the promotional images of him to show you on her phone. “…is an idol with crazy fans. He doesn’t know where to find you. I’m more than sure he has fans all up in his DMs claiming to be his soulmate on the daily. This is the only way you won’t get tackled by his security guards.”
You consider it. Even if he was guaranteed to not want you, even if he is universes above your league, you could at least free the both of you from these relentless interruptions.
I’ll miss it, a small part of you thinks. Being able to feel what we could be. What we are, just in different lives.
You push those thoughts to the back of your head. “Fine. Let’s end it.”
“Finally,” Meg exhales.
“You do realize that we’ll have to fight all of these fans to be as close as possible, right?”
“Don’t worry,” your friend says with an evil smile. “I have my ways.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Meg lives up to her word. After a series of begging and bribes to other fans, you’re at barricade on the far right. To your horror, she’s brought a sign with your name on it in bright neon green letters. You’d try to dissuade her, since there’s no guarantee that Doyoung’s even seen you in visions, let alone heard your name, but she refused to back down.
“Maybe it’s so strange that it’ll catch one of their eyes,” she argues.
It’s certainly catching the eyes of other concertgoers, who glare at you.
Past the surrounding people, you find it hard to remove your anxiety from the situation. You’d tried to influence the tone of your visions leading up to the concert by consuming NCT 127 variety content and their overall discography. In reality, it made the visions worse. Watching Doyoung’s public image in action grated at your psyche; instead of heartwarming, it reminded you painfully of the talent disparity between you two. Not only did it make your visions more taxing, but it also made them more likely to occur. With any hope, even if he didn’t see you, you wouldn’t go unconscious into a soulmate vision.
Your heart hums with anticipation as the lights dim and the low bass reverberates through your body. The monitor displays a brief, pre-recorded video of the members wearing and removing gas masks. The scene switches to the faces of the six members in a row. You lock onto Doyoung’s image on the screen.
The fans around you scream at the top of their lungs. Your ears ring and numb your senses. Amidst all of the energy you suddenly feel a panicked flush of shame.
Had you really paid this much money for this experience based on what could be hallucinations? Wasn’t it a little…egotistical to assume a man at this unattainable level of fame could be your soulmate?
You swallow the lump in your throat as the big screen splits to reveal the members standing in glass boxes. The box closest to you is Jungwoo on the far-right side of the stage. Your eyes scan down the line, skipping over Mark, Yuta, Johnny, then—
Doyoung
Your first kiss, different every time, yet always leaving sweet fulfillment.
Torn apart by circumstances outside your control.
Finding each other despite all odds.
A soft breeze as you say I do.
Kids, seemingly in every timeline—
It’s as if the world stops. You nearly fall over in place as memories flood your head. They’re both yours and not; movies of past lives—together, good and bad—superimpose over the other. It’s much, much more than what you’ve experienced in your visions. No one has properly prepared you for the feeling. Your head spins and throbs as the memories tuck and cram themselves into any available space.
It’s as physical as it is emotional. Your body writhes as your head feels like it will explode at any second. You’re panicked, overrun by the happiness and sorrow and confusion clouding your judgment. You can’t even tell which of these emotions are yours or theirs. The bright, flashing lights make it so much worse. Bile climbs up your throat before you force it back down with a swallow.
“Hey!” Meg pulls at your forearm. “Are you alright?”
“…Yeah,” you stammer, gasping for air.
She pats the top of your hand, which is paling from the intense grip on the barricade metal. You release your hands and rub at your tender palms.
She processes your appearance for a brief moment before her eyes widen. “No way.”
You nod, too exhausted to reply.
“We were right? Holy shit!” She screams, which ignites the searing pain behind your eyes.
You sway a little. “Did he react at all?”
“I couldn’t tell because of the smoke,” she frowned. “It seemed like he came out a little late.”
Doyoung performs on the stage in front of you. He doesn’t seem disoriented in the slightest. You do notice his eyes flit over the crowd occasionally, but it seems in line with what the other members are doing.
