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mymoodwriting · 8 months ago

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9.1k, traveling, solo vacation, heartache, comfort, stalking, manipulation, sight-seeing, dates, dizziness, losing consciousness, supernatural beings, plant manipulation, drugs, yandere themes (@starillusion13)

“Welcome to Proust House.”

You offered the three gentlemen a smile as you entered the house. It was big, and luxurious, the pictures on the internet did not do this place justice. You were so excited to be here, albeit a bit sad too.

“Is it just you?” One of the boys asked. “The reservation said it was for five?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah it was… but… things happened… so it’s just me, is that alright?”

“Of course, of course. Let me help you with your things.”

The boy took your suitcase, asking you to follow them to your room. As you walked the other two came along.

“I’m Doyoung, by the way.” The boy with your suitcase smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m y/n.”

“The other two are Jaehyun and Jungwoo. We are co-owners of this house.”

“It’s really lovely. I’m glad to be staying here.”

“And we are happy to have you. Alright, this will be your room. It is late so I presume you want to get some rest so we’ll leave you to it. Call us if you need anything.”

Doyoung assured you all your necessities were in the room, and that tomorrow he’d give you a proper tour of the house. You took your luggage from him and thanked him, all of them, wishing them a good night. Once you were alone in your room you could take it all in. This whole place was amazing and the room was no different. The sheets were soft and all the furniture looked well-cared for. You found you had a private bathroom, deciding to get ready for bed, but you still had some energy and weren’t all that sleepy. On the way in you had seen a pool area, and thought to go there. You didn’t plan for a midnight swim, but the soothing sounds of the water and staring up at the sky might help ease your mind.

“Will you be alright?”

“Huh?”

You had been sitting by the poolside when a voice suddenly startled you. It was Jaehyun, who quickly apologized for scaring you.

“I’m okay…”

“That’s good. I thought you’d be asleep by now, but perhaps you’re not tired.”

“Yeah, besides the night sky is beautiful.”

“It is. Although I’m wondering… will you really be alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“With us? Usually multiple people come to stay at Proust House, but it’s just you… will you be okay staying with the three of us here? There is no else at the moment.”

“It’s fine. That is if you’re okay with it, I understand you expected more house guests.”

“We’re alright, I just don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”

“It’s kinda late for that.”

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener, and a stranger to you as well.” Jaehyun sat near you. “It might not be a bad idea to unburden yourself.”

“Perhaps, but it’s nothing new… I was supposed to come here with some friends and my… well I guess he’s my ex-boyfriend now.” You took a moment. “Last week I found out he was seeing one of my other friends who was meant to come on this trip too. I got upset and yelled and… no one took my side… so obviously… the trip kinda fell apart, but I didn’t want my vacation days to go to waste, and the reservation had already been made, so here I am.”

“How cruel. A wonderful woman like you should be cherished.”

You chuckled. “I guess I kept the wrong company.”

“Indeed. I’ll make sure to refund you for the others. You should have that money to spend on your vacation.”

“Ah, that would be nice.” A yawn escaped your lips. “I guess I’m finally tired.”

“I’ll escort you to your room.”

Jaehyun walked with you back to your room, wishing you a good night. Your earlier assumption was correct. The bed was very soft and cozy.

🖤

Come morning you woke to a gentle knock at your door. You heard a voice out in the hall letting you know breakfast would be served soon. Despite being sleepy you called out that you’d be down in a minute. You took a moment and then got up, looking around the room, feeling well rested. You went to the bathroom and freshen up, preparing for the day ahead and focusing on the good things. Right outside your door was the balcony to the courtyard, so as you stepped out of your room you were met with a whole new sight to enjoy. With the morning light you could see the house differently.

It was so beautiful, and so full of life. You hadn’t noticed last night just how many plants were in the house, and how incredible it all looked. You didn’t know where the dining room was but you followed the smell of food, ultimately finding the right place. The boys all greeted you with smiles, happy to see you up. There was plenty of food on the table and they encouraged you to sit and eat. Before you could ask, Jungwoo confirmed that they had cooked it all, and kept in mind all of the allergies and dietary restrictions you noted when you first registered to stay at the house. You thanked them and ate, enjoying your meal.

“This is such a lovely home you have, what made you decide to open it up to outside guests?”

“Well, it was so beautiful we thought it best to share with others.” Doyoung commented. “I’m glad you’re already enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah. You also have a lot of plants. Sometimes it feels like I’m living in a garden.”

“That’s the other reason we invite others here.” Jungwoo mentioned. “The plants need more carbon monoxide and fertilizer.”

“What?”

“Jungwoo!” Jaehyun hit the other over the head. “Don’t make jokes like that.”

“What? I thought it was funny.”

You did chuckle at the notion, seeing that these boys really cared for the plants in their home. After breakfast Doyoung showed you around the house, that way you could move around freely as you came and went. While getting familiar with everything you noticed a room full of flowers and other plants, curious about it.

“What do you guys do with your time? You must run some kind of business to have a place like this, or perhaps this is family wealth?”

“You have good senses. My friends and I run a business. We make perfumes.”

“Oh wow, that’s cool. I guess it also explains the variety of flowers you have here.”

