finally going through all my likes to put together a comprehensive of all of my fave mark fics! as a result, there's older and newer fics here - enjoy!!! (also most of these are smut lol)
(m) smut | (f) fluff | (a) angst
one shots
surviving no nut november by @domjaehyun | m | 28.8k
one of my fave fics!!!, ft. haechan, college au
pretty little weapon by @lisired | m, slight a | 25.7k
undercover cop!mark, crime/gang au
author summary: A lifetime worth of adversity had brought you to Bloodlust. You joined them to escape your history, but with Mark Lee - an undercover narcotics agent with a secret to keep - comes the threat of being forced to confront your past. Old wounds are opened, but scars heal.
pretty boy by @ncteez | m | 9.3k
nerdy & shy mark, college au
author summary: Mark’s favorite thing to do is sit alone at the library and enjoy the knowledge that his university offers. In contrast, your favorite thing to do is go to parties and enjoy as much chaos as possible. However, upon realizing your grades have dropped drastically due to this lifestyle, you have no choice but to approach Mark for help.
or the one where your new favorite thing to do is seduce the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met and watch how desperate he gets for you.
graphic by @hausofwoo | m, f | 6.6k
college!au, spiderman obsessed mark!! <3
author summary: stuck in the monotony of your job at the mall, every day feels the same: opening the store, sitting behind the register, and counting the hours til close. you’ve even memorized the routines of the stores around you. but when a new guy starts at the comic book store across the way, you realize your predictable days may soon change.
on edge by @ncteez | m | 22.5k
infidelity, ft. boyfriend doyoung
author summary: Dating the strict, well-liked, and loving Doyoung came with its hurdles. Normally, the two of you could communicate and work through the downsides, but what if the newest downside of the relationship is learning that his little brother, Mark, has a bit of a thing for you?
flipside by @yutaholic | m | 21k
underground racer au
author summary: When your father moves you overseas for his job, you are determined to hate it until you discover the illegal street races happening after nightfall. Boys are quick to vie for your attention, but none catch your eye like Mark, who takes you on the ride of a lifetime.
with a little pixie dust by @sehunniepotwrites | f | 11.9k
cutest best friends to lovers au
author summary: There are so many ways your friend group could have chosen to celebrate your graduation from university but they chose the one way that fit their childlike antics most of all–going to Disneyland. With all the screams of joy and laughter filing the atmosphere, you see why people call it The Happiest Place on Earth. It’s where magic comes alive, hearts soar to the skies, and where dreams come true. With your dream job already lined up for you once you get back from this vacation, you wonder if your last and wildest fantasy–the one that carries Mark Lee endearingly close to your heart–will take flight. (But don’t worry; your best friends, with a little help of pixie dust, are determined to make it come alive by the end of night.)
watch me by @sluttyten | m | 14.6k
neighbours au, voyeurism
author summary: you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?
go with it by @seouljazzbar | m | 6k
best friends to lovers au
author summary: “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it
bad habits. by @mrkis | m, slight a? | 6.5k
slight toxic behaviour, dealer!mark
author summary: ❝you know you're my favourite.❞
this is (not) easy by @mrkis | m | 13.2k
friends to lovers, fwb situation
author summary: getting into a friends with benefits situation with your all time best friend was so (not) easy
nervously in love by @angelwonie | m, f | 5.2k
established relationship
author summary: despite his very obvious sexual attraction towards you, your boyfriend keeps holding himself back from sleeping with you. OR the three times you want to fuck mark lee and the one time you do.
real talk by @smileysuh | m | 19.4k
restaurant au, coworkers to lovers
author summary: “You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”
gelato by @hazyhae | m | 14.4k
plug!mark, weed use, friends to strangers to lovers
author summary: a high slip up cost you mark lee years ago, and you’ve spent years burying your memories of him ever since. the universe has other plans for you when your old friend starts a new career, smoking his way back into your life.
kiss u right now by @domjaehyun | m, f | 6.9k
mark pining harddd
author summary: in which mark just really wants to kiss you. alternative summary. five times mark wanted to kiss you and one time he actually does.
play with me by @domjaehyun | m, f | 4.6k
weed use, best friends mark
series
sweet cream, cold brew by @lucyandthepen | m, f | 2 shot, 46.7k total
college au, nerd!barista!mark, a very sweet fic with lots of pining <3
author summary: something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.
unholy by @sluttyten | m | 19 chapters
supernatural au, poly!au featuring ten, yuta, winwin & mark
author summary: you’re a religious good girl when one day you find yourself sucked into a dark world of myth, legend, and creatures of horror. You never believed they were real, but now there are demons, vampires, werewolves, and so much more. In the magic and in the seduction, you begin to lose who you were and discover who you are. And most confusing of all? You want every bit of it.
quarantine chronicles by @domjaehyun | m | 3 parts | 126.7k
featuring jaehyun, johnny, jaemin & jungwoo
author summary: fourteen days, five roommates, and five remarkably high sex drives. what could go wrong?
smashing the six by @yutaholic | m | 6 parts
other parts feature jeno, johnny, jaehyun and haechan - kinda have to read all the other parts for it to make sense!!, college au
author summary: there’s a notorious tradition at nct university - hookup with a player from each of the six athletic programs. bonus points awarded if you get any of them to fall in love with you. but don’t forget about neonet, nctu’s infamous social media app, where rumors get passed around like candy and no one is safe from having their business aired out for all to see.
PART 1 -- Addressing the deceptive behavior of leejenowrld
While some of you may know @/leejenowrld for her Sunghoon and NCT fanfiction or for her controversies, there is a far more significant side to her presence in this community to bring to light.
This isn't just another 'fandom drama'. It is a (poorly) calculated pattern of identity fraud, deepfaking, and plagiarism. It isn't the first time she's gotten exposed for lying; she's gotten caught and confronted for feeding other creators' hard work into AI and publishing the results, all while denying such actions.
Well, that exact pattern of using AI to steal and deceive has escalated from stealing written work to real human faces.
For more sweet information -> click here ♡
Part 2 is to come soon <3
With a sweet dose of passion,
Passionfrxit🍷
❯ summary: Losing track of time with your ex’s best friend is technically not normal. But neither is him showing up with a box full of memories you’re actively trying to forget. You shouldn’t let him in, or laugh with him, or think he looks good flushed. But God, it feels normal—freakishly normal. Like maybe you had the wrong friend the first time around.
❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader
❯ genre: ex boyfriend’s friend, angst, smut
❯ words: 8.7k
❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, alcohol consumption, brief argument, confessions, confused feelings, making out, dry humping, protected sex, quickie, marking, slight fluff, a lot of angst, violence joke, reader uses she/her pronouns, basically just a complicated relationship dynamic that involves mark helping you get over your ex
NOTE: this can be read as a standalone, but it is a sequel to another fic: death by a thousand cuts. if you’d like more context, i recommend reading that first.
Isn’t it funny how when someone cheats on you, you become the victim, yet somehow you’re also the one cleaning up their mess? Like your ex detonates this bomb, but it’s you sifting through the rubble for pieces of yourself you’ll never quite find because they don’t exist anymore.
Lee Donghyuck cheated on you with your best friend. Everyone knew. Everyone but you. And then he left you with the wreckage—the kind of wreckage that isn’t just heartbreak or ruin or rubble, but rather an asteroid-like hole. You’re pretty sure dinosaurs had a more graceful end. Your parents say you’ve always been a drama queen, but this situation feels like a very appropriate time to be dramatic.
You mean, he was your first everything. First kiss, first love, first person you thought you would navigate the world with. And then suddenly he wasn’t. Suddenly, you’re staring down the reality of seconds and thirds—versions of love that will always be lesser, always be tainted, because how do you ever believe in “firsts” again when yours was a lie?
You can’t even look at another man. Can’t imagine it. The very idea of romance tastes like metal in your mouth. He didn’t just ruin love—he tampered with the entire operating system. Corrupted the file. Installed malware on your ability to trust. People. Men. Friends.
And of course it was obvious in hindsight. It always is. Yeji and Lia suspiciously became one, joined at the hip. Inseparable. Whispering and keeping secrets in corners you didn’t bother to investigate because you were too busy grieving the loss of him. So, you missed the betrayal that was tucked right under your nose.
Then the truth came out, in all its ugly little parts: Lia’s betrayal. Hyuck’s infidelity. Yeji’s silence.
You kicked Yeji out of your shared apartment that same night. Because she knew. She fucking knew, the entire time. She held your hand in the dark, wiped your tears when you sobbed, told you that you deserve better—all while guarding the one secret that would’ve set you free sooner.
