#nct doyoung au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mafiadad5 · 4 months

Text

Kalopsia

( ka • lop • sia) - The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

Jaehyun x femreader ft. Doyoung

Description- I went back to my college town, my dad worried about me and my safety makes sure to load me with a bodyguard to be safe, little do I know it turns into a whole web of secrets, lies, and history that shouldn’t have been dug up.

Word count- 11.6k

Genre- mafia au (not corny I swear), smut 18+, bodyguard au

Warnings- slight degradation, praising, oral (fem and male receiving), unprotected (plz wear protection yall T.T), 3sum, overstimulation, guns and blood (not too much), alcohol.

No proof read cause heh…

Authors note- hi my loveys! This is my first time writing something with actually plot and full (multiple) smut, I hope you like and please feel free to comment or dm with your thoughts:) I will like to say that the way I deceive them in the story is nothing like their personalities irl and I DEFINITELY do not see them like this. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy 🎀!

"Hey y/n."

The staff tapped my shoulder as I woke up. "What's up?" I said, removing my headphones from my ears, placing them on my neck. "Well, it's just that your dad is gonna explode if you sit in the plane for another 15 minutes." He said, pointing to his watch. "Oh shit, thank you, Leon." I got up, grabbed my bag, and headed out of the plane, my father waiting for me with a stern face. "Y/n." He said, a smile appearing as he took me into a huge bear hug. "Hey, Dad." I smiled, him kissing my forehead as he hugged me one more time. "Let's go home, I know you're exhausted." He said as Leon grabbed my bags, placing them into the trunk as me and my father got into the car. "I know you're tired and I'm sorry to do this to you on the first day you're back, but get dressed because we're having a dinner meeting tonight." I paused, looking at him. "Dad, already?" He smiled generously, taking a sip of water. "You know the drill Y/n, I don't make the rules."

"You literally do though."

After a long car ride home, we finally made it to our house, it was as glamorous and beautiful as I remembered. I got out of the car, instantly going to the garden, my favorite place, my dad screaming at me to not forget about the dinner. I sat on the bench, the beautiful lake shimmering before me.

"I didn't know you were back butterfly?"

I heard from beside me as I turned. "Marie?" I said as I excitedly ran up to her, giving her a big hug. "Where have you been I thought you quit years ago?" I laughed. "I would never." She said as she smiled, grabbing my hand, sitting down beside me on the bench. "Well, I was going to quit, but I decided to stay my dear."

"So then where's Margot? Or does she hate me? She stopped responding to my messages ages ago, is she mad I left for college in another country?"

Marie paused for a moment, her face changing into a sadder expression as she grabbed my hand, avoiding eye contact. "I'm afraid Margot is gone now." She said, swallowing every tear that was about to fall out of her crystal brown eyes. "Gone where?" I turned to her.

"She is dead, the Korean gang got to her. I tried to save her, but it was far too late."

A tear rolled down her face as I grabbed her hand. "No," I said, there was no way. "She was only a worker why would they even come for her?" "Y/n when we all tell you to be careful, it's for your own good. They would do anything to get your dad upset. They don't want him dead; they want him put away." "I understand." I said as I pulled her into a hug. "You need to quit then go far away." She broke the hug, looking at me in sorrow. "It's far too late, since I've worked for your dad, I will always be a target. Besides, my only job now is to keep you safe, I don't have much to live for anymore."

She gripped my hand tighter looking me in the eyes. "You should be safe because no one knows your location and where you go to school, it was the safest option. Promise me y/n, promise me you'll be careful, don't go out to parties or do anything stupid ok?" "I promise." I said as I gave her one last hug. "Now go get dressed for the meeting dear." I left her there on the bench, as I walked up to my room, checking my phone for the time. I had 3 hours till dinner, so I just decided to chill.

It was time for dinner and Leon walked me down to the meeting, my dad and his partners sitting around the table, Marie giving me a slight smile before turning back serious again. "Hello everyone thank you for showing up, especially my lovely daughter who left school to attend tonight, I promise you'll be flown back tomorrow. We have some important things to talk about." Everyone sat silently, the only noises were my dad and knives and forks gliding on their plates. "The Koreans are starting to make a move now. We need to talk about your roles." I sat, wondering why I was invited to this meeting.

Everyone was quiet, still not saying a word, but we all wondered the same thing. Why now? Someone cleared their throat, making it known that they wanted to speak. "How are they making a move now? They haven't been active for years." My dad looked at his plate, looking back up clenching his jaw. "That's because they know there's something I can't protect anymore." He looked at me, sorrow in his eyes as Marie looked at me as well. "I hired new bodyguards, bodyguards I can trust. Y/n he will assist you, when I say assist, I mean he will keep you safe, but the decisions you make are up to you, there's little I can do from here... you're in control of your own life now."

"I understand Dad."

He wiped his mouth, setting down his napkin. "Now..." he cleared his throat. "I know one of you is a traitor, I invited you in here to let you make your last call, and tell them everything you've heard in this meeting, and also inform them that if they even so, go into the same room as my daughter, they are dead. Leon, please escort Y/n to her room, I change my mind, she needs to leave tonight." He walked up to me, giving me a big kiss on the forehead. "I love you, you're my everything, my only daughter, my life. Stay safe y/n, your bodyguard will be waiting for you when you land."

"I love you too dad."

A tear fell down my eye as I hugged him tightly, Leon tapping on my shoulder, "The planes ready princess, we have to go, your stuff is ready." I went into my room, grabbing the stuff that Leon missed, giving my home one last look before getting into the car. One thing about this lifestyle is that it's nice, but so unpredictable. I might come back and the whole house would be destroyed.

The car and plane ride were long, and I pretty much slept the whole time, waking up to Leon tapping my shoulder softly. He helped me out of the plane, my luggage already outside. "Thank you, Leon." I said walking to the car, going to the driver's seat before someone stepped out in front of me. He had silver hair and beautiful clear skin, his cheekbones were sunken in, and his dark eyes stared daggers into mine. "Hello, you must be y/n?" He said, not moving an inch, still staring at me. "Yes? And who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Jaehyun, your bodyguard."

He smiled, taking off his black glove, and reaching out to shake my hand. Before I could reach out to shake his hand, Leon held up his gun to him. "That's a Korean name." He looked at him, smiling while holding his hands up. "I'm just a bodyguard, nothing more nothing less." Leon came up to us, pushing me away from him, holding up the gun to his forehead. "Liar."

"Wait, Leon,"

I said, them both turning to me. "Stop Y/n." He said turning back. "No you stop... get in the car." I said to Jaehyun, he instantly sat back in the car, Leon turning to me with a frustrated look on his face.

"Do you trust me Leon?"

"Yes but..."

"Stop it, if you trust me then let me go with him. I'll be safe. That's my bodyguard ok. The Korean gang is not stupid, he wouldn't have said his real name. Let me go." I said, holding onto his hands. "I just don't want you to get hurt Y/n, you're my responsibility." "I'm not 12 anymore Leon, I'm my own responsibility. It's ok, let me go I'll see you soon ok." He kissed my hand, letting them go as he turned to the car before turning back. "Ok, ok. Please stay safe princess, I'll see you soon." He gave me one last look before getting back on the plane, blowing me a kiss, smiling before he left, just like he always did when I was younger.