“Exactly, but the flowers here are for us to enjoy. If you’re curious, I did ask Jaehyun to leave a box of our perfumes in your room, a complimentary gift.”

“What? Oh no, I don’t think I can accept that.”

“Please. It’s the least we can do to make sure you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.”

The tour ended when you made it back to your room, and you thanked Doyoung for his hospitality. Even if you were alone on this trip, there were still things you wanted to do, and the day was young. After getting dressed you noticed a box on your bed and opened it up, seeing three bottles of perfume inside. They each had their own label, and you decided to check them all. The scents were unique and quite lovely and you figured you should use them. So for that day you decided to try on Mood Street.

On your way out you let Jaehyun know you’d be back later, and he wished you well on your day. Then you were off. You had called a cab earlier, and were excited to venture out into the area. The sun was shining down on a happy day, and you knew what you wanted to do with your time. As you walked the streets you were greeted by many smiling faces. It seemed the people here were happy to see tourists enjoying their home, and were more than eager to recommend things you should do. Even though you were enjoying yourself, there were reminders all over of what had happened to you.

Couples were out walking together, smiling and laughing, sharing meals and making memories. You had been doing that too not so long ago, but everything had fallen apart now. Seeing all this soured your mood a bit, but then you were met with an unexpected surprise. Jungwoo had been walking down the street with flowers in hand and listening to music. When he noticed you he happily waved and approached, curious as to what kind of adventures you had been on so far. Yet he was quick to note the sadness in your eyes. You hadn’t told him directly about your current predicament, but Jaehyun had shared the information, wanting all three of them to make sure you enjoyed your time here.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Nothing…”

“Hm.” Jungwoo looked around. “This is a beautiful place. Although it’s best to share these memories with someone else.”

“…”

“Come on, I know a great cafe around here.”

Before you could say anything more Jungwoo took your hand and pulled you along down the street. It was sudden, but you didn’t feel nervous or uneasy around him. He was a stranger to you, yet he felt familiar and safe. Jungwoo took you to this little place, greeting the older lady behind the counter.

“Could you hold these for a moment.”

Jungwoo handed you the flowers he had been holding, getting out his wallet and ordering, asking you what you wanted. You browsed the menu and picked something out.

“Is she your girlfriend?” The cashier asked. “She’s pretty.”

“Oh, no.” Jungwoo smiled. “She’s a guest at Proust House, but she is very pretty.”

You felt shy hearing Jungwoo’s words, trying to hide your face in the flowers. Once you got your drinks Jungwoo suggested sitting down and enjoying them. You picked a spot by the front window, able to look out at the streets and see life pass by.

“Can I ask, why did you buy flowers? You have a lot at home.”

“These flowers we don’t grow at home, and we wanted to use them for our next fragrance. There’s this lovely flower shop nearby that we go to and order with when we need some different types of flowers.”

“Ah, that’s pretty cool. How long have you been a perfumist?”

“A couple years now.”

“So what made you take on this career?”

“I always loved how one can mix together things like flowers and herbs and so many other beautiful things to create such a wonderful scent. I honestly just started experimenting before I thought to make this into a full on business. The others had the same idea and now here we are.”

“That’s great. To take something you enjoy and make a career out of it, not to mention you share it with others.”

“Yeah. You’re wearing my perfume today.”

“Oh? Mood Street is yours?”

“Yup. What do you think?”

“I love it. The smell reminds me of my childhood.”

“Really?”

“Yup. It’ll certainly pick up my mood in the future.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

After finishing your drink you went with Jungwoo as he showed you around to his favorite places. He certainly helped you put your worries aside and made you feel less lonely. Before you knew it the whole day had gone by and you had such a wonderful time. Jungwoo had driven out, so of course he took you back to the house. You were happy to be back, and the two others welcomed you. They had prepared dinner, and it smelled amazing. While you ate you told them of your adventures and the things you did with Jungwoo. They listened intently, really making you feel like you were with friends.

“I see you really enjoyed yourself today.”

“Yup. This place is as amazing as they say. I’m glad I came.”

“We’re happy to have you too.”

“I’m going to turn in for the night. Another busy day awaits me tomorrow. Thanks for dinner.”

“Have a good night.”

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, filling the sky with the light of dusk. You took a moment to stare up at the beautiful sky, a soft smile on your face. The day really had been good despite the small bump. Even if things back home were complicated you were glad to be here, able to just focus on the present and be happy. You eventually returned to your room, getting ready for the night and getting cozy in bed. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, happily embracing the darkness.

🖤

The sound of birds chirping slowly pulled you from your slumber. Sunlight creeped into the room through the curtains, welcoming the new day. You didn’t need a wake up call this time, actually bumping into Doyoung as he was on his way to tell you breakfast was ready. He was pleasantly surprised to see you up and with a smile on your face. The two of you headed down to the dining room, seeing the others setting up the table.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?”

“Very much so. The bed here is super comfy.”