Strangely, that betrayal cut the deepest. Because you can survive a boy ruining you. There will be other boys. (There has to be. Even if the idea makes you physically ill right now.) But when the people who swore they'd love you even when you felt unlovable—girls who braided your hair and made loom bands with you—turn out to be liars too? That’s a different kind of hurt entirely. That’s something you can’t get back.
What you’re saying is: nothing really phases you anymore. Not shame. Not fear. Not even danger. You’re untouchable in the worst way. Which is why, when a knock rattles your front door—late and loud in the dead of night—you don’t flinch. You don’t still. You don’t even check the peephole. Because what could possibly scare you now?
The truth is, you already died. You died the day you learned your childhood best friend turned first love had been in someone else’s bed. And then you died again—worse, deeper—when you learned whose.
You jerk the door open swiftly. It’s rather careless considering you’re a single girl alone in your apartment. But you don’t care. You’re hoping it will be the Grim Reaper here to collect you, and you’re ready, fucking finally. Ready to end your suffering.
Except it isn’t Death.
It’s Mark—Hyuck’s best friend.
He stands there, in the flickering, sickly yellow hallway light, looking like a chastened altar boy (not Grim, sadly), clutching a cardboard box filled with bits and bobs to his chest. Inside: loose stuffing from old teddy bears. A college hoodie with the cuffs chewed. Something sparkly you already know is that necklace with the ‘H’ initial.
All your things. All the artefacts of a girl who was in love. All the old pieces of yourself you left at Hyuck’s apartment.
The same things you told Hyuck to burn because you didn’t want anything tethering you to that boy. Not even your favourite pair of Jimmy Choos. (And God, you really did love those shoes.)
“I see you’re still Hyuck’s lackey,” you say, casually leaning against the doorframe. Your arms are crossed, chin tilted and unfortunately for Mark, your bitch mode: ON.
You know that’s unfair, but fairness is reserved for people whose best friends didn’t lie straight to their face. You’re almost certain that the sidekick to your cheating ex definitely knew about everything. Probably helped facilitate it and keep it under the radar. Ugh. Men.
Mark adjusts the box in his hand, one arm flexing beneath the cardboard while the other scrubs at the back of his neck. He’s awkward. Stalling. You’d chalk it up to coming face-to-face with your best friend’s ex—the ex his best friend cheated on. Anyone would be uncomfortable.
[Well, maybe not you. Mostly because you don’t really… have friends anymore. Not since all this exploded. Unless you count your new Craigslist roommate, who disappears every night and reappears at dawn smelling like smoke, tequila, and what you can only assume is motor oil. Or bleach. Maybe blood? You don’t ask. You’re afraid the answer would make you an accomplice.]
But then you catch it—the reason why he’s so uncomfortable, that is. Mark’s eyes are flicking over your body. Slowly. Hesitantly. Like he's waiting for someone to slap him and force his face away. No one does that, though, so his gaze lingers over your thin white tank top that definitely does not have a bra beneath it. Your nipples—traitors—salute him through the fabric.
Listen. It’s not your fault. You’re still in that phase of heartbreak where you spend hours convincing yourself that it is entirely normal to load up The Sims, install the Extreme Violence mod, recreate Hyuck’s character, and then repeatedly whack him over the head with a glass bottle. It’s girlhood. So yes—you’re currently in your comfies. No bra. And if you want to answer your door half-naked on a Friday night, you absolutely will. He’s the one who showed up unannounced, thank you very much.
And if it’s any consolation—which it shouldn’t be, because it is hardly your fault this boy apparently cannot cope with the outline of the female nipple—you are wearing fluffy red bed socks. Extremely wholesome. Unfortunately, the socks do very little to counterbalance the general scandal of the rest of you. The tiny black boy shorts and exposed thighs, which… somewhat reduce the cosy charm.
Maybe that’s why his voice gives out before it even starts. You cough. He startles and coughs too. Then he finally speaks.
“Hyuck figured if he came knocking on your door with this stuff, you might’ve called the cops.”
“Ding, ding, ding,” you deadpan.
Mark huffs a laugh, then grimaces. “I told him you wouldn’t like it, but he—”
“Doesn’t listen?” You finish for him. “Yeah. I know.”
He blushes then. If Mark Lee had a nickel for every one of Hyuck’s messes he’s had to clean up, he’d have enough saved to retire to Bali. Or Cabo. Somewhere far, with a beach and a bar and enough money left over to buy a boat.
And he’s only twenty-six.
The colour climbing his cheeks is so aggressive, so scarlet it’s almost maroon, and you genuinely don’t understand what he has to be embarrassed about. He wasn’t the one who cheated. But then again—everyone knew. So maybe it’s not embarrassment. Maybe it’s guilt.
That has your walls snapping back into place. You straighten, arms folding so tight across your chest it’s a miracle your ribs don’t crack.
“Well,” you say flatly. “Just leave it there. I’ll deal with it later.”
Mark blinks. “Like… here? In the hallway?”
You nod.
He hesitates, glancing left, then right down the corridor. “Uh—I don’t know if that’s a great idea. You have a lot of expensive stuff in here. Your neighbours might—”
In theory, your neighbours stealing your ex-boyfriend’s sentimental crap is the ideal outcome. It saves you the grief, the time, and the spiral of reminiscing through a heartbreak box.
But then your brain conjures Mrs Kim from across the hall, who has zero concept of boundaries. She’d waltz up, see the box, and treat it like a garage sale. Invite herself in for coffee. Invite her friends from bingo. And as lovely as that sounds, you are still very much in the stage of heartbreak where human interaction—even with adorable old ladies—feels like being skinned alive.
“Should I… take it back, then?” Mark asks.
“What?”
“The box.” He lifts it slightly for emphasis. “I know you don’t want this stuff, but I really don’t think it’s safe to leave it outside. I know you like expensive things, and flashy things, and well—I just don’t think it’s a great idea to have random strangers outside—”
God. He’s right. But also unbearably, painfully rambling.
“Fine. Just—give it to me.”
You reach for the box and he helpfully shifts it toward you. Except, the second you grab it, your arms nearly snap clean off.
“What the—” you grunt. “Did he fill this with bricks?”
Mark chokes on a laugh. “I think there’s some yearbooks in there.”
“Oh my God.” Your shoulders tremble. “How much stuff did I leave there?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. Because Hyuck. Childhood friend. First love. Idiot. Well over a decade of anniversaries and sleepovers and matching hoodies and Valentine’s teddy bears and handwritten notes you’d now love to set on fire—but unfortunately can’t, because your arms are actively dislocating.
The box wobbles. You make a noise that is definitely not human.
“Okay—okay—just—” Mark steps in, steadying the box before you drop it and amputate yourself. “I’ve got it. I’ll just—put it inside for you.”
“No.”
It’s out before you can stop it. Because Mark inside your apartment feels like crossing some invisible line. A boundary you didn’t know you cared about until it was about to be breached. Because Mark isn’t your friend. Well, he used to be—before Hyuck won him in the breakup. Hyuck won everyone in the breakup.
[Word of advice: never date inside a friend group. Especially if you have all been friends since childhood. You don’t just lose the boyfriend—you lose everyone. Or maybe yours are special circumstances…because well, you know what happened.]
The box shifts again, a stuffed bear nearly dropping to the floor. You curse every skipped pilates class this heartbreak has robbed from you.
“Fine,” you bite out, stepping back and shoving the door open wide. “Coffee table. Please.”
Mark nods solemnly and steps past you—carefully, awkwardly—trying not to touch anything, including you. You close the door behind him. And for some reason, that tiny little click echoes in your ear like an alarm. It feels like a siren. A flashing red warning light yelling that you just did something irreversible, like invite a vampire into your house.
Maybe your parents were right about the dramatic thing. You’re spiraling. Overthinking. Catastrophizing despite everything being fine. Completely fine. You’re just letting your fractured, paranoid brain work overtime.
It’s only when Mark sets the box down on your coffee table—the same coffee table where your MacBook sits wide open, The Sims in first-person mode, screen proudly displaying sim-Hyuck being chainsawed in the windowless basement you built specifically to imprison him—that your brain finally shuts the hell up.
Mark straightens slowly. “That seems a little graphic for a game rated teen.” He leans closer. Squints. “Wait. Is that supposed to be—”
“Yes, it’s Hyuck,” you defend. “Yes, it’s a mod. And yes, Yeji, Lia, and you are all queued up next because it’s therapeutic.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” You fold your arms. “You know…since everyone knew. Everyone said nothing.”