She quickly drapes your arm over her shoulders to stabilize you. “So what, now is the time for the sign?”
You don’t answer; regardless, she unfurls the poster. Her attempt to massage out the wrinkles are largely unnecessary—it’s already past the point of no return—but you can appreciate the effort. You’re barely able to stand up without her help.
Nearly half of the concert passes without any progress. Doyoung has stayed mostly away from your side of the stage, and when he is on your side his line of vision seems to skip right over you.
“How does he not fucking see you?” Meg shouts.
You shrug. Strangely enough, this is the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks. It’s as if all of your usual nerves have left straight on vacation.
All the snippets of memories are too much to sort through now, but there’s now two sentiments that are finally crystal clear to you throughout all lifetimes.
First: Doyoung must want you too. Either of you can choose to not pursue this connection.
Second: If it is meant to be, love will find a way.
Clearly, your Doyoung exists in an entirely different plane of existence from you. Sure, you might be soulmates, but that didn’t mean that he would choose you. That was his right, as was yours. At this point, you’re ready to accept any outcome.
Still, when the unit has transitioned to a series of ballads, you feel a flicker of annoyance. While your chances of being with him are slim to none, a small part of you craves that acknowledgement.
Can’t Help Myself, your favorite from the album, starts playing. You’ve thrown all expectation to the wind and start singing to the lyrics, even as Doyoung crosses back to your side of the stage.
Meg, on the other hand, raises the sign even higher while she screams Doyoung’s name in a way that is completely inappropriate to the tone of the song. It’s incredibly embarrassing but also endearing.
You’re half-laughing, half-cringing, until it works. Doyoung’s eyes rake over the sign, squint at Meg, then drift over from her to lock onto you.
Mine, your mind says.
Doyoung collapses onstage.
You’re even less prepared for this than you were before. The memories return and suppress all other thoughts. The terrified cries and shock of the crowd completely overtake your senses. It’s all too much.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your body folds over the barricade and hangs there like a ragdoll.
“HELP!” Meg’s voice screams over all the others. “PLEASE, MY FRIEND NEEDS SOME HELP!”
You feel someone grasp your shoulders and pluck your body out of the crowd. Then, you lose consciousness.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Doyoung sits on your living room carpet with your daughter in his lap. He flips through the thick pages of a children’s picture book, sounding out words for her and pointing at each picture.
You stare at his side profile. You’re not under any other will; you’re completely you, from the present day, down to the neon green outfit. The same version of you that’s presumably passed out at his concert. Most importantly, visions should stop once you’ve finally seen your soulmate in person. You shouldn’t be here at all.
“What’s wrong, my love?” Doyoung mumbles.
You startle. Then, you blurt: “Are you real?”
He laughs softly. “Am I real?”
Cautiously, you settle down to sit on the floor next to him. He says nothing, stroking your daughter’s hair as he waits for you to speak first.
The fact that you can speak unsettles you. After months of visions, why is this the vision that lets you have full autonomy? Why in a moment like this, with Doyoung and your daughter relaxing in the living room?
“How did we meet?” You ask suspiciously.
He raises an eyebrow, but answers regardless. “Through work.”
“Which is?”
Thankfully, he’s much more patient. “Well, I was a trainee,” he starts, “and you were about midway through your rookie year.”
Your mind goes completely blank. “Me, an idol?”
Your daughter rests her head in Doyoung’s lap, eyelids fluttering with sleepiness. Doyoung puts a finger up to his lips.
“Am I your soulmate?” you ask in a lower tone, even though you already know the answer.
“Yes.”
“Was it always obvious that we would end up…like this? Together?”
He snorts. “We broke up after I didn’t debut.”
Your heart stops. “You didn’t become an idol?”
“We were broken up for six months before you reached out to me again.” His slightly sour expression softens. “You were going through a lot of things at the time. There’s no resentment there. You asked me for a month to get to know each other again as friends, then the rest is history.”
“Weren’t you mad that I ditched you once I debuted?”
“No.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe at first. We all know that line of work is demanding, and you continued to show up after we worked everything out. You proved to me that you’d choose us over everything, and we haven’t looked back since.”