You didn’t eat too much in the morning as today’s plans involved trying all kinds of local cuisine and street food. You excitedly got ready for the day and then went over to the box of perfume you had. Yesterday you had tried Mood Street, so today you thought to try ?! since it would likely match your feelings that day. Another wonderful aroma filled the room, and you were good to head out. Once again you had called a cab to pick you up, heading to this brunch spot with raving reviews. Simply walking through the door made your stomach grumble despite a light breakfast. You picked out something new and something you were familiar with, wanting to make sure you still ate regardless of whether you liked the food or not.

After having your fill you went on a walk around the neighborhood, taking in how beautiful it was. There were so many plants around. Trees lined the sidewalk providing wonderful shade, and one could find different flowers on different streets. Not to mention many vines grew up and along the buildings, blooming flowers of their own and adding another level of beauty to the buildings. It honestly felt more like walking through a huge garden than some normal street. The aromas of the flora mixed with the foods around, it was divine simply to walk by. One could go on for hours and still enjoy themselves.

You stopped by a cafe for a drink, having it while you continued your walk and took pictures. You didn’t even realize it was past lunch until your stomach growled at you. It seemed you had really gotten lost in the scenery. You found a nice bench to stop at, looking through your phone to see where you’d be going for lunch. There were a few wonderful places nearby and once you had your choice down you were on your way. The place wasn’t as busy since it was past the lunch rush so you were seated and attended rather quickly. You ordered from their specials, excited to try everything you could stomach.

While you were in the middle of your meal you heard a big group of people come into the restaurant. They had a reservation and were apparently celebrating a couple’s engagement. Without meaning to you found yourself staring, realizing that was supposed to be you. Out with friends and celebrating the milestones in your lives. You finished up your meal and then headed out. The warm sun shining down on you picked up your mood a bit, and you went back to aimlessly walking the streets.

As it got later in the evening you found an ice cream shop and stopped for a treat, staring out the window at the world passing by. It was good to be alone with yourself every once and a while. You don’t have to worry about another person and can just exist and be happy while doing things you enjoy. You zoned out for a moment and then snapped back to reality when there was a knock on the glass. You glanced over to see Jaehyun out on the street, waving at you before making his way into the shop. You were pleasantly surprised to see him, as was he.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just around.” Jaehyun mentioned. “I saw you from across the street, but I wasn’t sure it was you until I got a closer look. How’s your day been?”

“It’s been good. I’ve walked around a lot and eaten just as much.”

“Sounds like a good day. Are you gonna head back to the house soon? Or will you be having dinner somewhere else?”

“I was planning on going to a restaurant for dinner but…”

“What?”

“I think I should just head back and eat with you guys.”

“Ah, you don’t want to be alone?”

“I… well I guess it looks weird eating alone when others aren’t…”

“Then I’ll join you.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a nice place I know around here, let’s go have dinner together.”

“I…”

“Just say yes, come on, I know you’ll love it.”

Before you could say anything more Jaehyun took your hand in his, leading you out of the little parlor and back onto the streets. The nice evening breeze brought a smile to your face, and after a moment you stared down at Jaehyun’s hand holding yours. His touch was so warm and inviting, you honestly didn’t want him to let go. The two of you went down a few blocks before coming to a stop. From outside you could see the restaurant had a cool atmosphere and soon enough you were inside.

“Table for two, please.”

“Jaehyun, so good to see you again. I see you have a date.”

“Oh, we’re not-”

“She’s pretty isn’t she?”

“Jaehyun.” You hissed in a giggle.

“What, it’s true.”

“If you could follow me, please.”

You were still trying to contain your smile, Jaehyun returning the sentiment and pulling you along. He pulled out your chair for you and then sat across from you. Once the waiter brought over the menus he began to tell you about the dishes and what was best in his opinion. When the food and drinks were decided Jaehyun asked about your day, wanting to hear about your adventures and see the pictures you had taken. You were happy to share and he was delighted to listen to you go on and on. After dinner Jaehyun suggested going on a little walk to help the food settle and bid farewell to the evening. You loved the idea and the two of you found a nice place to enjoy the sunset.

It had been a long adventurous day, and you were certainly tired. Jaehyun kept you close as you walked to the car, making sure you didn’t stumble and hurt yourself. You took a little nap on the drive back to the house, Jaehyun gently waking you and helping you to your room. He laid you down in bed, helping you out of your shoes and asking if you’d be alright. Your sleepy self assured him you were good, so he wished you a good night and left you to rest. You wanted to curl up and sleep but it was better if you got ready for bed. You took a breath and got up, properly unwinding and then getting under the covers. It had been another good day, and you happily welcomed sleep.

🖤

Since yesterday had been such a busy day you wound up sleeping in a bit, only waking when there was a knock at your door followed by footsteps. A nice aroma filled the room and you got up, squinting your eyes until your vision cleared up and you saw Doyoung with a tray of food. He set it down on the nightstand and went over to open up the blinds. Fresh air and warm sunlight filled the room, creating a wonderful atmosphere. You sat up and stretched, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as Doyoung set the tray on the bed.

“For our special guest, breakfast in bed.”

“It smells delicious. You didn’t have to do all this. I would have gotten up eventually.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t get to do this often. So, what’s your agenda for the day?”

“Hm, not so sure. Although since the weather looks so nice I think I’ll pay a visit to the local museums.”