“I—”
You don’t care. You don’t want to hear the apology or the justification or the sad little oh-I-didn’t-know-how-to-tell-you speech. None of that could make you feel better about the situation. It’s redundant. So you pivot.
“Is that my Midnights vinyl?”
His head snaps down to where the lavender edge peeks out of the box. Perfect. Distraction successful. You swoop in, snatch it up, and—because it’s a perfect opportunity, and you don’t want to be questioned on your coping mechanisms anymore—slam your laptop shut. Clearly your therapy session is over
“I’ve been looking for this version,” you say, clutching the vinyl. “Did you know if you have all four, they form a clock?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I did know that, yes.”
You gasp. “I didn’t know you were a Swiftie.”
“Technically, I’m not—”
“Blasphemy in my own home. I won’t have it, Marcus Lee.”
“That’s… not my name.”
“I know,” you hum. “But don’t you think it sounded more…authoritative?”
His brows furrow. “Authoritative?”
“Yes, because disliking Taylor Swift in my apartment is a very serious crime, Mark. In fact, as reparations, you now owe me a full listen-through.”
“Y/N, I don’t think—”
“Sit.” You point to the couch with every ounce of that authoritative tone you were striving for. “Now.”
The couch is… not in company-ready condition if you’re being honest. Obviously, you’re wallowing. There are pillows. There are blankets. There is, possibly, a rogue Malteser wrapper nestled between the cushions. But Mark doesn’t look disgusted. He just pushes everything to one side and lowers himself onto the sofa. He does, however, fidget. Thumb-twiddling. Knee-rubbing. Not quite looking at you.
And it’s then, as you place the vinyl carefully onto the turntable, it hits you all at once:
This is weird. Not just weird. Intimate.
You have no idea what you’re doing. Or why you ordered Mark to stay. Or why he actually listened. He could’ve left. He should’ve left. But he didn't. And maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s desperation. Maybe it’s loneliness stitched together with heartbreak and stubbornness. But for the first time in months, sitting across from someone who knew you before everything went to shit…
You don’t feel entirely alone.
And you’re so sick of feeling entirely alone.
The first track hums, floating through your living room and carrying your feet to the side of the couch where your newly formed Heartbreak Pile sits like a mini mountain. You sit.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” Mark says with a laugh. And although there’s clearly a smidge of protest there in his words, he still settles into your couch. “I don’t hate Taylor Swift.”
“Do you want a drink?”
His eyebrows hitch. “You’re… asking me to stay for a drink while we listen to the Midnights album?”
You are. Why are you doing that?
“I get it if you don’t want to,” you say quickly, hands smoothing down your bare thighs. “It’s obviously weird for you to be sitting here with your best friend’s ex. I just thought it would be polite to—”
“Polite to keep me hostage and force me to listen to Taylor Swift?”
“Oh my God. We don’t have to listen to Taylor Swift,” you huff. “I have other vinyls.”
“I know you do,” he says, smiling. “Last I remembered, you had a pretty impressive collection.”
“Well,” you sniff, “I don’t like to brag.”
“Yes, you do,” he counters. “A lot, actually.” His expression softens. “And I know that because you were my friend too, Y/N. Before…you know—”
He swallows.
You mirror it.
God, even acknowledging it feels like saying Voldemort out loud.
“What I’m saying is,” Mark continues, quieter now, “if you’re not okay, and you want me to stick around for a bit… that’s fine. I can.”
Your throat goes tight.
Because that’s the thing—you don’t know what you want. But the part of you that’s been screaming into pillows at 3AM, the part that’s so tired of crying, so tired of fake murdering people in a simulation game, perks up like a puppy.
“…I have wine,” you say eventually.
You don’t, but you’re pretty sure that roommate of yours has something under the sink.
Mark nods. “Then let’s open it.”
You’re laughing so hard your stomach aches. Like you’re convinced you might develop abs from this kind of laughing. Which honestly works out great, considering your gym membership has been dormant for a month. Like you said: no pilates.
You don’t even remember what started it. Somewhere between grabbing your roommate’s wine (if it legally qualifies as wine), shoving a glass into Mark’s hand, and reminiscing about school—middle school, high school, college, all of the before—you completely lost track of time.
Things were good, once. Good in the stupid, reckless way teenagers think fun equals good. Like when Hyuck convinced the entire friend group to egg Mr. Kang’s house only to get caught. At the time, horrifying. He got grounded for three weeks. You cried because losing that co-dependant bond for three weeks was the end of the world at ten.
Now, though? Now that Hyuck is on your personal shit list? It’s funny. You think Mr Kang was ahead of his time. In fact, now that you’re properly wine-warm and giggle-drunk, you realise most of what you and Mark have been laughing about is… Hyuck’s greatest fails.
Which is fine by you because you’re absolutely hysterical. And not with sad tears this time either.
Somehow, somewhere, in the giggles that come with slandering Hyuck’s haircut phases, you ended up on the floor. You don’t remember leaving the couch, but here you are, back against the side of it, legs stretched out, fuzzy red socks firmly planted in Mark’s lap. Your wine glass dangles from your fingers, completely empty.
Mark is just as gone, head tipped back against the coffee table, laughing like he hasn’t in years.
You feel giddy. He feels giddy. Stupid, warm, flushed giddy.
“How’d we end up on the floor anyway?” You ask once the laughter dies down to hiccups.
He yawns—big and slow, shirt riding up just enough to flash a stripe of stomach. You should not be noticing that. “Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that’s how. Seriously? What is that stuff?”
You snort. “Is now a bad time to tell you Jenny often comes home smelling like bleach?”
His whole body goes still. Then his head whips toward you, eyes wide. “I’m sorry—bleach?”
“And gasoline. And maybe… tar?”
He blinks. Then blinks again. “Probably would’ve been nice to know before I drank my third glass.”
“But then you wouldn’t be wine drunk,” you point out, poking his shin with your toe. “And everybody knows wine drunk is the best drunk.”
“There is no such thing as best drunk,” he argues. But he’s smiling.
“Say that to your flushed cheeks.”
“They’re not—”
“And your ears,” you add. “Did you know your ears flush when you get tipsy?”
“I did know that,” he says defensively, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You know a lot of things.”
“Not everything,” he mumbles. It’s so soft you almost miss it. He must think you do, because he keeps going before you can react. “You were the first person to tell me that, actually. About my ears.”
“I was?”
He nods. “First school dance. When Hyuck spiked the punch.”
You groan. “Ugh. My parents were so mad about that. Did you know I threw up on our cat that night?”
He barks out another laugh. And his calloused hand presses absently into the arch of your foot. You’ve noticed him doing it a few times tonight. You haven’t said anything. Because it feels… good. Too good to risk scaring him off. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the way his thumb is drawing these small, slow circles like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.
“You know,” you murmur, softer now, voice loosening with the rosé, “you feel like my closest friend right now.”
Mark perks up at that like a labrador hearing the word treat. “Do I get a medal?”
“Probably not.” Your smile is crooked. “Since there’s not exactly a lot of competition because I don’t have any friends.”
He blinks. Hard. “I’m your friend. I’ve always been your friend.”
Something in you snaps. It starts at the base of your spine—red, hot, ugly. Cheap wine always did come with an angry aftershock after the silliness. Maybe Mark was right. Maybe there is no such thing as best drunk.
“Funny,” you say, voice flattening. “Friends don’t keep it a secret when their other friend is cheating on their girlfriend.”
His smile drops. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” You lean forward, scoffing. “Stop reminding you of the shit you helped facilitate?”
His jaw flexes so harshly you hear his teeth click. “I didn’t know.”
You laugh. Or choke. Or both. “What?”
That’s all you can muster because that’s—impossible. It has to be. You’ve spent the last month thinking you were an idiot. You were blind. You were alone.
He looks at you. Repeats it. “I didn’t know, Y/N.”
“That’s not—” Your throat is sandpaper. “That’s not possible. How do you not know your best friend is cheating on his girlfriend?”
“The same way you didn’t know your best friend was sleeping with your boyfriend.”
He fires it back without hesitation. And like—ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. You actually rock backward like he physically struck you. Thank god your wine glass is empty or you’d be wearing it. Or worse your precious white carpet would be.
You both go still. Even his hand stops moving. The room should be silent but the vinyl keeps spinning. Then finally, his voice breaks through, low and ragged.
“Y/N, I’m sorry. That didn’t—”
You scramble to move because suddenly everything is wrong—too loud, too close. Your feet feel vulgar in his lap. The touch you’d been soaking in like sunlight suddenly feels like acid.
“It’s fine,” you lie, grabbing both glasses with trembling hands. “It’s late. You should probably—”
“It’s not fine.”