“Choose this, choose that…” You grumble as irritation pricks at you. Then, you hang your head back and wail like a child. “I’m so confused! I don’t know what all these visions are trying to tell me…”
Doyoung doesn’t respond.
“I’m not sure where I end and their memories and feelings begin,” you confess, as if this Doyoung will know what you’re talking about. “They’re not really mine, but they feel like a part of me. I’m scared that I’m getting swept away by the soulmate bond. How am I supposed to choose? What if the skeptics are right, and this whole thing has been a physiological or psychological reaction that can be explained by science?”
You expect him to be offended; by now, you know that his deep belief in destiny and timing are at the core of his being.
Instead, he says, “What if it is?”
You blink. “I don’t think a soulmate is supposed to say that.”
“Well, when we’ve talked about this before, it always comes down to the same last questions.” He thinks for a moment. “Say we get to the end of our lives and find out that the concept of ‘soulmate’ can just be explained as a physical reaction. Will you feel like you wasted your time? Your life?”
“God.” Your eyes flit to your sleeping daughter. “That’s heavy.”
Doyoung shrugs. “That’s kind of what it boils down to. What do you want to happen, regardless of fate?”
“I don’t know. I just want to be happy.”
“I see,” he says noncommittally. Doyoung’s expression is neutral. Your daughter has other ideas as she whimpers a soft cry in her sleep, which prompts him to pick up your child and cuddle her in his arms. “Do you think I can make you happy?”
The sight makes your heart clench. It triggers an ache for a life that isn’t yours; you feel guilty for intruding on this version of life. This Doyoung doesn’t belong to you.
You open your mouth to reply, but the dream lightens and fades around you. This Doyoung smiles at you one last time before you’re ripped out of this reality.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Doyoung’s first soulmate vision occurs on his eighteenth birthday. It’s something that he can’t forget even if he tries. A dream of the two of you, childhood best friends, experiencing the flutter of a first kiss. He remembers the shyness in your face along with the grounded sense of familiarity; even at eighteen, he feels that he’s known you for his entire life.
Doyoung holds your existence close to his chest. He’s already teased enough for being a romantic as it is, and he treasures your connection too much to let others weigh in. It’s only deep into his trainee period that he even divulges anything to Taeyong and Johnny in the late hours of the night.
Visions of you shimmer in and out of his life in ephemeral flashes. Sometimes you’re the only thing holding him together when his throat burns from vocal training and his muscles ache from dancing. He clings to the borrowed memories from these other lives like a promise. There’s no doubt in Doyoung's mind that your life will touch his eventually–it’s not if, it’s when.
Then his visions stop right before the tour. You’ve been such a constant in his life for the past decade that the absence of you leaves a gaping hole behind. He misses you. He’s always tried to find you, but with only your first name to go off it’s nearly impossible. Added onto the fact that, as an idol, maintaining his privacy is of the utmost importance. He doesn’t want to even think about the entities that would exploit the knowledge of Kim Doyoung’s soulmate.
He retains his professionalism while panicking on the side. What did it mean for his visions to disappear? The disappearance on New Year’s Eve specifically feels like an omen–Doyoung swears to himself that he’ll find you once and for all when the tour ends. All his performances are dedicated in his heart to you and your safety.
So when he registers a poster with only your name on it, he can hardly believe his eyes. The girl attached to the poster is certainly not you, so he keeps looking.
When Doyoung sees you for the first time–finally, sees you in this life for the first time–all he feels is relief and elation. You found him.
Then a wave of nausea overtakes him, and he collapses on stage.
After the fact, staff tell him that he laid unconscious for ten minutes. To him, he spends lifetimes.
He’s inundated with visions of this reality, for once. Doyoung sits through the nightmares with you and sees your health deteriorate with each one. It pains him to see you so overwhelmed. Sure, he had the occasional vision where the two of you didn’t work out, but ten years had given him more than enough time to parse through the philosophical questions of it all. He can’t imagine experiencing this sudden influx so late or needing to decide so quickly. There’s a rush of guilt in knowing that you’ve experienced far more negative visions of him than positive.