“Really? Why don’t I accompany you.”

“That’s not necessary, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Not today. Besides, I’d like to go with you. I can share some of the history behind certain pieces, like your personal guide.”

“That does sound fun.”

“Excellent. You finish up breakfast and let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Alright.”

Doyoung left to let you eat in peace. You were quite excited for the day ahead, happy to know you wouldn’t be alone. After eating you got ready, trying out the last perfume bottle from the box, February to April. Once you were good to go you went down to look for Doyoung. He was out in the garden and happy to see you. He brought the car around, and then the two of you were on your way. He took care of everything so all you had to do was enjoy yourself. The two of you walked through the art gallery, sticking close to one another. Doyoung would point out certain pieces and tell you about them, giving you all the more reason to enjoy such a piece.

For lunch you merely went to the museum’s cafeteria, not wanting to leave just yet. There was still so much to see, and you wanted to get to as much as you could. The day itself was just wonderful with Doyoung. You’d share your thoughts, take pictures, and just appreciate the atmosphere. It felt like things could go on forever, but you knew it was getting late, and it would be time for dinner soon. Doyoung was on the same page as you but he had something else in mind.

“You know, it’s not that late. We could go to a nearby market and buy somethings for dinner.”

“You wanna cook?”

“I’d love to make dinner for you. I feel like a home cooked meal is the perfect way to end the day.”

“I’ve never been to a market before.”

“Then it’s settled, let’s go!”

Doyoung was very excited to take you somewhere, and you were also curious about shopping at a market. Even if it was later in the day the place still seemed to be busy with people. Doyoung had you hook your arm around his, not wanting to lose you in the crowds, and then you were off. He led the way, pointing out certain stalls and asking you if you were in the mood for anything in particular. You were more interested in seeing what he wanted to do.

“Doyoung, it’s so good to see you.”

An older woman at a stall called out to Doyoung and the two of you made your way over. She could see you were buying ingredients for dinner.

“It’s been a while. I was wondering what was keeping you away, but I see now you found yourself a pretty girl.”

“Ah, she is very pretty.” Doyoung teased you. “Although she’s just a guest at our house for now. I want to make her dinner tonight, so I brought her to the market.”

“That’s a good date idea.”

“Do you have any recommendations?”

You chatted with the woman for a while before buying some veggies and going on your way. Now that you thought about it, the boys from the house really seemed to know a lot of people in the area. Everywhere you went with them there was always someone new to greet, and everyone kept thinking you were their girlfriend. It made you shy, but also brought a smile to your face. After shopping you got some snacks and then headed home. You were excited to cook alongside Doyoung, following his instructions. Soon enough a rich aroma was filling the kitchen and you couldn’t wait to eat.

The other two peeked into the kitchen to see what was for dinner, surprised and happy to see you there. It made them all the more excited, saying they’d set the table so you could all eat as soon as you were done. You kept wanting to steal a bite here and there but Doyoung told you to be patient, lightly scolding you when he saw you trying to sneak some food. Once everything was finished you started moving pots over to the dining table, the other boys pouring drinks. Soon enough you were all seated and enjoying dinner together. You spoke of your day out in the museum and little trip to the market. Happily sharing your adventures once more.

After dinner you helped clean up the table and wash some dishes, feeling like this was a satisfying end to a good day. When you finished up with that you turned in for the night. You took a nice shower and then washed up before crawling under the sheets. You snuggled against your pillow, closing your eyes and easily drifting off into dreamland. You looked forward to what the next day would bring you.

🖤

You slowly woke from your slumber to the soft pitter-patter at your window. You didn’t know the time but your room seemed dark. You slowly got out of bed and went over to your window, pulling back the curtains and seeing that it was raining. Just to double check you stepped out of your room, being able to see the rain clearly as it fell onto the courtyard below. The scent in the air was calming, and you almost found yourself falling asleep standing up as the soft sounds of rain lulled you back to sleep.

“The forecast didn’t say anything about rain today.”

You opened your eyes to see Jungwoo walking over, a tray of food in hand. Today would be another good day for breakfast in bed.

“It’s nice though.”

“Do you plan on going out in this weather? I don’t think it’s gonna stop anytime soon.”

“No, no, I think today will just be a lazy day for me. Take a little break from all my adventures.”

“That’s for the best.”

“I’ll have breakfast and then go back to bed.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll come pick up the dishes later so just leave them outside your room.”

“I will.”

“Let us know if you need anything. We won’t be going anywhere either.”

“Noted.”

Jungwoo let you get back into your room, heading off elsewhere. You had breakfast in bed, enjoying the food and staring out the window, enjoying the sounds of the rain. After eating you set the tray down outside your room and then got back into bed. With food in your belly and such relaxing sounds it was easy to fall asleep. You’d find yourself slipping in and out of consciousness, but you certainly didn’t want to get up just yet. You slept in until a little after one, still sleepy but feeling it was time to get up and do something.