The words crack like a whip. He surges to his feet, taking the glasses from your grip before you can retreat. He sets them aside uselessly, then reaches for you—not touching, but caging you in place. Forcing your eyes to meet his.
“None of this is fucking fine!” His voice breaks open. “It’s not fine that you’re upset! It’s not fine that those assholes hurt you! And it is definitely not fucking fine that you think I helped them do it!”
Heat roars up your spine. “Well, what else am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t fucking know!” His hands fly up. “Maybe that I would never do that to a friend. To someone I lo—” He bites it back, physically swallowing the word. “To someone I look out for.”
Your laugh is ugly. “Right. Looking out for me. Is that why you’re running his errands?”
You’re snapping. You know you’re snapping. But your heart has been betrayed before. So logically, your brain goes straight to the obvious: accomplice.
He winces like you slapped him. “That’s what you think I’m doing right now?”
“You literally brought me all the shit my ex bought me because you knew I’d kick his ass if he came here instead.”
“Okay,” he breathes, taking a slow inhale like he’s…trying to psych himself up? “We’re really fucking doing this.”
Your eyes narrow. “Doing what?”
He doesn’t answer you and for a second the air is thin. Then, in a motion that feels both desperate and controlled, he kneels by the coffee table, opens the box, and begins pulling things out. You flop back against the couch because you don’t know what else to do. Your wine-influenced bravado is fading; curiosity slides in it’s place.
A teddy bear. A cracked vinyl sleeve. A stack of old receipts. Thee necklace. A Polaroid. Of you. Mark lifts it gently between two fingers.
“This was from Halloween,” he says quietly. “Three years ago. You were sad because Hyuck didn’t compliment your costume. I took the picture to make you smile. He saw it, got pissy, and took it from me and kept it in his wallet.”
You go rigid.
“The Beatles vinyl— you fucking love The Beatles. Reminds you of your grandparents. He bought it because he forgot your birthday and panicked.”
He sets it down carefully. Picks up something else.
“The teddy bear—you had a care bear phase in high school. The crystal—your birthstone. You liked astrology that year. Every scrap receipt because you journal literally everything.”
“And this fucking necklace—” He picks up the chain with two fingers like it burns. “He told me he thought marking you was tacky. But he still wanted a way for people to know you were his.”
The necklace dangles between you, and piece by piece, Mark lays everything out. Every ordinary little thing that shouldn’t mean anything anymore but all of it maps out ten years of things that are completely you.
Your throat clamps shut. When you finally force words out, they scrape.
“Why are you doing this? How—how do you know all this?”
“Because I thought of it all!”
The room rings with it. With that loud, instant response. And you just stare at him. You stare because suddenly your own body doesn’t feel like yours. Everything is static. Buzzing. Your mouth is cotton. You can’t swallow. You can’t think. All you can manage is a small, broken:
“W-What?”
Mark meets your gaze. And whatever was holding him back all night finally snaps.
“Every problem he thought you had? I fixed it. Every time he fucked up something for you? I handled it. Because I know you. I see you. I’ve always seen you. And none of it has ever mattered because you only ever saw him.”
Is the vinyl still playing?
You don’t know. Because all you hear are his words clanging, over and over, like bells. Like alarms. A crashing in your skull. If what he’s saying is true, then everything you romanticised, every soft, bright memory you preserved was…inauthentic? Fake? Him?
No.
No.
“No,” you whisper, shaking your head hard. “That—that makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” he asks, but it’s not a question. His jaw flexes. “Do you even remember the day you two met?”
Of course you do. You were six. Hyuck’s family moved next door. He was in blue overalls and you in a pink sundress. Plastic butterfly clips decorated your hair, which he complimented. Mark watches recognition bloom on your face—and he delivers the final blow.
“I saw you first,” he says quietly. “From his bedroom window. You were jumping rope on your driveway with those stupid little clips in your hair. I called him over. I remember it vividly. I said, ‘Dude, I think you live next door to an angel.’”
Angel.
Every molecule of oxygen leaves your lungs. Leaves your livingroom clearly because you cannot breathe. Because that nickname—the nickname—the one Hyuck used on you for years, whispered into your neck, wrote in Sharpie on your birthday cards, carved into your goddamn heart—
It wasn’t even his.
It was Mark’s.
Every memory you’ve ever loved belongs to someone else.
The room tilts.
You don’t fall so much as fold—knees buckling before your brain even processes what’s happening. Carpet catches you, but not gently. The bottle of rosé on the coffee table toppling with you, the burgundy liquid splashing across your tank top.
What is it with you and spilling drinks?
“Shit. Are you okay?”
Mark is already crouching in front of you, hand out, face very alarmed. But still, you jerk back before he can touch you. His eyes dart down for a fraction of a second. And when they come back up, the blood that has rushed to his cheeks is unmistakably maroon.
It could be a hundred things, really. Worry, embarrassment, regret for the confession that just slipped out of him. Or maybe—your stomach drops—maybe it’s the fact that you’ve once again drawn his attention to your nipples. Which are very visible. Through your very soaked tank top. At quite possibly the worst time ever. Because—well—confession.
“I think—I think there’s a hoodie at the bottom of the box,” he blurts, stumbling over the words. Then, he shifts back, sitting on his heels because you just recoiled from him and clutched your knees to your chest.
“Are you gonna tell me that’s yours too?” You scoff.
His jaw flexes hard. “That’s not fair, Y/N.”
“I’m not being fair?” Your laugh is shrill. “Me? You’ve just flipped my entire world upside down, Mark! You just told me that every single memory I have of my relationship was fake—manufactured—”
“Because it was!”
“I know!” you snap, the two words ricocheting between you. “Obviously I know that now. But why?” Your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I love you, Y/N!”
He doesn’t give you a second to react or process. He keeps barrelling on.
“I have loved you since we were six years old.” His chest rises and falls, like the words are slicing his throat. “And making you happy has always been the only thing that’s ever mattered to me. So when you told everyone you had a crush on Hyuck, I—” He swallows. “I buried it. Because he made you smile. And even though everything he ever did for you came from my ideas, just seeing you happy was enough. I didn’t need the credit.”
You study him. He looks wrecked. Wrecked and vulnerable. And scared.
“So to sit here and listen to you think—for one fucking second—that I would help him cheat on you? That I would keep something like that from you?” His voice breaks on a growl. “You’ve mischaracterised me, Y/N. You’ve made me into someone I’m not. And I can’t—” He presses the heel of his hand to his eye like he’s holding himself together. “I can’t take you looking at me like I hurt you on purpose.”
Your brain is officially fried. You’re not sure if it’s the wine humming through your blood, or the avalanche of emotions currently bouncing around your ribcage with no coordination—confusion, rage, relief, disbelief—or maybe it’s just that you’ve spent months feeling invisible, hollowed out, and suddenly someone is kneeling on your living room floor listing physical evidence that he has been witnessing you your entire life.
Maybe it’s all of it.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Because before you can think better of it, you’re moving. Leaning forward and reaching for him so that your fingers can curl into the collar of his T-shirt and you can crush your mouth to his. Heat. Desperation. Lust. Want. Need.
Except—except he’s not moving with you. He’s not kissing you back. You freeze, because…why isn’t he kissing you back? You could have sworn (literally thirty seconds ago) he said he loved you. Was that not…
“Y/N.” His voice comes out strained. “We shouldn’t. I don’t want to do this like this.”
The rejection hits like a bucket of ice water over your head. Your face floods with heat so violent you’re convinced even that ice water wouldn’t be enough to put you out. You pull back so fast you nearly topple again, hands flying into your lap.
You can’t look at him. You want to disappear. Crawl under the carpet. Scream into your pillows again like you did last night and the night before that.
He sees it. Of course he does. Because—like he so helpfully pointed out—he’s always seen you.
“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out like he wants to touch you but stopping halfway, fingers suspended midair. “Don’t—please don’t do that. Don’t shrink from me.”
You huff out a pathetic sound that might be a laugh or might be a sob. “Well, sorry if I’m a little mortified after throwing myself at someone who clearly didn’t want me.”
“That’s not—” He swears under his breath. “If you’ve somehow taken from this conversation that I don’t want you, then you’re not listening.”
“Oh yeah? Enlighten me then.”
“I didn’t kiss you back,” he says quietly. And something about him recounting your actions, makes you wince. “Because I refuse to be something you do out of confusion. Or loneliness. Or revenge.”
Was that why you kissed him?
Loneliness? Wine? The sharp, stupid need to shove something solid into the hollow? Maybe. Probably. You don’t know! The truth is muddy and complicated and embarrassing.