It’s his first time seeing you in this universe, too. You’re different from all the other versions, of course, but the core things that make up your identity are as clear to him as ever. Your ambition and drive to make things work despite all odds. Your tenacity. Your deep loyalty and care to your loved ones.
Doyoung feels at peace. It’s still you.
He wakes up with the wide eyes of the staff all around him. They immediately have someone check him out, and even the medic is perplexed when his only symptom is a mild headache.
“So strange,” he frowns. “Someone in the front row of the crowd fainted around the same time.”
Doyoung's heart races. “Are they alright?”
“I believe the patient is being held in one of the medical tents.”
When he’s cleared to perform, Doyoung pops a painkiller, drinks some water, and adjusts his outfit to go out there and finish the show. Before he leaves, however, he pulls his manager aside to whisper some instructions in his ear. He raises an eyebrow but then nods.
Be there soon, Doyoung thinks as he runs to join the others.
Doyoung leaves it all out on the stage. It’s his best, most earnest performance to date.
It’s easier than usual to slip away from the main group, since today’s show had been particularly exhausting. Most of them assumed that Doyoung felt sick and told him to go rest. It’s only Johnny who eyes him sidelong, but he doesn’t say anything in the moment as he heads out to eat.
Doyoung’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he paces in front of your hotel room. He’d met Meg, thanked her for the sign, and questioned her relentlessly on your condition. Meg, from what he could tell, seemed amused as she answered each of his questions. No, you weren’t awake. Yes, the medic said all of your vitals were normal. Yes, it was likely just a fainting spell similar to his own. Yes, you would probably want to see him.
Meg emerges from the hotel room with a nod. Doyoung’s chest tightens as he takes a deep breath to open the door.
You’re sitting upright in one of the hotel beds while focusing on alarm clock next to your nightstand.
“Meg, this is much nicer than something you’d usually choose–” You stop mid-sentence as you turn your head to find Doyoung in Meg’s place instead. “Doyoung.”
Sure, he’s heard you say his name before but hearing it in the flesh makes goosebumps prick up along the surface of his skin. “Hi,” he breathes your name out loud for the first time.
Your expression is wide and dazed in shock as you stare at him. “Is this a vision? Or am I dead?”
He feels tension between his shoulder blades relax as he laughs. “We’re both very much alive. Together,” he adds at the last minute.
You look down at your hands. “...I see.”
Your sudden shyness reminds him so much of his first soulmate vision that he wants to gather you into his arms and never let go. Instead, he asks. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” you pause. “How were you after collapsing?”
“I was only out for a bit, then I woke up pretty much good as new.” He leaves out the part about seeing your entire soulmate realization journey. “Did you see any vision while out?” He sits in the hotel-provided office chair and rolls it forward so he’s hovering next to your side of the bed.
You grow shy again, this time at his proximity. “I did.”
“Me too,” he admits. “It’s hard to believe that we won’t see any more.”
You snort. “Not that we saw them for very long to begin with.”
Doyoung’s breath catches. He knew the differences between your visions but explaining it out loud to you in person feels extremely different. “...I actually saw my first one just over ten years ago.”
“Ten years ago?” You nearly shout.
“Frequency of them is on and off, but I started getting them when I was eighteen.”
He watches your face twist in different expressions as you process the information. Shock and confusion appear first before it settles into something resembling guilt. He lets you get lost in thought. To Doyoung this is just a part of his story that he’s long since accepted, but he knows all of this is brand new for you.
When you finally speak, it’s something that he doesn’t expect. “I’m sorry!” You blurt out. “I hope you know that I don’t expect anything from you.”
He tilts his head in confusion. “Expect anything from me?”
“I would’ve tried to find you even if you weren’t famous,” you’re talking so fast now that your mouth can barely keep up. “I’m not trying to take advantage of your fame.”