"Ok princess, are you ready to go?"

I turned around to see him out of the car. "Don't call me that." I said as I walked to the passenger side, him following closely behind me, opening the car door for me. "Let's go mama." "Don't call me that" I said as he shut the door, hopping into the driver's seat, driving away shortly after.

"Where are we?"

I said. We pulled up to a small house in an abandoned area, the only thing lighting the area was a dimly lit warm house light on the outside. "This is where we're staying now" he said, getting out the car, coming over to the passenger side to let me out. "No, I want to go to my house." He popped the trunk, getting my suitcase, walking up to the door entrance as I paced behind him like a lost child. "You will, tomorrow when we go get your stuff. He unlocked the door to the house, opening the creaking door, flipping on the lights exposing the space.

"Um."

The space was small, everything was in the same room except the bathroom, and when I say bathroom, I mean just the toilet and sink. The shower was in the open space as well. "This is a little small." I murmured, walking into the enclosed space after kicking my shoes off, sitting on the couch that sat a few feet away from the bed. "Maybe just a tad bit." He said, taking off his gloves and shoes at the door, walking around the kitchen. "Daddy wouldn't buy me anything this small, what's going on?" He scoffed, walking to the couch, sitting beside me.

"Don't be a spoiled brat, this is fine."

I looked at him, rolling my eyes as he tried to get comfortable, hitting the couch beside him with a distasteful look on his face. "This couch is hard as a rock." I looked at him. "I thought this was fine." I said mockingly as he got up from the couch, doing the same hitting motion to the bed, ignoring what I had just said.

"Better."

"You care about my comfort that much?"

I said, getting up from the couch going into the small kitchen, getting a glass of water. "No, I care about my comfort." He said, looking at the open shower, then looking back at me with wide eyes and a small grin. "You better hope there's another shower here somewhere." "It doesn't matter anyways," I looked at him "You're not staying here."

He looked at me in silence, taking his blazer and white dress shirt off, exposing his black tank top underneath, the tight elastic fabric hugging his toned torso. I'm not gonna lie, I stared a little, maybe even stuttered but he was literally perfect. "Can we just go back to my apartment so we have separate rooms." He looked down, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling down the zipper before looking back up at me. "Your apartment gets raided and I'm in another room or taking a shower, then what? We're both dead." I stayed quiet, examining his body up and down, completely in a daze as his hands gently fiddled with the waistband of his pants.

"Am I distracting you?"

My attention instantly geared to his face, his eyebrows lifting teasingly. "I have to use the bathroom." I said, going to the small enclosed room with only a sink and toilet. "If you're going to touch yourself I want to see." He said, his eyes following me to the bathroom as he chuckled lightly.

"You're sick."

I said, before closing and locking the door. Pulling out my phone to text Leon.

—————————————————————————————

Leon why did my dad get me a house so small?

Y/n why didn't you ask him that yourself 😂?

Leon this is not a laughing manner, you know he's going through a lot, I don't want to sound ungrateful😭.

Don't ask me y/n, are you 👌 ?

Yes

Well goodnight princess, text me if you need anything👍

Ok Leon, goodnight lol.

—————————————————————————————

I sat in the bathroom for another 30 minutes, walking out to find jaehyun sleeping in the bed. My bed. I didn't mind though, he was cute when he slept anyways. I took off my pants, getting in the cold white sheets. Wasn't the most comfortable bed I've slept in, but I'll be ok. I sat scrolling on my phone a little, jaehyun moving around in the spot beside me, groaning slightly as he tried to fix his position, tugging the cover from me.

"Great, he's a rough sleeper"

I whispered out, laying down, facing my back towards him, tugging the cover back. I sat there, staring outside in the backyard, a dimly lit field fading into a dark void. It was intimidating, but somehow I felt safe. My eyes slowly closed as I drifted off to sleep as well.

"Y/n" I heard a faint whisper in my ear, I turned around, thinking it was just in my head, pulling the cover over my ears. I felt someone flick my nose softly, enough for it to wake me up. I opened my eyes slowly. "Boo." Jaehyun laid in front of my face, wide eyed as I jolted away violently. "What the fuck." He smiled, sitting up grabbing his phone. "Well, we have to go get some stuff from your apartment, do you have anywhere else you would like to stop?" He turned to me, my eyes still halfway shut as I nodded. "Where?" I got quiet, turning the other way, placing the cover back over my shoulders.

He jerked the cover off of me, my bare legs feeling a cool breeze as I tried to snatch back the cover, but failed. "You couldn't even put pants on before getting in bed with me?" I sighed, sitting up before grabbing the cover back from him covering myself up. "We're not 12, it's not that serious."

"Don't hide your legs now, they're pretty. Can't wait to make them shake."

My face filled of unamusement as I got up from the bed, stretching before going to the huge window I looked out of last night. " Weirdo" he got up, inching closer to me "Oh you know you want me to-" I cut him off abruptly, "We need window curtains I don't trust this." He sat on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, staring directly at my ass as I watched his reflection in the window.

"You're safe enough with me don't you think mama?"

"Stop staring at my ass."

I said before turning around. His lips folded into a grin as he turned the other way, trying to ignore me. His torso curved as his elbows rested on the granite counter. He had blue and black plaid pajama pants that loosely hung onto his waist, god he was so sexy. He sat his hand in his lap roughly, but delicately, waving it around making my attention gear to his face. "You seem to get distracted by my body easily," he said getting up from his chair, making his way towards me as I backed away from him.

"Do you want me?"

I stayed quiet, backing up until my back hit the window. "Do you think I'm attractive y/n?" I stopped for a second, silently looking at his face, examining his distinct, delicate features. "Mmm... No." I smiled, moving past him going to my suitcase. "Didn't you say we had places to go? Let's go then." I said, going through the clothes in my suitcase. I heard nothing but a door slamming as I turned around, jaehyun going into the bathroom. "Damn, I was just kidding." I whispered, laying back down in the bed after getting dressed. It was a while and he still didn't come out the bathroom, my eyes got heavy quickly as nothing but sounds of nature from the woods leaked into the house, causing me to doze off.

"Get up."

I felt someone shaking my body as I was rudely awoken. "Hmm?" I popped up, rubbing my eyes. I looked out the window, it was completly dark, the only thing lighting the house was a warm lamp that sat on the nightstand beside the bed. "We're leaving now." he said, walking to the nightstand with the lamp, opening the drawer grabbing a silver and black pistol, opening the magazine checking the ammo before stuffing the gun into his waistband.

He turned to me as I sat obviously staring sharply at his every action, raising his eyebrows before turning away from me, heading to the door to put on his shoes. I examined his outfit, a loose fit t-shirt with loose fit jeans. "Oh, so you're dressing casually now?" I said getting up, meeting him at the door, putting my shoes on, grabbing my jacket. He ignored the comment, opening the door, locking it behind me as I walked out.

We made it to my apartment, Jaehyun telling me we didn't have enough time to stop for curtains. I went to unlock my door, but something didn't feel right. I turned the door knob with hesitation, the door opening slowly as I peeked inside, taking a step back, leaving the door slightly cracked, my face turning into a look of panic. "Hurry up, what's taking you so long." Jaehyun's voice echoed through my mind as my heart sunk to my stomach.