It was still raining outside, but you didn’t mind. All the rain would be good for the plants out in the courtyard. It was past lunchtime so you were definitely a bit hungry. You didn’t want to bother any of the boys so you figured you’d be able to make yourself something. Although to your surprise it seems they were one step ahead. There was food in the kitchen that had been left for you. A note next to it let you know they had set it aside cause they didn’t want to wake you up to eat. You were grateful, reminding yourself to thank them later. You heated up the food and ate, making sure to clean up after yourself.

Since you had no intentions of going out you thought to explore the house. It was huge and despite being here for a few days you had only seen so little of it. You aimlessly wandered the halls, taking in all the beauty with the sounds of the rain as your background music. Art decorated the halls, and most doors were wide open, welcoming you in and really making it feel like you weren’t intruding on someone’s home. As you explored you came upon a peculiar sight, finding it rather amusing and giggling.

“Jaehyun?”

You walked past a room and then quickly did a double take. Jaehyun was sitting in a bathtub, fully clothed, while he stared out the window with a journal in hand. When he saw you he smiled, not at all embarrassed or nervous about his situation.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

“Yeah. What are you doing?”

“Just soaking in the tub. There are some flowers in here so it’s like a special type of bath.”

“And you take it fully clothed?”

“The world outside is soaked, I see no difference being the same.”

“Interesting take.”

“Why don’t you join me?”

“What?”

You weren’t entirely sure what Jaehyun was talking about, but he soon began to get out of the tub. He set his journal down and stepped onto the tile floor, getting water everywhere, but that was the least of his concern. He approached you and took your hand, leading you out into the hall. He was leaving a trail of water, but he didn’t care, and you couldn’t even ask what was going on. There was a smile on his face that brought one out of you too. Next thing you knew you were stepping outside into the courtyard, the rain coming down on you. In a matter of moments you were wet, soon completely soaked like him.

“Jaehyun!” You laughed.

“When was the last time you danced in the rain.”

Jaehyun pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist and spinning you around. The two of you swayed from side to side, going in circles as you danced. Things were a bit blurry, but you were enjoying yourself. It seemed like the plants around you were dancing too, and despite the rain you weren’t that cold. The moment was almost a bit surreal, like something out of a movie.

“You should stay with us.”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“What are you doing!”

You heard a voice yell somewhere around you, and then Doyoung was pulling you away from Jaehyun. He quickly placed something over your head, shielding you from the rain.

“You’ll get sick out here, y/n.”

“It’s fine.” Jaehyun commented. “We were having fun.”

“I’m sure you were. Come on, y/n.”

Doyoung wasn’t gonna listen to the other, so he just started moving you out of the courtyard over to dryland. He led you to one of the bathrooms nearby, not commenting on the trail of water you were leaving behind. He wrapped you up in a towel, trying his best to dry you off. You found his actions very sweet.

“I’m alright, Doyoung. I didn’t mind being in the rain.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

“It’s fine if I…”

As you spoke it finally dawned on you why Doyoung was so worried about you. This wasn’t your house, and you were only here on vacation, getting sick is the last thing you should want.

“Sorry… I guess I forgot for a moment that I’m just your guest here. I shouldn’t burden you by falling ill, and getting sick could mean I miss my flight back home.”

“None of us have any problem with you staying. You could if you wanted to… and I wouldn’t mind babying you, but I don’t know if you’re alright with some strangers looking after you right now.”

“Ah, that’s true. Thank you for your consideration.”

“Of course. I’ll message Jungwoo so he can bring you a change of clothes.”

“Thanks. You should probably check on Jaehyun too.”

“He’s fine. Probably back in his tub.”

“He does that often?”

“Usually he’s naked, but I’m glad he took your presence into account.”

“I see.”

A moment later there was a knock and Jungwoo made his presence known. He set down some clothes for you and Doyoung stepped out to let you get changed. He said he’d make you some tea to warm up, so you should come by the kitchen once you were in some dry clothes. You thanked him again and then you were given some privacy. As you dried yourself off and changed you couldn’t help the smile on your face. Dancing in the rain had been wonderful, and not something you thought you’d do while on vacation.

Once you were all good you laid out your wet clothes in the empty tub and made your way to the kitchen. There you found Doyoung and Jungwoo. They were both glad to see you all dry and Doyoung poured you a cup of tea. The warmth of the cup certainly felt nice, and you gave it a moment before taking a sip. You really did need this, adding to the comfiness and happiness of the moment. Jungwoo asked if you had fun, and you nodded gleefully. You kinda felt like a child while you were out in the rain. Thinking back, you weren’t sure you had ever done that before.

“It was really fun.”

“Well, hopefully you don’t get sick.” Doyoung commented. “Our medicine cabinet is right here. If you need anything please just grab it, you don’t have to ask.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what you should do before you go.” Jungwoo mentioned. “You should come with me while I do deliveries.”

“Deliveries?”

“The people around here do buy our perfumes, so it’s fun to go around and deliver them.”

“Yeah, that does sound awesome. I’d love to go with you.”

“Cool. We don’t leave until after breakfast, but I can wait up if you want to sleep in.”

“I’ll try not to.”

After tea you decided to join the two in their theater room to watch some TV and wind down before dinner. You leaned against Doyoung’s shoulder at one point, lightly dozing off. Neither disturbed you and let you take a nap, enjoying the TV and watching you sleep. Doyoung gently moved your head over to Jungwoo, excusing himself to start dinner. Jungwoo was more than happy to keep you company until you woke up on your own or dinner was ready. It wound up being the latter.