But you do know this: this night—this laughing till your abs are carved, barefoot on the floor, wine stained tank kind of night—has been the most bliss you’ve felt in years. Not just the month of heartbreak.
And it’s not the first time tonight you’ve remembered who Mark is to you. Who he was before you lost sight of him.
You remember talking to him every single day in high school until your phone died. Him calling just to tell you about some terrible movie he watched. You remember hopscotch on your driveway when Hyuck said it was “too girly,” but Mark stomped on the chalk squares anyway. You remember him fixing the busted zipper on your backpack. You remember stupid text threads. Walks home. Inside jokes.
But most importantly, you remember giving him up. Neglecting the friendship. Letting rust grow between telephones. And you absolutely refuse to let him be the thing you lose again.
So you do something you wouldn’t dream of doing without the buzzing haze of Jenny’s screw-top rosé still lingering in your veins—you crawl back into his space and settle in his lap. Straddle him.
Mark doesn’t flinch this time. Doesn’t lean in either. He just sits perfectly still, letting your arms loop around his neck. His ears go red, and you almost laugh because they always do that. And you’ve always thought it was unbearably cute. That’s why you noticed it in the first place.
“Truthfully,” you say, breath brushing his jaw, “I don’t know what made me kiss you. Maybe I did it because I was angry and drunk and tired of feeling overlooked. Maybe I did it for myself. Maybe I did it because some petty part of me wanted to punish Hyuck.”
He opens his mouth. Then closes it.
“But I do know I remember you,” you continue. “You were always there—for me. I know I stopped noticing because I wanted to be dazzled. But I don’t want to let you be the thing I let go of because I was blinded again.”
Mark’s gaze softens. “I don’t want to be the person you settle for either,” he says softly. “Not ever.”
You huff out a disbelieving little laugh. “If you’ve somehow taken from this conversation that I consider someone who’s clearly spent a decade bending over backwards to take care of me ‘settling,’ then you’re the one who’s not listening.”
His mouth twitches, almost smiling. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then.”
You lean in, forehead brushing his. “What I’m saying is,” you whisper, “right now, I pick you. Not because I’m settling with you. Not because I now see you. I pick you because I like you. I feel good with you. I feel safe with you. And I think…I think I always have.”
“So you’re saying—”
You cut him off before he can finish. “I’m saying, if you don’t shut up and actually kiss me right now, Mark Lee, I might actually combust.”
His laughter bursts out again—the same warm, throaty sound from moments ago—and something in your chest goes molten. You get it now, what he said earlier about feeling rewarded when someone you care about smiles. Because watching him laugh like that? It’s better than your entire vinyl collection. It’s music. The kind that thrums under your skin. Taylor should sample it.
And then his mouth is on yours.
Soft. Sure. A little hesitant. Nervous, but his lips are so plush and impossibly warm, you don’t care. You don’t care. It’s that disorienting second that it all registers for you. These are only the second pair of lips you’ve ever kissed. And somehow they don’t feel tainted or lesser. They just feel… right. More than, actually. They feel how a kiss is supposed to feel.
You melt into him. You forget about oxygen, about time, because this—this feels good. Too good. So fucking good you’re subconsciously rolling your hips against the rough denim of his jeans, chasing friction. Your fingers start absentmindedly sliding into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a rough sound from his throat. It’s just as good as his laughter, and he pulls you closer, harder against him.
It’s like he’s finally, finally allowing himself to hold you. To have you. And suddenly there’s no space left to question, no room for guilt or history or doubt. Just heat. Just hands. Just mouths and heartbeats and the quiet, dizzying relief of being wanted back.
His forehead drops to yours, breath warm and uneven against your lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me then,” you whisper.
He does—by gripping you tighter, by moving against you, by pulling you closer like he’s starving for it. Like he can’t stop. It’s rhythmic and rough and so unbelievably shameless because you feel every solid, unrelenting inch of him through his clothes. He has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.
You wish you could say the same. You know you were all free the nipple and comfort first when he showed up at your door—but now, in your thin boy shorts, you’re wishing for something less… revealing. Because you can feel it—the heat, the slickness. You’re almost certain there’ll be a damp spot on his jeans. Yeah. You’re that wet.
Mortified, you bury your face in his neck.
“Don’t do that,” he rasps, voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “Don’t hide from me. You’re too damn pretty for that.”
“It just—feels too good. I’m—”
“Wet?” His mouth ghosts over yours. “I know, baby. I can feel you. And it’s fucking hot watching you squirm around on top of me like this. Better than anything I’ve ever imagined.”
“Mark,” you breathe.
He answers by rolling his hips again, picking up his pace. It’s more desperate. It’s a pattern that makes you lose track of what’s his heartbeat and what’s yours. It’s easy. Too easy. Because you swear you’re going to cum like this—fully clothed.
“’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, words frayed at the edges. He’s close too—you can feel it in the way his body trembles beneath you, in the way his breath control slips with every movement. And God, why is something about that fantasy so fucking hot?
His scent floods your senses. His pulse thrums beneath your lips. It’s all sensation and urgency until you’re shaking with it. His hand cups the back of your head, the other presses flat against your spine, holding you steady as he guides you to come apart against him.
Clothes still on. Technically untouched—but completely blissful. You shouldn’t be surprised. He told you once. He doesn’t have to touch you to reach you. He just does because he sees you. He’s always seen you.
“I want you.”
You think the words fall out of your mouth whilst you’re still coming down from orgasmic euphoria. As your brain finally recognises everything this boy could be for you. What he almost was. Had you just let him.
Mark stills, hesitates with his lips brushing yours. “Y/N—”
“Please,” you whisper, hips pressing into him, desperately, it’s almost shameful. “I need you right now.
“Y/N, we can’t—” His breath catches as you roll your hips once more. (Yes, you are absolutely trying to remind him just how much he wants this too.) “Shit. I don’t have anything. I didn’t think—I didn’t bring anything because I had no idea this would—”
A part of you perks up when you realise that’s the reason he’s holding back. You don’t let him finish. You lean forward, open the drawer of the coffee table, and pull out a small foiled packet.
Mark blinks. “You keep condoms in your coffee table?”
“I do not,” you say, already working at his belt. “Jenny does though. She said it was non-negotiable when she moved in.”
His brows pull together. “Y/N, what the fuck? Who the hell is this chick—”
“I really do not want to talk about my potentially murderous Craigslist roommate right now,” you murmur, leaning in until your lips graze his jaw. “Kinda killing the mood.”
“I know, but God, is she even safe—”
“Mark,” you cut him off, your tone sweet and firm all at once, “I really want to have safe sex with you right now. So…can you please shut up and let me fuck you?”
“Oh,” he laughs. “You’re gonna fuck me?”
You smile, hold up the condom between your fingers and nod.
“Cute,” he murmurs, nipping your lip.
You raise a brow. “Is that a challenge?”
“I don’t know,” he smirks. “Is it?”
You take it as one.
No more hesitation between either of you. Clothes fall away, impatiently, until skin meets skin. You end up on the living room floor, knees pressing into the white rug, Mark beneath you, his back against the couch. You straddle him, breath tangled with his as you guide him inside you—slow, deep, careful.
He’s so much.
You feel every inch. The gentle, perfect stretch that steals the air from your lungs. The fullness. Mark keeps your lips on his the whole time, kissing you through it—soft pecks that turn into open-mouthed gasps as you sink lower. His hands grip your hips, not to control, but to anchor. To feel.
When you finally take all of him, your forehead drops to his. His breath fans against your lips, shaky and weak.
“Jesus, Y/N…”
You stay like that for a moment—just breathing, just feeling. His thumb traces small circles at the base of your spine, grounding you in the fullness of it all. He lets you find your rhythm, surrendering completely, giving you the reins to do this. It’s utter trust.
And once your body adjusts, once the burn melts into something heated and hungry, you start to move. Slow at first—testing. Then deeper. Mark meets every shift of your hips with a quiet groan that shoots straight through you. His hands stay at your waist, guiding but never taking.
“God, look at you,” he says against your neck. “So fucking perfect.”
You lean into his praise, into the way he looks at you like he’s seeing something he doesn’t ever want to forget. His eyes track every movement, every breath, every sound.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Fuck—yes! Please don’t stop.”
Your hands slide up his shoulders, fingers curling against solid muscle because you need something to hold on to as you move faster, surer. He catches your face between his palms and kisses you—deep, consuming, like he’s finally letting himself have you the way he’s always wanted to.
And God, you don’t blame him. You could have been—should have been—doing this a lot sooner.