"Jaehyun..."

my voice was breathless as I turned to him, a face of annoyance now turning into one of worry. "I think someone broke into my house." He got in front of me, opening the door, his hand under his shirt, gripping his gun. He slowly walked into the apartment, signaling for me to follow behind him as I shut and locked the door behind me so if there was anyone there they couldn't escape. He searched the living room, his gun now up and aimed.

"Sit down"

he mouthed silently, pointing his gun to the sofa that sat in the middle of the dark room. I sat soundlessly, my leg shaking anxiously as nothing but hushed apprehension filled the house. I sat there, a million thoughts racing in my mind as I bit my nails nervously. I was knocked out of my thoughts when I heard a doorknob rustling. I sat for a second, examining the apartment ... all of the doors open. My attention automatically geared to the front door, the doorknob manically shaking.

"Jaehyun."

My voice was shaky as I got up, backing away from the couch and door.

"JAEHYUN."

Jaehyun ran into the room as a loud thud sounded. Everything else was a blur as I ran away from the chaos. The only thing I saw was the light from the apartment hallway in the doorway, and sparks. I shut the door, locking it behind me as intense gunshots and loud thuds sounded, echoing violently in my head. I went to my nightstand, grabbing my small revolver as the gunshots stopped all of a sudden, the house falling silent again. I stepped away from the door, holding my gun up as I heard shuffling coming from the living room. I was ready for anything when I heard the doorknob to the room rustling again, then knocking on the door.

"It's me baby, open the door."

The voice was familiar, and gave me a bit of relieve as I took a deep breath, aiming my gun to the floor.

"Open the door."

I heard him say again. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach as I held my gun up again, aiming it at the door. I walked slowly as the uneasiness and suspicion of if it was really him raced through my mind. I unlocked the door slowly, quickly opening it holding my gun up, Jaehyun's dark eyes meeting with mine.

"Aren't you a little too pretty for guns?"

"Fuck Jaehyun." I placed my gun on the tv stand, wrapping my hands around him as I pulled him into a tight hug. His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper into his body, his scent made me almost breathless.

"God look at you."

I said, his white T-shirt now covered in blood. "Get your things quick, before the police get here."

We made it out of the apartment safely, avoiding the police as we got into the car, driving back home. "I'm just gonna stay out here for a little, you can go inside." He nodded reassuringly, stepping inside the house. "Well, I'm going to shower." He shut the door, leaving me outside alone. I took in the fresh air, sitting silently thinking about my life, how chaotic things are all the time, and how surprisingly that wasn't even the first time someone tried to kill me. I reached into my pocket, grabbing a heart-shaped locket, feeling the exquisite patterns that laid on the front of the jewelry, the cold tarnished silver chilling my fingers.

I held onto it tightly, closing my eyes taking in the fresh air, thinking about all the memories, about what my life would be if I wasn't born this way. At times, I wish my life was just normal, I barely had friends growing up, not real ones anyways, well except for one, but all good things come to an end. Thirty minutes passed, I was knocked out of my thoughts when I felt a vibration in my pocket. I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket, Leon's name popping up on my notification center.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Hey princess😊

Hey leon

Just wanted to text you to see if you're 👌

Yea im good leon, im really tired though, so i'll talk to you later.

copy 👍 goodnight princess

goodnight leon

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I walked back into the house, taking my jacket off at the door. Jaehyun sat on the couch manspreading, watching tv. His hair was slightly wet as he had a loose black shirt on, with those same plaid pants on.

"You can leave now."

He looked at me, flipping off the tv as he got up from the couch, looking me up and down.

"Was today not enough for you to not want me to stay with you hm?" he inched closer to me, shooting daggers into my eyes.

"Nope, you can leave Jaehyun."

I said smiling, kicking off my shoes walking to the living room, going to the window. "It's my job to stay baby." He said still not breaking eye contact, his eyes following me. "Well, I'm your boss. Your boss is telling you to leave."

"Oh yeah? As far as I know, you're not my boss, you didn't hire me."

He was inching closer to me taking small steps pulling up the sleeves of his shirt, bringing attention to his muscular yet, soft hands and arms. "As far as I know, I can get you fired?"

"Fire me."

I stood there for a second, quiet, smiling slowly "You know what Jaehyun." I said, moving closer to him.

"What?"

"I think I'd rather fuck you."

I grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer to me with a mischievous smile. "Mmm, I thought it would've been at least a week before you wanted to fuck me. He grinned, the reflection from the outdoor light sparkling in his eyes. "Don't be cocky, just right place, right time situation." He nodded, our faces inches away from each other. "And what do I get out of this mama?" He said, his voice deep and husky, his eyes going pitch black once again. "What do you what?"

He grabbed my waist, our lips separated by nothing more than a conversation, his cold fingers feeling my waist, his voice in a faint whisper

"I want to know more about you over breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Deal"

Jaehyun quickly lowered his lips down to mines, taking no time to roughly kiss me. His tongue traced my bottom lip teasingly before diving into my mouth, his hands holding onto my hips tighter, his nails clawing at my skin ever so slightly. The kiss deepened as he explored my mouth, backing me into a window, the cold glass chilling my hot back. His hands wandered up and down my body, one of them unbuttoning my pants, his lips not leaving mine.

His hands slid into my pants, his fingers dipping lower as he broke the kiss.

"Wait."

He spoke, removing his hands, looking at me in the eyes deeply.

"Didn't you say you were going to fuck me?"

He said, moving to the couch.

"Do it,"

He spread his legs, his boner poking through his pants as he sighed, setting his arms along the edge of the couch.

"Fuck me then."

I walked over to him, getting on my knees in front of him, sliding in between his legs as he smiled, giving me a reassuring nod as I teasingly fiddled with the drawstrings on his pants, slowly pulling them down, not breaking eye contact with his cold eyes. I pulled down his underwear as his eyes filled with lust and determination. I took no time to wrap my hands around his shaft, spitting on his tip as I glided my hands up and down.

"That's it baby, give me what I want."

His hand moved to my face gently stroking my cheek, the warmth of his skin sending shivers down my spine. I slowly lowered my head, his length disappearing in my mouth. "Fuck." He grunted, throwing his head back on the couch. His hips started to move in a rhythm that matched the movement of my tongue, forcing me to take more of him.

"That feels so good baby."

He said in a desperate, but quiet moan, his hips bucking up slightly against my mouth as I took him deeper and deeper. His moans started to grow louder and more frequent, his hands finding their way to my hair, slightly tugging and guiding my mouth, his length throbbing against my tongue, demanding more.

"Fuck mama, right there, just like that."

His grip tightened on my hair, his other hand making his way to the back of my neck, guiding my movements as he pushed deeper into my mouth. His moans grew louder as I took him deeper, tears dwelling in my eyes, my tongue exploring every inch of his dick. His body tensed up as he rose his hips further and further, his hips moving faster as his length starts to twitch in my throat.

"Fuck." He choked out, throwing his head back on the couch, gripping my hair tightly as he released in my mouth.

"Damn."