You were a bit sad you didn’t get to help with dinner, but the boys assured you it was alright. You were technically their guest more than anything, so they should take care of you. Dinner was wonderful as always, and you were excited for your outing with Jungwoo, still, you had to sleep first. You had a little trouble with it but were ultimately able to fall asleep. Since you didn’t want to drag you set an alarm. You beat Doyoung from giving you your wake up call, and the two of you went down to the dining room together. After breakfast you got dressed and were soon out with Jungwoo.

“So we have a few stops to make, but they are all over the place.”

“I don’t mind being out all day with you.”

“That’s good to know. We can make some stops along the way if you see anything you’d like.”

“I’ll let you know.”

This was like your first day here, except you moved with purpose. You could still enjoy the scenery and get some street food, but you were always on the move. You saw that the boxes of perfume were just like the one you had been gifted. The design was simple, yet elegant. For the most part the boxes were left on people’s doorsteps after knocking. Jungwoo assured you the area was peaceful and no one would steal it. Besides delivering you did put up a few flyers, their own local way to advertise themselves and let people know about their latest products. It was a little old fashioned but nice.

The day went by rather fast, but you were happy every moment. By the time the sun was setting you returned back to the house. Jungwoo took you up to the rooftop garden, tending to his plants and where the two of you could enjoy the sunset. It was a wonderful day to end your day, that is until dinner came around. Doyoung told you that they had prepared a special dessert for you. A sort of traditional dish from the area that you had to try at least once while you were here. It was delicious, as expected, there was even this cute little edible flower. You cleaned up after dinner, telling the others you’d be heading to bed. They all wished you a good night.

Tomorrow was your last day before your flight home. It was a little sad that you had to return back to your old life, but you enjoyed your stay here. As you walked over to your room you stopped to notice the plants. It seemed the vines had grown a lot as they were now curled around the balcony. You stared out into the courtyard, definitely seeing more life in the plants after a delightful shower. As you made it to your room you suddenly felt a little dizzy. You grabbed the doorknob but didn’t have the strength to turn it.

You wound up collapsing to the floor. The world was spinning and you tried to call out for someone, but you didn’t have the strength. Black was starting to fill your vision and you felt some footsteps shake the ground. You couldn’t make out the face of whoever found you, but you were at least glad to know someone was there. You felt some hands on you, but then everything faded to black.

🖤

You felt sunlight on your face as you began to regain consciousness. You peeked one of your eyes open, seeing the glass door wide open, letting in the sun and a gentle breeze. It felt nice on your skin, but then you realized you weren’t in your room, and you weren’t alone. A groan beneath the covers next to you drew your attention, and then you saw Doyoung. You yelled, a bit startled, and nearly fell out of bed, but Doyoung managed to grab you. Even if you were awake, there was only a moment of clarity before you felt uneasy.

“Be careful, you still need to rest and get some sun.”

“What… what happened…”

“You just fainted for a bit, too much excitement I suppose.”

“Oh… then why…”

“I didn’t want to leave you alone after that. Sorry if this is strange.”

“I understand… thank you, and sorry for troubling you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We just want to make sure you’re alright. I’ll go get you some breakfast, you stay in bed.”

“Okay.”

You closed your eyes and went back to resting, wanting to enjoy the sunlight. You drifted off for a moment before Doyoung returned, breakfast tray in hand. It was a light breakfast but satisfying nonetheless. Doyoung let you sleep some more, saying he’d come by to check on you later. You wound up sleeping until noon, waking up on your own and getting out of bed. You stepped out onto the balcony, basking in the warm light. There was something so nice about the day, and you did feel better than earlier. You stayed out there for a long while until Doyoung returned to check on you.

“I see you’re finally awake. How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“That’s good. It’s best if you stay home today, I need to keep an eye on you.”

“Hm…”

“I know your flight is tomorrow, so this is surely not how you wanted to spend your last day but I assure you it’ll be good.”

“I’ll keep you to that.”

Even if half the day was already gone there were still things to keep you busy with. You went with Doyoung to his work area. It was a room you hadn’t been to before. There were flowers and herbs and spices, and so much more all over the place. The table at the center had a bunch of equipment, and you could see certain liquids in some beakers.

“So you really just work from home.”

“Yup. We work our own hours and don’t have to worry about any sort of commute.”

“This looks amazing.”

“I do have some perfumes I need to work on, but since you’ll be with me today-”

“You want me to help?”

“Oh no, it’s alright. I thought perhaps you’d want to try and make your own perfume.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I can teach you the basics, and you have a lot of variety to work with.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Doyoung helped you set up in your own little station, talking to you about how to build a perfume. You were excited to try and he gave you some time to experiment. He worked quietly in his own area, and you’d occasionally sneak a glance at him. He looked so focused on his work, you could see he really liked what he did. A moment later the door opened and Jaehyun came in. He was clearly looking for Doyoung but stopped when he noticed you and smiled.