“I didn’t think that.” Doyoung’s taken aback. Did you see him as the kind of person who would assume the worst? “I tried to find you a few times, but the visions weren’t exactly helpful in finding specific details about you. Meg’s sign was the first time I’d seen your full name.”
“Oh.”
Your nervousness is palpable. He wishes he could transfer all your bad experiences to himself. Anything to take your pain away.
“Would you prefer it if I left?” He asks softly. “I can give you more time to— “
“No,” you cut him off firmly. You hesitate, just for a second, before reaching for his hand.
Now you’re both embarrassed, but you force your words out. “I don’t really understand what any of this means, still. I also don’t hold it against you if you’re disappointed. There are probably a million more interesting versions of me.”
If anything, he’s disappointed that you feel the need to self-deprecate. He sorts through his mind for a way to encompass how he’s felt about you for the past ten years, but it all seems too long winded.
Finally, he settles for a simple squeeze of your hand. “I’m happy it’s you.”
You squeeze his hand back. “I’m happy it’s you, too.”
Doyoung feels the blush blooming onto his face. The space between you is warm yet fragile. Through the haze of his giddiness, he tries to reign himself in before he scares you away. “I know this is still a lot for you, so I can meet you wherever you need me to be.”
The edges of your mouth twitch upwards in amusement. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
He blinks. “It is?”
“You’re the one who’s seen soulmate visions for ten years with no closure, but you’re more concerned about me,” you lean forward, eyes sparkling like you’re withholding a secret. “Even though I’m the reason why you collapsed at your own concert.”
“It’s not your fault!” He huffs, but you’re already laughing at his pouting. “It’s not!”
You wipe a tear from your eye. “It just made me feel relieved that it’s really you. I’m happy.” After recovering from your laughing fit, there’s a streak of makeup smudged along your upper cheekbone.
“You said that already.” Without thinking, Doyoung wipes the mark away with the pad of his thumb.
Your breath hitches. Doyoung freezes, which means that his hand effectively freezes on your cheek in turn. Then, finally, you turn your head toward his hand and press your lips on the skin. You smile.
The bashfulness in the air is replaced with something thicker and more intense than before. Doyoung’s eyes drift down to your lips.
“Can I kiss you?” The words come out low and raspy. It’s surprising to even him. It’s probably too soon. He should have more self-control, damn it, but he can’t help himself. Every cell in his body craves to be closer, closer, closer.
Instead of a reply, you close the distance between you.
He’s lost track of how many first kisses he’s witnessed through other versions of himself, but this one tastes sweeter than all the rest. It’s more than just a kiss; it’s acceptance. As you lose yourselves in the other’s touch, it feels like a vow.
“Doyoung,” you mutter between kisses.
“Mhmm?”
“Doyoung!” You pull back briefly, chest heaving for breath. “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”
His heart drops. He knows this risk-averse and self-sabotaging behavior of yours. If not addressed, you’ll convince yourself to choose the safest route to protect yourself. It’s now or never.
He clears his throat. “As I said, I will meet you wherever you need me to be. It’s okay if we start off slow or just as friends. Regardless, I would love to finally get to know you. This you.” He clears his throat. “So I hope you’ll consider it.”
“Of course I want to get to know you,”you say without hesitating. You bite your lip. “Without a doubt, I know that I can care for you and fall in love with you. The last few months have convinced me of that, but I’ve also seen that love can only carry us so far. You want to try pursuing something, even knowing that other versions of us have failed?”
“We won’t fail,” he says with a calm confidence.
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m choosing you—this reality with you. I will do everything in my power to take care of you.” His voice drops to a low tone. “So please trust me. Choose me too.”
With those words, you’re a goner. Truth be told, you aren’t sure if you stood a chance in the first place. He’s too easy to trust and fall into. Doyoung is everything you’ve dreamt of and more.
“Okay,” you say with a smile. “I’ll choose us too. As long as you’re really sure you want to be stuck with me.”
To know you is to love you. Doyoung’s decision was made from the moment he first saw you in his dreams.
“Of course I want to,” Doyoung says as he pulls you into another kiss. “I’ve loved you in every lifetime.”