He said, taking a deep breath, looking down at me, wiping my mouth and the tears that fell. I stood up in front of him. He looked up at me with a sly smirk, slipping off his shirt, his heavenly crafted abs and perfect frame fucking my mind before he even touched me.

"Come here, don't act scared now."

He said, grabbing my hand, pulling me closer. His hands wrapped around my waist, slowly moving down to my hips as he pulled down my pants and underwear in one quick motion, him looking directly at me with that same sly smirk. He pulled me even closer, kissing my bikini line, moving further and further down. He pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"You ready baby?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Mhm." He lifted me up, placing his tip at my entrance, slowly sinking me onto his length. "Fuck." I whined out, his hands clawing my hips as he moved me up and down on his dick, going deeper into me every time. "Shit, like that." "This is what you wanted right?" his voice echoed in my mind as he thrusted into me faster, hips bucking up, as my eyes rolled up from the intense pleasure of his length deep inside of me.

"Look at me or I'll stop."

he said, moaning softly in between his words. I looked at him, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, his hand moving back down to my hips, guiding me up and down. "I doubt it." I said, trying to sound as confident as possible, but not being able to hold my composure. "Oh yea? You want to test that baby?" He slammed me down harder, forcing a moan out of me. "Answer my question."

His free hand made its way up to my face, dragging my lip down with his thumb. "No." I mumbled out, throwing my head back as the intense pleasure sent shivers down my spine. He moaned out, desperate, full of need as he guided my hips sloppily. He grabbed waist, flipping us over, him now laying on top of me. He thrusted roughly as he cursed and moaned into my neck.

"Fuck you feel so good."

He whimpered out, his words vibrating on my skin as I gripped onto his hair, throwing my head back moaning loudly as my body jolted with every curt thrust. "Oh fuck I'm coming." My legs started to shake aggressively, the sensation of his deep breaths and moans on my neck mixed with the hard thrust driving me over the edge. "Well I'm not done." He said, continuing, pushing into me as my walls clenched around him, causing him to let out a quick moan.

"Fuck Jaehyun, please."

I moaned out, removing my hands from his head, placing them on his torso, trying to push him out of me. He instantly grabbed my hands, pinning them to the couch above me. "You can take it mama, I know you can." I threw my head back violently, trying to release my hands from his grasp, but failing miserably as he forced them back down. An overwhelming feeling of intense pleasure fell over my body as he thrusted harder. I shook my head before throwing it back, whining out to him.

"Do you want me to help you, or do you want to keep being bad and keep your hands pinned?"

He whispered in my ear, our bodies clapping together, making an unbearable friction. My loud moans filled the room as tears started to dwell in my eyes from the intense pleasure. "Answer me." "Help me." I mumbled out in a tired moan. He unpinned my hands, wrapping them around his neck. "Pull me when it feels overwhelming, grab my hair if you need to ok, do you understand me?" He said in my ear, his thrust slowing down, eventually stopping as he stayed inside of me. I nodded as he placed his hands beside my head on the couch to keep balance.

"I'm gonna go fast, do as I tell you or I'll stop ok."

I nodded again, his dark eyes looking at me, beads of sweat falling down his forehead slowly. "Tell me ok." He said wiping my tears. "Ok, I will." I felt him twitch inside of me, his head lowering into my neck, looking down for a second as he placed one of his hands on my waist.

He wasted no time, thrusting quickly inside of me. I whined under him while sliding my fingers into his hair, tugging softly. "Well, that didn't take long." He groaned into my neck, teasing the soft skin with subtle kisses. "Fuck." his moaning left tingles on my neck, making their way down my spine. I clenched around his length moaning loudly as he let out panting moans, going even faster in retaliation as my walls fought against him.

"Fuck Y/n, I'm almost there."

Sweet sounds of lust echoed through the house as he desperately thrusted mindlessly, my breath hitching with every movement. I cried out for him, my hands tugging at his hair as his thrust got sloppier. "I'm there, baby." he cried out, panting over me. My legs started shaking aggressively once again, his thrust sloppy as he twitched inside of me. He lifted up my shirt as he let out a choked moan, pulling out of me, releasing his warm liquid on my stomach.

Deep breathing filled the room as he sat beside me on the couch.

"Look at what a mess you made."

He chuckled, a ring of my arousal sat at the bottom of his member.

"I can say the same thing about you."

After a long shower, I had no energy to even get dressed, I lazily found a t-shirt, slipping it on as I sat on the couch, laying my head on the uncomfortable pillow, dozing off slowly as Jaehyun showered, falling asleep eventually.

I woke up, the bright sun shining through the window, burning my eyes as the soft sheets cooled my body everytime I moved.

"Stop moving."

An angry groan came from beside me. "Oh shut up, you're in my bed." I turned over, grabbing the cover, placing it over my head before Jaehyun pulled it back over to him. "Stop taking all the cover." I whined as he sighed, flipping over so he was facing me. "Then get closer to me sweetheart, so we can share." I looked at him, rolling my eyes before sitting up facing my back to him. "You hungry princess?" I nodded, as he handed me the cover "Here wrap yourself up, I'm going to step out for a moment, but get dressed so I can take you to the breakfast you promised me."

I nodded again, wrapping myself up, turning back to look at him, his pajama pants hanging low on his waist, his shirt hanging low on his collar bone. "Distracted again?" He said a small smirk appearing on my face as I saw him smile, his dimple leaving a distinct imprint on his cheek as he walked outside getting his keys from the nightstand

"Can you stop, no I'm not distracted."

He made his way to the door, sliding on his shoes "Whatever you say darling- I'll call you when you need to come outside so we can leave, ok?" I nodded, getting up going to my suitcase, Jaehyun calling me about 45 minutes later telling me to come on.

I put my slipped my shoes on, walking outside to see Jaehyun waiting outside the passenger door.

"Thank you Jaehyun, you're a doll."

An awkward smile painted his face as he shut the door, hoping in the drivers side, making sure the gates shut behind the car as he drove away.

"We're here." He gently tapped my thigh as I lifted my head from the car door. My face had lines and small indents from dozing off on the lengthy car ride. I looked outside to the small restaurant, face lighting up with excitement as I saw where we were.

"No way, I've always wanted to come here. How did you know?"

I turned to him, a questioning expression appearing on my face. He smiled, rubbing the lines on my face. "You're so pretty." His fingers slowly sliding down my face, his hand making its way to my throat, holding ever so slightly, his fingers teasing my skin.

"Is this supposed to intimidate me?"

"Is it working?"

He looked at my lips, then back up at me again, smirking while leaning in, his hand trailing up my thigh. "A little."

"Um, Excuse me. This is not a valid parking spot..."

I quickly turned around, Jaehyun's hand releasing from my neck as we looked at the traffic officer standing outside the window. "You can't even park right?" I laughed as he found a new parking space, rolling his eyes with a smile.

"So..."

He sat in front of me, circling the rim of his water with his finger. "So..." I hummed, looking at him from across the table as he sat awkwardly. "What do you want to know?" I took a sip from my cup, my eyes squinting slightly as the tartness of the juice hit my lips.

"I want to know more about you."

"My name is Y/n, I'm from France, but moved here for college, and I'm the only child of my parents, and the only daughter born into my family. Anything else?"