“Hello, how are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“You got plenty of sun?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled. “It’s a really sunny day.”

“That’s good. You been drinking plenty of water?”

“Uh, I had some earlier.”

“I’ll get you some then. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really okay guys.”

“I know, but still.”

Jaehyun left as quickly as he came and you were rather amused. You were up and on your feet, not that sick anymore, but they seemed to be insistent on taking care of you. A moment later Jaehyun returned with some water for you and some snacks.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Jaehyun stuck around and helped you with your perfume, letting Doyoung work in peace. He was very patient with you and gave his opinions on the scents you were choosing. You had figured out what you wanted to do, so he helped you set everything up. Now you just had to be patient.

“Will it be ready by the time I leave tomorrow?”

“It’s already that time?”

“Yeah, I have a flight in the afternoon, but I should be at the airport in the morning, just to be safe.”

“I see. Well don’t worry about that. Everything will work out.”

“Good.”

“Jungwoo went out to do some errands, but he’ll be back shortly, we should all go out tonight.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Doyoung mentioned. “It’s best that she stays home.”

“One night won’t kill her.”

“Let’s not test that. There will be plenty of times in the future to go out.”

“But tonight’s my last night…” You mumbled. “I’m sorry I got sick…”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant…” Doyoung sighed. “Fine, let’s go out tonight and celebrate.”

“Yes!”

Jaehyun took your hand and led you elsewhere in the house. If you were going out you’d need something nice to wear. You hadn’t really packed anything like that, but Jaehyun had the perfect solution. He took you to this room, almost like a walk-in closet, with lots of clothes, for both men and women.

“Wow… this is awesome.”

“This place is wonderful so we thought of having some fancier clothes for guests. You can choose whatever you like.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

You were excited by all the dresses around, eagerly taking them in and asking Jaehyun for his opinions. In the end you picked a dress of your favorite color, going off to get dressed and ready. A night out with friends, that’s all you had really wanted from this trip. It may not be with the people you originally had in mind, but you knew you’d have a wonderful time nonetheless. Once you were ready you waited out in the courtyard for a while, Jaehyun coming to collect you, dressed nicely as well. You met up with the other two, Jungwoo stepping out of the car to open the door for you. The car was perfect for four, and you sat in the back with Jaehyun, while Doyoung drove and Jungwoo sat in the front.

Soon enough you were on the road, Jungwoo and Jaehyun eagerly telling you about restaurants and things to do. They were talking as if today wasn’t your last night here, or with them, which you honestly didn’t mind. Even though you had only known them for a short while you felt like you had become close. You certainly wanted to return sometime in the future. Eventually you arrived at this fancy restaurant, being seated up on a balcony area where you could enjoy the skyline with your meal. They boys encouraged you to have whatever you wanted and not to worry about the prices. Not that the menu showed any.

Dinner was nice with the cool breeze and delicious food. Dessert was just as good, and to end the night you all decided to go for a drive. All the lights were beautiful, and you got to see the area in a whole new way. Just sitting there with your eyes closed and feeling the breeze was enough for you. Leaving you oblivious to the fond looks the boys gave you. As it got quiet you returned home, the boys taking you up to the rooftop to enjoy the moon and some drinks, nothing alcoholic since you were all winding down. It was so peaceful and relaxing, you found yourself dozing off, leaning against Jungwoo’s shoulder.

“We should probably put her to bed.” Doyoung mentioned.

“Can she sleep with me?” Jungwoo asked.

“No. Let her sleep in her own bed tonight.”

Jaehyun volunteered to take you to your room, gently picking you up in his arms and taking you down. He politely undressed you so you could sleep well, tucking you into the sheets. He admired your sleeping form for a moment before placing a soft kiss on your head.

“Sweet dreams.”

🖤

“My flight!”

You jolted awake when you suddenly remembered what day it was. Your phone was on the nightstand, off, so your alarm hadn’t gone off. You were quickly out of bed and scrambling to get your things. The plan was to pack last night and take a nap before leaving, not actually sleeping. As you finished loading your suitcase you remembered your wet clothes from the other day that were likely still downstairs. You grabbed your things and made your way down, turning on your phone in the process. When you saw the time you felt a bit of relief, you could still make it with a few moments to spare.

Although as you were walking through the first floor you suddenly tripped over something and collapsed. You looked back to see what had knocked you down, only to find a vine curled around your leg. The sight was odd, but there were plants all over the house. You sighed, figuring you just weren’t paying attention and rushing. You sat up and reached down to remove the vine only to see it move and coil up further on your leg. Panic overtook you and you started yanking on it, only for the grip to get tighter. You screamed, trying to move away only for another vine to come from nowhere and grab your arm.

You began to struggle against the two, but more appeared, restraining you, and then you were being dragged somewhere. You continued to scream until a vine wrapped around your throat, forcing you to quiet down in order to breathe. Next thing you knew you were in the courtyard, countless vines wrapping around your limbs and pulling them all taut. The vine around your throat loosened up but one was quickly covering your mouth to keep you from making noise. You tried to think, to figure out what to do, but your options were very limited. Any little move you made just caused the vines to tighten their grip, and restrict you even more.

“Y/n?”