“Holy shit,” he whispers against your lips. “Yes—fucking take it. Use me, baby.”
The praise and demands keep spilling out of him, unguarded. It’s all you can hear—his words, his voice, his moans. You can feel him losing himself in it, in you, and it’s so fucking hot. It’s heat and tenderness. It’s want and awe. Every movement becomes something wordless, something more than just need, because you can feel that coil in your stomach forming.
“Fuck–Mark! I think I’m gonna—”
His hand snakes around, finding the curve of your spine to hold you in place. Because the sound you make—the low, fractured plea—undoes him. It’s the permission he needed to let his control slip through his fingers and let need take its place.
Need to be greedy. Need to take this orgasm. Need to feel you cumming around his cock because simply seeing it was not enough for him. He needs more.
So, he holds you stable, grounding you as his hips thrust and pound. Every movement comes rougher, precise, determined to drive you to that edge. Your voice breaks on a moan of his name, and he drinks it in. Soaks in the moment—the tremor in your breath, the way you break and flutter around him.
It equally pulls him apart too. So much his rhythm falters—but it's not his fault. You just sound too pretty, feel too perfect. He buries his face into your neck, desperately seeking composure.
Only to realise your scent overwhelms him. Too powerful to restrain himself from trailing kisses along your throat. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it; just that he needs to. Needs to keep going because he’s close—oh so close. Orgasm teetering at his fingertips.
He’s so consumed, he doesn’t notice he’s sucking against your skin either. On the slope of your neck. Along the tease of your collarbone. All deep maroon. All his.
It’s that sight—the sight of him branded onto your skin in his favourite colour—that has him shattering too. One last, harsh, animalistic thrust upwards sends him spilling into the condom. With his stomach quivering, he relaxes, and you ease in his grip.
The comedown feels slower than it should. Breaths tangle. Noses brush. The world narrows to the quiet sound of music floating through the living room, to the heat of him beneath you. You can feel every heartbeat, every shiver—like he’s written himself into your skin. Like from now on, you’ll feel him no matter what.
You wake to the powerful, earthy tang of incense and sunlight filtering through blinds, spilling pretty gold stripes across the floor. It takes your foggy brain all of two seconds to register that this is not your bedroom. For one, you paid extra for blackout curtains because the breakup has turned your midnights into afternoons. And two—there’s a massive, very muscled forearm draped across your stomach.
You still. Because, well, there’s a literal body behind you—warm, solid, breathing. Definitely a man. You think. Unless Jenny suddenly bulked up overnight and started wearing cologne that smells suspiciously like testosterone. You wouldn’t put it past her.
Your heart does that awkward stutter thing it does when you know you should panic, but your brain is still buffering. You glance toward the coffee table—empty wine bottle. That explains the fuzzy edges of your memory. But also… why are you on the floor?
You don’t have time to answer that particular existential question because there’s a knock at the door. A soft, polite tap tap that somehow feels more alarming than if someone had kicked it down. And then another existential question hits you: why are you half-naked? This isn’t your shirt. You look over your shoulder—oh God. It’s Mark’s.
And just like that, it all comes rushing back. The box. The spilled wine. The argument. The revelation. The sex.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Christ. Can’t a girl get a single minute to process the fact that she slept with her ex’s best friend—her own childhood friend, mind you—and, more concerningly, that she liked it?
Tap tap tap.
Apparently not.
You peel yourself off the floor. Behind you, Mark groans a low, sleepy sound that vibrates somewhere in your spine. He was always a deep sleeper, the last to wake up at sleepovers. You, on the other hand, were not.
Padding across the cool wooden floor, you make your way to the door. And because not checking the peephole has apparently become your default setting—right up there with homie-hopping—you twist the knob and pull it open.
And well…fuck.
Your parents were right. Always check the peephole, Y/N. It’s dangerous.
Because yeah. Hyuck is standing in the hallway. Hollow-eyed.
Hyuck, your ex. Hyuck, the boy who used to run beneath your skin. Hyuck, the boy with the lips you used to call home. Hyuck, who now looks like someone took that home and burned it to the ground. His eyes are raw, rimmed with shadows, and you feel the world drop like a stone in your stomach.
Because you just slept with his best friend.
You should slam the door in his face. Instinctively, your fingers tighten around the edge to do just that, brain screaming at you to abort mission.
“Don’t,” he says.
The word cracks through the air. Because of course the bastard can still read your mind—he always could—even now, when everything between you is so jagged and broken.
“Please don’t close the door.”
Your breath catches. There’s a million things you could say—should say—but all you can do is stand there, half-dressed in Mark’s shirt, heart thundering in your throat, wondering how the hell you got here and what the fuck is going on.
“You have no right to show up here.”
“I know, Y/N. Christ—fuck.” He drags a hand through his hair, pacing the hallway. “I called Mark to see if you got the box, but he’s not answering.”
You blink at him. “You came all the way here to ask if I got my box of shit?”
“Did you?”
You scoff. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it does,” he retorts. “Everything we are is in that box.”
“Were,” you correct clearly. “Everything we were is in that box. Carnations I thought were roses.”
His brow furrows, confusion slicing through the frustration. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I believed everything we had was extraordinary—but it turned out to be very ordinary,” you bite. “I overestimated your value, Hyuck.”
His throat works, his jaw tightens. “I fucked up. I know. But you can’t throw everything we had. You can’t downplay it for a simple fuck up.”
You look at him—really look at him. Because it’s not just about the fuck up anymore, is it? No. It’s about the illusion. The mistaken perception. The blindness you lived under, believing what you had with him was somehow more beautiful, more real, than it truly was.
“We’re over, Hyuck. You really should go.”
“Y/N, please.” He steps closer, voice low and cracked. “Let me take you to dinner—”
“No.” Your voice wavers, but only a little. “If you took me to dinner, we both know where that would lead.”
“Because we still love each other—”
“That’s a lie, Hyuck.” You meet his eyes, unflinching. “If you loved me, if you wanted me, you never would’ve done what you did. I know that now.”
His expression falters, confusion slicing through the pain. “What does that—wait.” His eyes drop, then darken. “Who’s fucking shirt is that, Y/N?”
You look down at the T-shirt you know is Mark’s, and it’s very obvious that Hyuck knows it too. Well, at least that the shirt belongs to a man. Because it’s big, too big, too lived-in, and hanging off your shoulder in a way that screams not yours. It swallows your body whole, skimming the tops of your thighs.
Hyuck’s jaw ticks.
You cross your arms over your chest, defensive. “I told you once not to underestimate my extensive collection of male hoodies.”
He doesn’t smile. Just stares. “I’m not fucking around, Y/N. Who’s—” He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing, gaze dropping lower.
His attention zeroes in on the slope of your neck. You shift, uncomfortable, as he makes you aware of every inch of your skin. His stare burns. It feels intrusive, like he’s peeling you open with his eyes. You have to take a step back, and then you catch it—the glimpse of yourself in the mirror by your front door.
A mark.
A very visible, very obvious hickey.
His expression changes. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
You could lie. You probably should lie. But your mouth, as usual, refuses to cooperate.
“Get so fucked right now, Hyuck. I don’t owe you that.”
He exhales hard, raking both hands through his hair like he’s seconds away from combusting again. “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he mutters. “Is there a guy in—”
But he doesn’t finish the question, because right then, from behind you, there’s movement. There’s sound. A sleepy voice. A groan.
“Y/N?”
Mark.
And just like that—like he once did to you—you detonate a bomb in his world. You watch as it hits him, see the exact moment he realises he’ll be sifting through the rubble for pieces of himself he’ll never quite find. Because they don’t exist anymore. They can’t. You were the jewel he gave up, the ruby he let slip through his fingers. And that’s what he’s left with now. The fact that you, for the first time in your life, have chosen someone else. Someone who is not him.
All Member Masterlist || a cup of coffee Chapter Index
summary: you're quickly realizing the depth of your feelings for your boyfriends, and you have to find the right time to finally say those big three words to them.
It’s always nice to wake up beside someone you love. To have their sweet face be the very first thing you see in the morning. Waking to the familiar surroundings of your apartment, with Doyoung softly snoring beside you, one of his hands draped familiarly over your bare thigh, this is what you love.
Your heart beats a little harder as your brain catches up with your thoughts. You love this moment, and it’s not just that… you love him. Doyoung.
You love his bare, relaxed face. You love the comfortable way that he shifts a little closer to you even while he’s sleeping, his fingers curling against your thigh as if to keep you close by. You love the pale freckles revealed on his cheeks and the faint shadow of stubble on his chin.