He made a small smile, looking down at the table before looking back up at me. "Why do you keep a postcard of this place with you." I tensed up in my seat, looking down playing with my fork before taking another sip of juice.

"Because my mom gave it to me, it was her favorite place here."

"Oh she lives here? Where is she?"

Jaehyun said, finally taking a sip of the water he's been eyeing. I looked at him, my head tilting slightly as I raised my eyebrows. It's getting on my nerves how oblivious he's trying to act in front of my face like I'm stupid.

"She's dead, the Koreans got to her, you probably know them right?"

"I've heard a little about them, but not too much, I'm so sorry about that Y/n."

I looked at him, taking a sip from my juice.

"An apology isn't gonna bring her back Jaehyun-"

"WOOOO."

We broke eye contact suddenly, the waiter coming up to us with the food. "Thank you." He hummed, as I smiled enthusiastically, grabbing my utensils.

"There's a party I want to go to tonight."

He looked at his plate, scooping food up into his fork. "Mmm." He hummed, looking up at me. "We're going." I spoke in a demanding tone as he silently finished his food. I looked at him, finishing the last spoonful on my plate. He nodded, looking up at me. "I think you're a bit too old for parties, but hey." He looked up at me, a blank look on his face, placing a hundred dollar bill on the table to pay for the food, getting up pushing his chair in.

"First of all, I'm only 23, second it's an adult party, 21+ at a hotel so don't do that."

I said, following him outside, the cool air chilling my cheeks. "Ok well, I don't feel like getting into another gun fight so please, make sure it's safe." He said as he opened the passenger door to the car for me, his eyes following me as I got in. "I can hire another bodyguard if you don't feel like it" I looked up at him, his hand resting on the top of the car door, his eyebrows raising up as he rolled his eyes.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I looked up at him, a sly smirk appearing on my face like the one from last night, our eyes locking. "The same way I made you last night?" I turned into the car, looking away silently as he shut the door, getting into the drivers side and driving away, going back home.

Hours passed and the sun started to set as I got ready in front of the mirror, slipping on my black dress, struggling to zip up the back.

"Jaehyun, can you help me with this?"

I asked from inside the bathroom. He walked into the bathroom standing behind me as I looked at him from the mirror. "Can you help me with my zipper." I said, his hands finding the zipper on my dress, his fingers slightly brushing my bare back as he pulled it up slowly, looking at me through the mirror after. "Thanks." I smiled, completing the finishing touches to my lips, looking at Jaehyun still staring at me from the mirror.

"What?"

"It's just taking everything in me to not bend you over on this sink right now."

I looked at him before turning around. "Get a grip." I playfully hit his chest, pushing past him. "Plus you need to get dressed anyways."

"Ok whatever." He said as I smiled, slipping on my shoes at the door.

We made it to the hotel, the dining room a beautiful champagne color with crystal chandeliers. The last time I've been to a party like this was when I was living back at home, so yeah, a pretty long time.

"Oh my goodness I know that's not Y/n."

I heard, the blonde girl standing in front of me. "Hi, long time no see Emily." I sat there with a forced smile, hugging her gently as a man stood behind her. "This is my husband John." She pointed behind her as he gave a smug smile, waving before standing behind her quietly again. "Four years married," she smiled at me. "I must ask, are you married yet Y/n, I know you had a rough time with relationships in college?"

"No, I'm far too young you know. I know you started college late so it's not absurd for you to be married right now, but I'm exploring life."

She gave me a passive aggressive smile, nodded slowly as she took a sip from her champagne glass. "Oh ok I see, you know I was traveling the world before I went to college so I get what you mean, and do you have a job or are you still using your families money?"

"Oh my family has me under control. Speaking of families did your's finally pay your gambling debt, or did you do that on your own?”

Her eyes widened slightly before a forced grin appeared on her face. "Oh Y/n, I think this handsome gentleman behind you is trying to get through."

I looked behind me, Jaehyun standing there looking down at me, his suit fitting him almost perfectly as his bangs hung over his forehead.

"Oh no my dear, he's with me."

I smugly smiled, grabbing his arm, linking mine with his. "Oh really, wow im happy for you y/n... Well I'll leave you two to it, it was nice to see you again." She smiled before turning away, greeting other guest.

I rolled my eyes, turning to Jaehyun as he sat there with an awkward expression on his face. "I can't stand her Jae." I smiled as I rubbed his arm, the feeling of his soft, matte, velvet suit leaving small tingles on my fingers.

"I have to use the bathroom ." He smiled.

"Should I come with you?" I asked.

He shook his head no, before disappearing into the crowd. I sat there for a second quietly, holding my purse tightly in my hand as nothing but people's conversations erupted on all sides of me.

"Y/n?"

I heard from behind me, rolling my eyes slowly not wanting another tense interaction with an old peer. I turned around, forcing another smile yet again, before it dropped, my eyes widening. He was very well put together, a black blazer that almost fit him perfectly, like it was designed just for him. His hair was jet black, messily slicked back.

"Doyoung?!"

I pulled him into a hug smiling, looking into his beautiful crystal eyes as they sparkled. "I thought that was you, how have you been?" He gave a comforting smile.

"Oh I've been good, how have you been?" Before he could answer we were interrupted by Jaehyun.

"Who is this?"

He handed me a drink, looking at him with a smile, then back at me. "Omg this was like my best friend ever in college before I went back home."

"I'm Doyoung." He looked at Jaehyun with a smile, shaking his hand, Jaehyun nodding. "How about we go to the hotel bar so we can catch up without any noise?" Doyoung suggested, looking at me as I nodded in response.

We went to go sit at the bar, Doyoung asking for a vodka on the rocks. "That's a pretty strong drink, do you have a ride home?" I questioned, taking a sip of my margarita, Jaehyun sitting beside me with a sprite.

"Don't be foolish Y/n, I wouldn't drink and drive. I have a hotel room here tonight." He smiled, his eyes squinting close as he swallowed the alcohol, his nose scrunching up. "You're still as cute as I remember when you drink Doyoung."

"Um, I'm here too." Jaehyun cleared his throat as I turned back to look at him.

"Shh, I haven't seen him in forever, let us speak." I turned back to Doyoung, smiling as he chuckled slightly.

"So how have you been Doyoungie, I've missed you." His cheeks flushed light pink for a second as he smiled.

"Well, I've been pretty good, I've visited your home country Canada, and I literally could only think of you the whole time I was there." I smiled, finishing up my margarita, turning to Jaehyun giving him a small smile before turning back.

"I'm honored, I remembered you've always wanted to go there too, I'm happy for you. How's your relationship, are you still with that same girl?" He smiled, resting his hands on his crotch area, laying back in his chair comfortably.

"No, she wanted to break up after she found out we kissed."

"Are you serious? Y'all weren't even together yet."

He did a small laugh, fishing his wallet out of his pocket, placing a crisp 50 dollar bill on the bar counter.

"She thought we hooked up after, I told her we didn't, but she took it upon herself to not believe me." I raised my eyebrows, an astonished expression appearing on my face. "I cant even imagine hooking up with you."

"Let me show you."