You looked over to see Doyoung rushing over to you. The vines quickly let you go and placed you on the ground. Soon enough you were in Doyoung’s arms, holding him close.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I… what just…”

“Sh, you don’t have to be scared, they just didn’t want you to sneak away.”

“… what?”

“It’s early, they were just worried. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

“No, no, I have to catch my flight.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Huh?”

“You can’t leave. It’s already been decided.”

“What are you talking about?” You pushed Doyoung away. “My flight is today and-”

“I said you’re not leaving.”

You suddenly felt a vine wrap around your wrist, pulling you back and forcing you onto your back. In the blink of an eye you were restrained again, but it wasn’t as intense as before.

“Doyoung, help me!”

“If you have plans to leave, then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“What? Doyoung!”

Nothing made sense in the moment, but you were being consumed by panic once again. Something was very wrong here, something had likely been wrong for a while now, but you hadn’t noticed.

“Why would you want to leave? Our home is perfect for you.”

“I have my own home, my own life, to get back to! This-”

“Is where you belong. You can’t really leave now even if you wanted to.”

“What!?”

Doyoung moved closer to you, and the vines moved to restrain your arms behind your back, lifting you up to meet Doyoung’s gaze. You squirmed for a bit until a vine wrapped around your throat as a warning. Doyoung watched you for a moment, reaching to gently caress your cheek but you flinched.

“I said you don’t have to be scared. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Let me go!”

“I can’t do that.”

Doyoung revealed a knife, cutting his wrist and revealing something unexpected. Instead of blood gushing out this pink sticky substance spilled out. Even if nothing around you made sense, something was starting to dawn on you.

“… you… you’re not human… are you…?”

“I’m better.”

“… why… why-”

“And so are you.”

Your arm was suddenly yanked up closer to Doyoung. He gently grabbed it and pressed the knife against your wrist, creating a small cut. You watched as a similar pink liquid bloomed from your injury. A chill ran down your spine, making you feel so cold.

“… what… did you do to me…?”

“It was completely painless, and a success.”

“… when did you… was this always your plan!?”

“No, no, we were expecting you and your friends, but when you showed up alone, well, we just wanted to look after you. Although as you traveled around by yourself we knew you weren’t happy, so we did our best to cheer you up. You deserve better than to be abandoned by your friends, don’t you think?”

“But this-”

“Is a gift.”

“I don’t want it! Take it back!”

“I won’t be doing that. I can’t anyway.”

“Then why! You could have asked-”

“Would you have believed us? Would you have said yes? Darling, we all saw the truth. You weren’t in a good place right now to do what was best for yourself, so we took the initiative. Doesn’t it all sound so lovely? To stay here with us.”

“I… I… no, no, what you’re doing, what you did, is wrong! I won’t accept this!”

“Hm, that’s alright. Things are still changing so you might not fully understand right now. You should go back to sleep.”

Doyoung placed a soft kiss over your open wound, and you watched as it closed up. Then he took in a deep breath of your scent, a smile on his face.

“You always had a lovely scent, now it’s just magnificent.”

Next thing you knew flowers were blooming on the vines, their scent sweet and intoxicating, making the world around you blur. After a moment the vines released you and you fell into Doyoung’s embrace. For some reason he was so warm, and you snuggled up against him.

“Good girl, just another flower in my garden.”

“Doyoung? What are you doing up so early?”

Jungwoo walked into the courtyard as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It took him a moment to register you in Doyoung’s arms. Although you could barely make out the voices around you.

“What’s going on? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Just up early and trying to leave.”

“Ah, right, her flight was today.”

“Not that she was going to take it.”

“Right. Are you going to take her back to your room?”

“I suppose, she shouldn’t be alone going forward. Why are you up though? It’s my turn to make breakfast.”

“The plants were bugging me to get up.”

“Me too.” Jaehyun yawned as he entered the courtyard. “They said y/n was escaping, but I see they handled it.”

“As if they’d let her leave.” Doyoung commented. “They liked her from the start.”

“Since you’re making breakfast I’ll take her to my room.”

“What?” Jungwoo questioned. “I was here first!”

“But I called dibs.”

“Ya, you both can take her and keep her company. I’ll bring breakfast to the room when I’m done.”

“I like that.”

Jungwoo summoned a vine over, a flower blooming on it that he plucked. He knelt down in front of you, but you couldn’t really make out his blurry face. He softly pet your head before gently grabbing your chin and forcing your mouth open, placing the flower past your lips. A sweet taste hit your tongue, melting so fast and making you feel way more relaxed. You closed your eyes, already feeling like you were floating and drifting off into darkness. It wasn’t long before you were swallowed up by sleep.

“She’s so cute.” Jaehyun mentioned. “She’ll like it here.”

Jaehyun took you into his arms, Jungwoo happily following him. Doyoung watched them all go off, a pleasant smile on his face.

“My beautiful flowers.”

#nct #nct djj #doyoung #jaehyun #jungwoo #kim dongyoung #jung jaehyun #kim jungwoo #nct au #nct djj au #nct scenarios #nct djj scenarios #nct imagines #nct djj imagines

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hexonthepeach · 1 year ago

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.”