On the other hand, you truly hate that your alarm is set to go off in a handful of minutes. You’ve got work this morning regrettably, which means drawing yourself out of bed, leaving Doyoung to his sweet sleep, and having to go in to face rude customers in need of their caffeine fix.
You dress and get ready silently. Doyoung so rarely gets to sleep in, so you want him to have this, but you can’t help sneaking in a goodbye kiss.
Doyoung makes a muffled sound when you brush your lips to his cheek. His face turns towards you, but you quickly whisper, “Sleep, Doyoung. I’m going to work.”
He hums softly in acknowledgement, and turns his face back to the pillow, his soft snores resuming before you’re even out of the room.
Damn. You really do hate to leave.
On your way into work, you see that Johnny’s already posted this morning on his public Instagram story. A sunrise picture in Thailand with the caption “still thinking about last night” and beneath that “can’t wait to do it all again!”
You slide up, amused with yourself as you ask, “Which part of last night do you want to do again?”
It’s not until over an hour later, after you’ve already clocked in for your shift and are helping customers, that Johnny responds. Heat floods your belly at the descriptive words he uses to emphasize how the latter part of the night, the part shared with you and Doyoung, needs to happen again.
You’re still reeling from that, dazedly cleaning the windows during a lull between customers, when you see a blurry streak pass the window.
It takes another moment for you to process what exactly you just saw, but by the time it clicks in your mind, he’s already turned around.
Doyoung.
Bare-faced, messy-haired Doyoung is riding a bike, coming back towards the cafe. He looks young and carefree, dressed in a plain tshirt and athletic joggers. No sunglasses, mask, or cap to conceal his identity as he tips the bike – where did he even get a bike? – against the outside wall of the cafe, and then he pushes open the door.
Immediately, your coworker this morning – luckily not Lia – yelps in surprise and recognition as she sees Doyoung come striding inside.
His gaze sweeps the store, passing slowly over where you still stand with your hand raised to the window though you stopped cleaning the window as soon as you spotted him. Doyoung smiles at your coworker, and you’re a bit worried that she’s going to faint or something. Her face has turned bright pink, and you’ve never heard her stutter so badly taking a customer’s order. She must be a fan of his.
You decide to come to her rescue, abandoning the now smudge-free window to rejoin her behind the countertop.
As you approach, you hear Doyoung say, “A friend of mine recommended your cafe. He said the drinks and the pastries are really tasty. Do you have any recommendations?”
She blushes and stutters some more, and you’re about to step in, but Doyoung flicks a look at you that tells you to hold off. Your coworker twists her hands in her apron, and softly offers Doyoung her menu suggestion of an iced strawberry matcha and a honey sweet bun, which he orders and pays for before walking away to find a seat.
He sits in the back corner, and every time you look over at him, Doyoung is already looking at you. Your coworker prepares the drink and the pastry, and she carries it out to him, blushing the whole way. Doyoung graciously smiles and thanks her, exchanging words with her that you can’t make out from behind the register. All you know is that she’s beaming and a pretty shade of pink when she returns behind the counter, giggling to herself as she ducks into the back to have her little fangirl moment.
You can’t help but slightly seethe with jealousy.
Doyoung catches your eye. He winks.
You wait until your coworker is recovered, and then you tell her that you’re going to take your break. Just a short fifteen minute break, but that’s enough time.
Luckily, the cafe isn’t all squared off or open-concept. The corner Doyoung situated himself in is just barely visible from the front counter, and his table and the one beside it share a single long cushioned bench seat. That second table is entirely out of view unless one were to walk back there. When your coworker is busy with her back turned, that’s when you tuck yourself in that corner.
Doyoung doesn’t look up from the honey bun, but his body language shifts to be slightly more relaxed, slightly angled towards you.
“What are you doing here?” You ask quietly.
Still, without looking at you, Doyoung says, “This is a cute cafe.”
Light from the window beside him highlights his profile, limning him in pale gold, picking out his messy hairs and that little bit of stubble on his chin. You have to fight the urge to reach over, to brush your fingers against his chin or smooth down his hair. Doyoung glances at you from the corner of his eye, his lips ticking up into a smile.
“It’s very cute,” you agree. The vibe and aesthetic are immaculate. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here?”
Doyoung has never been in before, unlike Johnny who is basically cemented as a regular. You’re lucky that it’s a bit slower this morning, that there aren’t the typical influx of uni-aged young adults or the even younger highschooler crowd that sometimes take over tables for hours at a time. You’re certain that if those usual customer types were here, Doyoung’s presence would be a lot harder to keep lowkey. It’s bad enough that your coworker recognized him; she’s probably rapidly messaging or posting about him right now.
“Truth?” Doyoung asks.
You nod.
He sighs, “Jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” You remember that little fire demon that lit itself in your chest just a few minutes ago after watching him shmooze your fangirl coworker.
Doyoung glances up towards the register, and then he scoots across the bench seat until he’s also out of sight from the front of the cafe. His thigh presses against yours, and that combined with the intensity of your boyfriend’s gaze makes your entire being buzz.
“I was jealous,” Doyoung explains in a whisper, “because last night when we were talking to Johnny, you told him that your coworker knows about you and him, knows about a threesome.” And now he frowns, an echo of the same one you’d noticed on his face last night. “She doesn’t know about me.”
You stretch your hand out, brushing your fingertips against his leg. “I thought we wanted it that way?”
The frown deepens slightly. “I get that it’s important for my career that aspects of my private life stay private, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not a bit jealous that you and Johnny could probably go public with your relationship, and it wouldn’t seriously damage his public persona. He’s a celebrity DJ, but he’s held to a different standard than I am. I’m supposed to be perfect, meant to be that ideal boyfriend type of figure, desirable yet out of reach.”
You curl your hand over the curve of his knee. “Doyoung…”
He shakes his head a little. “I’m fine. I just wanted to make my existence known in this part of your life. And you and Johnny talk about the cafe all the time, I figured I should be introduced to the place where you spend so much time. While I’m here, maybe you should show me to the bathroom I’ve heard so much about?”
You can’t help it. You smack your hand against his leg with a scowl, which only elicits a loud laugh from Doyoung as he slides back across the bench seat to his table.
“Just thought you might want to tangle up some memories with me here too,” he says, delighted as you continue to scowl at him. “But maybe some other time, huh? I might have to come back with Johnny someday.”
If they do that, you’re not sure that you’ll be able to focus on work. God, just imagining the two of them sitting at a table together, they’d probably be intentionally trying to distract you. But a cursed scenario enters your mind of the pair of them back here in the corner, hands roving beneath the table surface, touching each other, sneaking off to the bathroom while catching your eye in invitation. You know that in all likelihood they’d try to keep it friendly in such a small, public setting as this; but there’s this gleam in Doyoung’s eye that tells you he knows what you’re thinking.
“I’m going to ask Johnny to punish you when he gets home,” you whisper. “Naughty Doyoung, propositioning me at work.”
Doyoung laughs again. “I think that might backfire on you, sweetheart. If we’re doling out punishments for workplace misconduct like that, you started it. You’ve got some retroactive punishment to make up for.”
“As do you, I’m sure. All those practice-room shenanigans I’ve heard about.” Practice room, studio, bathroom stalls, all sorts of things that your boyfriends have confessed about. “I’ll take whatever meager punishment I deserve, then sit back and watch him and you.”
Doyoung’s eyes light up.
“I’d better get back. My fifteen minutes are almost over.”
“I’m texting Johnny!” Doyoung calls softly after you, keeping his voice low enough for just you to hear as you start to walk away. “Give him some time to consider!”
You glance back over your shoulder, sending a wink at your boyfriend before you clock back in.
Doyoung leaves the cafe probably half an hour later. He stops by the register to thank your coworker for her recommendations, and he promises that he’ll have to come back. His gaze brushes fire-hot against yours before he returns his attention to her, thanking her again.
And although you would probably have spent the entire rest of the day thinking about Doyoung and wondering if he really texted Johnny, wondering what plans for punishment those two could possibly come up with, you have no chance of even trying to avoid thinking about him. Your coworker spends the rest of her shift gushing about Doyoung, babbling about him and how handsome, how sweet, and kind and genuine he is. All of those things are definitely true, but by the time that your shift ends several hours later, you’re tired of hearing it. She’s talked about your boyfriend more than you ever have, and she’s even mentioned Johnny a few times; she’s a long-time fan, so she knows that they’ve worked together, that they’re from the same company, that they’re friends or at least friendly acquaintances.
The little demon of jealousy takes up residence in your chest again.