The eyes that were once sparkly and doe'd were now darkened and sharp. "Hm?" I looked at him, trying to make sure I heard what he said correctly, or in the right context.

"Let me show you how it is to hook up with me." His voice was husky and low almost in a faint whisper.

I looked beside me to see Jaehyun glued to his phone, not removing his eyes from his screen. "What, you want him to join in? Ask, I like to try new things." He signaled for the bartender, asking for a pen and paper, writing down his hotel room number, sliding it to me.

"Come up when you've made up your mind." He said, slipping away from the bar.

I stood there still, not knowing what to do, getting knocked out of my thoughts by Jaehyun tapping on my shoulder.

"So are we going?"

He said, making me turn around to face him. "Hm?" I said, trying to pull that same card with him. "Going up to his hotel room?" His voice was possessive as he looked at me with stipulating eyes, basically demanding an answer instantly.

"Do you want to?"

"Mmm," He hummed teasingly, reaching to me, grabbing the sheet of paper out of my hand, examining it.

"I know you want to mama, so why are you asking me."

He got up from the bar stool, grabbing my waist helping me up, his dark eyes almost speaking for themselves as I made eye contact with him.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna fuck you before we even get up there." I stayed quiet, looking forward as he followed me to the elevator.

I stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to come to door, Jaehyun standing behind me.

"Oh you're here, and I'm assuming he said yes?"

He stood at the doorway, that solid black blazer turning into a sheer black one, his black pants sitting perfectly on his waist.

"Speak mama."

Jaehyun said, our bodies practically touching as his hands caressed my waist ever so slightly.

"Yea, mhm." I said, Doyoung's eyes sparkling for a second, going back to its dark demeanor immediately after.

"Well, come in." He said, shutting the door behind me and Jaehyun, leading us to the bedroom.

It was dark, nothing but dimmed blue lights lit the room. That was strange for a hotel room, but before I could even question it further I was knocked out of my thoughts by the zipper of my dress being pulled down.

"We're gonna take good care of you princess." Doyoung said in front of me, slowly pulling my dress off my shoulders.

Jaehyun gently kissed my shoulders, slowly making it to the sides of my neck. "Let me." Doyoung told Jaehyun, causing him to get from behind me. Doyoung pushed me onto the tv stand, getting on his knees in front of me as he slid the rest of my dress, along with my underwear off. Jaehyun grabbed my feet, removing my shoes as Doyoung planted kisses on my leg, slowly making his way up to my thigh.

I rested my hands on tv stand to keep myself balanced as he grabbed my hips, pulling me closer to him.

"You're already soaked Y/n, we've barely touched you." Doyoung said, teasing my folds with his fingers, causing me to suck in a sharp breath.

"Do you want it?" Doyoung questioned, his voice vibrating into my thigh, sending shivers up to my spine.

"Mhm."

My voice was desperate as I closed my eyes, his tongue entering my hole abruptly. Every time he went in deeper his nose made friction with my clit, causing swift moans out of me. His mouth made his way to my clit, sucking and licking passionately, placing a finger into my hole.

"Fuck." I moaned out, wanting to say more, but my words getting choked up on pleasure. I looked up at Jaehyun, his eyes wandering over my body as he watched what unfolded in front of him. He placed another finger in, speeding up his pace as my arousal coated his fingers, his tounge attacking my clit.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good Doyoung. I'm almost there."

I whined out, the sounds of my moans, whimpers, and the mess he was making on my lower half sounded in the room as I threw my head back, gripping Doyoung's now completely messy hair.

He let out small moans and noises that vibrated on my clit, causing me to let out panting moans as he fingered me harshly. "Fuck, I'm there." My body stiffened as I let out a choked moan, Doyoung finishing off, looking at me as he wiped the arousal that was left on his chin.

"Fuck, so messy y/n."

He got off his knees, taking a seat beside Jaehyun on the bed, shining him a sarcastic smirk causing jaehyun to get up. He smiled, walking behind me, trailing his fingers across my collar bone leading to the back of my neck. I looked at Doyoung, his eyes dark, as he titled his head sideways slightly.

"I bet I can make you feel better." Jaehyun whispered in my ear before pushing me down, making my face fall into Doyoung's lap.

I looked up at him to be met with a cold gaze, his hands rubbing over my head, making their way to my face, cupping and squeezing my cheeks forcing my mouth open. "You wanna do something for me princess?" His free hand made its way to his pants, forcefully unzipping them, taking out his member as I looked up at him.

Jaehyun grabbed my hands, placing them behind my back, causing my face to fall further into Doyoung's lap, my back arcing slightly. I tried to remove my hands from Jaehyun's grasp so I could use them on Doyoung, but he pushed them down, holding my wrist tightly together.

"I'm sure your pretty mouth can do well by itself." Doyoung hummed, placing his fingers on my chin causing my head to lift up.

Doyoung looked down at me, opening his mouth slightly, a small twinkle appearing in his eye as I sat my tongue on the bottom of his shaft, lifting my head as my tongue dragged up to his tip. I circled my tongue around the top as I felt Jaehyun at my entrance, teasing my hole. I let out a few shuddered breaths, Doyoung's hands finding their way to my head, softly grabbing and pulling.

"Fuck." Jaehyun cursed as he pushed into me, causing me to let out a whiny moan. I tried to look back at Jaehyun to see what he was doing, but failed when Doyoung turned my head back to his his.

Jaehyun started to pick up the pace, moving aimlessly as he went deeper making perfect thrust causing loud moans out of me. I looked up at Doyoung his eyes on my face as I lifted my head, making my back arch even more. The feeling of my hands being pressed against my back making me almost weak.

"Don't be selfish now."

I took no time setting my mouth on his tip, but this wasn't good enough for him. Doyoung pushed down my head further, my throat tightening around his length causing him to let out a desperate moan. As my head bobbed up and down on Doyoung, Jaehyun made harder thrust making my moans and the loud noises coming from my throat vibrate around Doyoung, causing him to shiver as he gripped my hair tighter.

"Shit Y/n." Doyoung whimpered out, throwing back his head as he let out small moans.

"And don't you dare come until I tell you to Y/n"

I heard Jaehyun curse from behind me, his pace now at an unimaginable speed as I cried out muffled moans around Doyoung's length. Jaehyun let out panting moans as his thrust started to get sloppier by the minute. Doyoung was no better as he let out loud cries and curses.

"I'm there Y/n." Doyoung whimpered out, his dick twitching inside my mouth, his hands grabbing my hair tighter in a way that made sure it didn't hurt. He pulled me off of him, releasing on my face as his liquid dripped down.

"So pretty baby." He smiled, rubbing the tears he created off my eyes.

My moans took no time to escape my mouth as Jaehyun did a few more rough thrust causing him to finish.

"Fuck."

He cursed, removing himself out of me. I took a few deep breaths, looking at Doyoung, his attention gearing towards Jaehyun.

"Where the fuck did you get a condom from?"

Jaehyun looked up at him, shrugging as he threw the used rubber in the trash can.

"Did he make you come baby?" Doyoung looked down at me as I shook my head no.

"Aw, do you want to come baby?"

He looked up at Jaehyun then back down at me as I nodded.

"Would you like me to use a condom too princess?"

He said, helping me up on the bed, my back hitting the cold sheets as my head laid on a pillow. I nodded again causing Doyoung to turn back to Jaehyun again, raising his eyebrows as he put out his hand in command, signaling for Jaehyun to hand him a rubber.

"I don't want to watch this, I'll be out in the living room when you're done y/n." Jaehyun looked at me, grabbing his pants as he headed out to the living room, shutting the door behind him.

"Well."

Doyoung turned around to face me, ripping the condom packaging open with his teeth. He got on top of me, kissing me on the neck slowly, making his way down to my collar bone.

"You're so pretty." He whispered, entering his length into me fully, causing a tired moan out of me.

"Fuck." I moaned out as he went in and out of me, going deeper everytime. "So pretty." He whispered into my cheek, one of his hands on my waist, the other holding my hand beside my head. I let out loud moans as my skin flushed from all the pleasure. My other hand found its way to his hair, tugging as his thrust started to get faster and rougher.

"How does this feel?" He questioned, his voice was breathless, rustier, deeper making the pleasure far more intense.

"Good, I'm almost there." I whined out.

I was reaching my high as he hit my g-spot, causing me to clench around him. He let out a loud whimper, his thrust getting sloppier as he moaned into my neck, his breath leaving tingles along my skin. My legs started to shake violently under him as I felt him smile into my skin.

"This is all for you princess."

He said, looking at me, placing a passionate kiss on my lips as we both reached our highs.

“Wow." He said as we sat there for a second, his dick twitching inside of me.

"Are you going straight home or would you like to freshen up?" He said, exiting out of me, rolling beside me on the bed.

"I'll freshen up real quick."

He nodded, helping me to the bathroom, shutting the door after he handed me a towel and washcloth.

I got dressed after my quick shower, walking out the bathroom to see Doyoung sitting on the bed with his phone in his hand, looking quite frustrated as he fiddled with it.

He turned to me, turning his phone and throwing it quickly away from him.

"I'll walk you out." He forced a smile, grabbing my waist, helping me into the living room.

"Took long enough." Jaehyun said, sitting on the couch. "You ready to go mama?"

He said, getting up, grabbing his keys as I nodded.

"Oh wait, here." Doyoung said, causing me to turn around. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, writing something down before handing it to me.

"Call if you need anything ok, it was a Joy having you here tonight Y/n, and uh you." He gave a displeased look to Jaehyun before looking back at me smiling.

"You too Doyoungie." I smiled before walking out the door behind Jaehyun.

—————————————————————————————

Jaehyun.

—————————————————————————————

“I have to step out real quick."

I grabbed my keys from the nightstand, going to the door, slipping on my shoes. I turned to her, her pretty doe eyes staring daggers into mines innocently.

"What?" I said, grabbing my coat.

"Can I come with you Jae?" She questioned, smiling as she got up from the bed, meeting me at the door like it was more of a command than a question. "Um, I don't know Y/n." I said, opening the door, eyeing her as she put her shoes on, grabbing a jacket and scarf.

"I'm coming with you." She smiled, following me outside to the car, getting in the passengers side without any second thought.

I pulled out my phone, sending a text message before pulling off. I looked to my side for a second, Y/n leaning on the car door, her eyes reflecting the moonlight as they sparkled when she looked out the window.

I grinned, turning back to the road, pulling up to a bar.

"Stay here, do not move Y/n, I mean it."

She looked at me, nodding with a smile before looking away, resting her head on the car door again. I took a small deep breath, getting out the car, locking it behind me before making my way to the side of the bar, sitting at a table, trying to get comfortable in the bar stool.

"I got your favorite, Whiskey sour." He slid the drink to me. I raised my eyebrows in appreciation as I took a sip.

"It was clever to host a party like that Doyoung." He smiled, taking a sip from his drink.

"I know, you've never been the brains in the operations I can say."

"Ouch." I laughed, wiping the corner of my mouth as he adjusted the collar on his black shirt.

"You owe me, that party came out of my bank account, a hefty penny." Doyoung took a bite out of the mozzarella sticks that sat in the middle of the table, as we laughed at the foolish statement.

"I do have some bad news though," Doyoung spoke.

"The video we took at the hotel corrupted, so all the footage is gone."

I looked at him, my face in daze as I leaned forward in interest. "Oh god? Guess we don't have anything to lure her dad in with. I'm sure we can try again, she's just as gullible as her damn mother." Doyoung giggled, taking a sip of his drink.

"Why did she look back at you when we were talking about Canada?" He questioned, his elbow resting on the table.

"Oh, she told me where she was actually from, she probably looked back at me to see if I spotted the lie." I smiled, taking another sip from my drink.

"She's probably not scared anymore, when we became friends it was in the middle of the whole fight so."

"Was it your plan to befriend her all along?" I said, swirling my straw in the drink, mixing what ever was left with the the ice cubes.

"No, it was actually a coincidence, I thought she was really pretty and had a crush on her," he laughed "By the time I figured out who she was, she was already gone."

I nodded, my face turning into one of realization as I looked at him, raising my eyebrows. "You were talking about her when we spoke on the phone?"

"Yes Jaehyun, I told you it was her like a thousand times remember, we were so in shock." I looked down, looking back up at him with a small smile.

"Yea I remember now."

"Why, do you think I should ask her out? My dad would kill me." He laughed, leaning back in his chair, grabbing the last mozzarella stick.

"No please don't, she's literally a slut, we hooked up like first night."

His eyes got wide as a smile circled around the mozzarella stick he was eating. He finished it off, his immense smile slowly fading smaller.

"Wait what?" His voice was a little cracked, his smile a little broken as he looked at me. The sparkle in his eyes could make anyone not want to hurt him, even his greatest enemy.

"Yeah, she's a little crazy." I laughed nervously, tapping the table with my finger tips.

"Yeah," he giggled.

"But why would you do that?" He looked at me, his eyes squinting slightly as he titled his head. "Well, she wanted to, and I was bored so I just did it. Plus I got to take her out to breakfast the next morning and find out more personal information about her."

"And what did you find out?" Doyoung said, his face getting far more agitated as I spoke calmly.

"Well she told me she was from France, and that her mom got killed— by us."

"So she told you stuff you already knew."

I gulped, looking at him timidly as I nodded. "Yea."

"So you hooked up and then took her on a date after I told you I liked her."

I looked down, staying completely silent as his upset aura soundlessly hit me in a way that hurt more than any physical punch.

"Doyoung." I said, following him as he got up from the table, walking to the alley behind the bar lighting a cigarette.

"Jaehyun, please get away from me. I am going to freak out on you."

"Doyoung I swear it was nothing."

He leaned on the wall, pushing the bud of the cigarette on the cold concrete of the bar.

"You know, you've always gotten everything you've wanted since we were kids, it's not fair." He looked up at me, his face full of indignation.

"Doyoung, it's not that serious I swear."

"But it is though. I want what I want too— I want something to myself, without having to share."

I looked at him, trying to make the conversation less daunting. "I'm the reason you even got to hook up with her in the first place, be grateful."

"Oh thanks for the handout Jaehyun, Im really grateful you left your leftovers for me." He walked up to me, an unsettling feeling washing over my body as I looked into his eyes that have now turned completely dark and cold.

"You give yourself way too much damn credit Jaehyun, in all reality you're just an asshole that only cares for yourself."

He was about to say something else, but choked on his words; rolling his eyes before walking away from me.

"Doyoung relax you can't even date her so I don't get what the big deal is." I shouted to him, my words getting choked up as regret and guilt spewed into my brain.

"You just don't get it do you." He paused, turning around to face me, his eyes filled of sorrow, voice shaky as he gave me a pitiful look.

"I'm sorry I said that Doyoung, I really am, but don't let something like this ruin our friendship."

"I was never your friend Jaehyun—" he took a deep breath, his eyes turning back cold.

"In fact, I hate you."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out an all black matte gun.

"Don't say that Doyoung, no you don't." I looked at the gun, then back up at him.

"I hate you, a lot. I wish my dad would've left you in that alleyway." He pointed the gun at me, his finger methodically finding its way to the trigger.

"Please, put the gun down. I'm sorry Doyoung, please just put it down. I won't do anything with her again."

"Oh I know." He sarcastically smiled.

"Goodbye Jaehyun— Fuck you."

I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, covering it up with my hands as I looked down, blood covering my fingers. I looked back up at him, a shocked expression on his face like he didn't think he would do it either.

I fell to the ground, looking up to the night sky, holding my wound taking it in as I got lightheaded.

"Jaehyun." A familiar voice rung in my ears as I just laid, ignoring it. I felt someone lift my head up and a tight pressure on my lower abdomen.

"Jaehyun it's gonna be ok, just look at me, you're gonna be ok." I saw Y/n's face ever so slightly, my vision blurring slowly as I fell weaker. "HELP!" I heard her scream over and over again, my vision getting weaker as the sounds surrounding me started to fade as well.

I looked to the stars again, closing my eyes slowly till everything was dark and I couldn't hear anymore.

—————————————————————————————

"He lost a lot of blood, but he's in surgery now and there's a very high chance that he will survive."

I looked at the doctor from my seat. My eyes were nearly shut as I sat there with my leg shaking anxiously.

"How long till I can see him?" I questioned, my voice raspier than usual.

"Let me go check on that for you Miss." I nodded, taking out my phone. I took a piece of paper out of my pocket, examining it before typing the digits into my keypad. The phone rang for a few seconds then I heard his voicemail.

"Hi this is Doyoung! I can't come to the phone right now but keep a look out because I'll call you back soon. Bye-bye!"

I took a deep breath, looking at the floor before hearing foot steps approaching me.

"Hi ma'am, it should just be two more hours and then you'll be able to see him. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

"No thank you." I smiled numbly, resting my head on my head as I dozed off slowly.

"Ma'am?"

I heard as I woke up a bit disturbed. The unpleasant feeling of the hospital lights shining in my eyes making me grumpy.

"Ma'am. He's out of surgery, you can follow me up to his room." The nurse said, looking at me with a slightly concerned look on her face. I followed her to his room, his eyes closed as he peacefully laid on the hospital bed.

“I know you’re probably tired so I’ll talk to you in the morning Miss…?”

“Y/n.” I smiled, my eyes puffy as she gave me a sympathetic smile, shutting the door behind her as she left the room. I looked back at him, walking to the hospital bed, biting my lip uncomfortably as I looked at him.

“I’m glad he didn’t leave you in that alleyway.” I whispered, half of me hoping he heard me, but the other half hoping he didn’t, hoping he didn’t find out what I was keeping from him in this way.

“I’m glad.”

I rubbed his cold, soft hand before finding my way to the couch that sat beside the bed. I laid, placing my jacket over my body as I looked at Jaehyun, the only thing moving was his chest as I followed the rhythm of his breathing with my tired eyes, dozing off soon after on the uncomfortable couch.

—————————————————————————————

To be continued …🎀

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Authors note- hi again! Sorry to leave you on a cliff hanger, but I will be going on a short break. When I come back the whole story will be posted, please feel free to dm me or comment if you would like to be tagged in part 2! I’m gonna say it again, but obviously their personalities are for the plot and I DO NOT think they are like this, or would do this. I hope you liked part 1 my loveys can’t wait to post part 2 for you🩷!

#kpop smut #nct x reader #nct smut #nct fanfic #18+ content #nct 127 #jaehyun smut #jaehyun fanfic #doyoung smut #doyoung fanfic #jaehyun x reader #doyoung x reader #nct mafia au #nct 127 smut #kpop fanfic #nct #nct imagines

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hexonthepeach · 2 months

Text

perfume - k.dy

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

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

warnings:

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

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

wordcount: 20k

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

read on AO3

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

Freshman year, Kocher International.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans in, carefully, musical voice a whisper.

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

The laughter that follows is deafening.

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

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

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

No–you think–not hesitation.

Frustration.

You've seen this man before.

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

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

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

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

"Are you upset?" Doyoung asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Can we go back to sleep?"

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

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

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

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

But this was different.

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?” you ask.

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

“You can’t be that tired,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will you at least hold onto me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

"Stop that,"

"Stop what?"

"Getting so handsy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir," you pout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

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

You gape up at him in disbelief.

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

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

“Proving my point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Last I checked, neither have you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Torture?" He laughs, breathy.

"Metaphorically speaking."

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

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

"Is that a challenge?" he asks.

Why not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taste it."

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

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

"Salt," you say, immediately.

He tugs your hair, making you meet his eyes.

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

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

An unrefined palette, he'd called you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Absolutely not."

"Not touching–"

"Just. Watch," he orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It better be," you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it, you think.

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

It's not–technically–touching yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, stop."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something to be tolerated. Below his regard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we allowed to–”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drip for me, first.”

“I don't think I can–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hand me a pipette.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, please, I need you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aren’t you familiar with it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, one of his only friends.

“What didn’t you see?”

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

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

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

Top notes: Jasmine for sensuality.

Orange Blossom for innocence.

Plumeria, for admiration. a new beginning . . .

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

“What didn’t you see?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that my perfume?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, just as playful.

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

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

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

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

“Only if you do, too,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My eyes are closed, Kim Doyoung.”

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

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

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

“Can’t I just show you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it,” you say.

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

“You first,” he says.

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

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

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs.

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

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

“Whoever comes first, then?” you offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doie, I’ll kill you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not mad?”

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

“About the bet?” you ask. “No.”

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

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

“Who told you? ‘Woo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few years ago, give or take

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d thought he wasn’t, either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

“You make a new friend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

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

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

“But I’m not–”

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

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

“What’s wrong, Do–?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you’d want to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd seen you in passing.

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

He wouldn't hear from you again until spring.

Kim Doyoung can’t sleep.

He’s not allowed to.

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

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

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

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

And you needed it, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only has this one chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny,” you murmur in your sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, whimpering.

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

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

“Who owns this tight little pussy?”

“You do,” you gasp out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He talks you through it, instead.

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

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

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

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

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

“You do taste different,” you tease.

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

“Did you like that?” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow morning . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What's going on here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stair access only, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you tell me–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you see the light?” you ask.

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

The bank: Sa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mona.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Thank you.”

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

But they had. Deeply.

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

“Did I win?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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