By the time you’re off of work, you’re boiling with jealousy. She literally jabbered about him for the rest of the shift, each word squirming its way beneath your skin. You need some way to vent your frustration and relieve yourself of jealousy.
You head to their apartment.
Doyoung isn’t there. You allow yourself to imagine that he’s still out riding his bike around the city, being charming and handsome and incredibly boy-ish today, flirting with all the pretty men and women he passes by. Jealousy settles low in your belly like a molten puddle.
And then your phone rings.
“Darling, where are you?” Doyoung asks, his voice bubbly and bright. “I know you just got off work but did you come home or go to your apartment?”
His question skims the top layer off of your jealousy. Home, he says, in opposition to your apartment, which should be the place you consider home, but more often than not lately you’ve been staying here at this apartment. Home, he says, and it feels right. This has started becoming your home as much as theirs.
“I’m at home,” you answer. “I was looking for you.”
Doyoung chuckles a little. “Alright, well I’ll be there soon. I’ve been running around the city picking up a few things for our date tonight.”
“Oh?”
He makes a little happy noise, like a hum. “I told you last night I wanted a date for just the two of us. I’ve actually been planning it in my head for a while, but with Johnny out of town tonight and neither of us with any plans tomorrow — you are off of work tomorrow, right?”
“I am.” And you’re already planning to stay in bed with Doyoung until late in the morning tomorrow. No alarms. No intentions of being anywhere else. Just bare skin and sheets and one of the men you love waking up to.
“Good, good,” Doyoung says chirpily. “I’ll be there soon, then we can get ready and go.”
You decide to shower to hopefully rid yourself of the coffee shop aroma that clings to you after a day of work. (Once after you pulled an exhausting double-shift at the cafe, Johnny had pulled you close and buried his nose in your hair, breathing in deeply, telling you how wonderful you smelled, like a fantastic cup of coffee.)
You’re still showering, in the process of shaving your legs, when you think you hear the apartment door open, think you hear Doyoung call your name. You shut off the shower and step out, reaching for a towel the exact moment that there’s a flicker of movement through the open door into the bedroom, and then Doyoung appears.
“Oh, sorry!” He spins around quickly, offering you a moment of privacy to cover up, as though he hasn’t already seen you naked many times at this point.
You wrap the towel around yourself. “I’m decent now, Doyoung. You can turn around, though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Doyoung is wearing a faint blush when he turns to face you. “I know, but I surprised you.”
He moves forward, leaning in to kiss you in greeting. You quickly lift your arms to his shoulders, curling your fingers against the back of his neck to keep him there, extending the kiss, which just makes Doyoung smile into the kiss.
“It was nice seeing you in the cafe today,” you tell him when the kiss eventually ends. “But I think you nearly made my coworker combust. She talked about you all day. She runs a fan account for you online, so I think today was probably one of her favorite days.”
Doyoung laughs softly. “I liked seeing you there. I see now why Johnny started coming in all the time. Nice atmosphere, good drinks and food. And there was this gorgeous woman there cleaning windows when I came in.” He smiles. “You know, I only remembered earlier while I was sitting there, but back when Johnny started going there, he told me there was a pretty barista who was so friendly that he was gonna have to go back to see her again. I figured he was just trying to make me jealous, because we were in a bit of a fight, but today I get it. You looked so comfortable and in your element, so adorable with your apron on, hair tied back, customer service smile on. Your eyes were sparkling. I think I fell a little harder for you, crazy as that may sound.”
He touches his fingers lightly to your cheek.
You can’t help yourself. You kiss him again.
Doyoung’s hands drift to your sides, clenching the towel between his fingers in a way that makes you think he wants to pull it off of you. After a moment his hands just settle on your hips, and he pulls his mouth away from yours, resting his cheek against yours.
“You should go get dressed. I have our date planned.” His voice is a little husky, filled with desire.
You brush your lips once more against his cheek, and then step around him, aiming for their closet.
A couple weeks ago, you came over one evening to find that Johnny had cleared a space for you in their closet. Just enough room for you to hang up some clothes, a drawer space for any folded clothes, and floor space to store your shoes. You’d hesitated for a few days before Doyoung had gotten tired of the hesitation; he’d taken your overnight bag from your hands, dragged you along to the closet, and he’d started hanging your clothes, folding them nicely to put in the drawers.
So now you’ve started a little wardrobe here in their apartment. Mostly it’s the clothes that you’ve stolen from them, the ones Johnny had gifted to you the morning after your first time with all three of you, and a few more outfits that you’ve felt were necessary to have here.
You dress in something cute. A skirt, a tank top, a light cardigan in case the date gets a little chilly, socks and some little white sneakers.
Doyoung waits patiently while you finish getting ready, watching you from where he’s sitting on the bathroom countertop, alternating between scrolling on his phone and looking at you.
Once you’re finally ready he sweeps you from the room with his arm around your waist, whisks you all the way out to the entryway of the apartment, and he stops.
“Wait right here.” He instructs you with hand motions, which would feel a little demeaning if he didn’t appear so cute and excited about this date. He rushes to the door, and he closes it behind him.
You wait for a moment, curious and confused. And then there’s a knock on the other side of the door. You open it.
A pretty bouquet of flowers is the first thing you see. Doyoung’s smiling face is the second.
Everything from that moment forward feels like a romcom. The pretty flowers (which smell fantastic, though you leave them in a vase in their kitchen), and Doyoung holding your hand, showing you to the bike which he parked inside the front door of the apartment building. It’s now got a basket filled with market bags mounted on the front, and Doyoung has you sit carefully behind him with your arms around his waist. He makes you wear a helmet too, and if he’d not also put one on and still been beaming with excitement, you’d have denied him.
Doyoung pedals you to a nearby park, taking you along paths towards the river until he finds the perfect spot. You stand nearby, enchanted and watching Doyoung carefully lay out a blanket beneath the shade of a tree, pull out the market bags, setting the contents on the blanket along with a small foldable table. Strawberries, cheese, grapes, cookies, some thinly sliced prosciutto, some chocolate. A bottle of wine and two plastic cups.
It’s sunny but not overly warm, a perfect day, a perfect date. You eat and talk and after a bit Doyoung lies back to take a nap, and you rest your head on his chest. It’s comfortable, relaxing.
You’re not certain that he actually falls asleep, but you doze off and on, and once you wake and stretch into a sitting position, you snack a bit more, then Doyoung points out shapes in the clouds. You cloud-gaze and people-watch. You talk about Johnny, talk about the cafe, talk about Doyoung’s upcoming album release. You’re still sitting there hours later as the sun begins to set, turning the sky tangerine and golden, shot through with lavender and pink.
Doyoung kisses your shoulder where the cardigan has slipped. You’re now sitting between his legs, your back to his chest, his hand resting casually yet possessively over your thigh. You’ve been taking photos and sending them in the group chat to Johnny.
The evening heat, the sips of wine, and your boyfriend’s touch light you up. Your head spins in the most delightful way.
“Doyoung—“
“Hm?” He kisses your shoulder again.
You tip your head back on his shoulder so you can see his face. “Tonight is wonderful. I love this, I —“
Your phone rings, Johnny’s face filling the screen.
Doyoung eagerly reaches up to answer it for you, switching to speakerphone immediately. “Hey, Jyani-yah,” he greets your boyfriend cutely, “We’re on a date.”
“I see that, it looks lovely.” Johnny’s voice is low, and Doyoung has known him longer, so he immediately picks up on something.
“What’s wrong? That sounds like your bad news voice.” Doyoung lifts the phone from your lap, bringing it closer to your heads. “What’s wrong?”
“I miss you both. I’m ready to be home.” Johnny sighs. “I have the festival tonight, and then my flight is supposed to be a bit after noon tomorrow.”
You latch onto that “supposed to” bit of what he said.
“Is it delayed?” You ask.
“Not really,” he sighs again, “The team just informed me earlier that there’s this really last minute opportunity in France. If I catch an early flight in the morning, I should land in time for the event. But it means being away from the two of you a bit longer.”
“What’s the opportunity?” Doyoung asks.
“Fashion week.” Excitement bleeds into Johnny’s voice, mixing strangely with the longing for being home. “They’ve invited me to attend some shows, walk the red carpet, DJ an after show party.”
“You should do it,” you tell him right as Doyoung suggests, “We can come, too.”
“Paris?” You look at Doyoung, surprised. “Tomorrow?”
The smile that had grown on Doyoung’s face fades. “You don’t want to go?”
The silence resounds.
“I want to go, but I have work, and travel is expensive, especially international travel.”
“Do you think you could get someone to cover your shift?” Johnny asks. “That coworker that you said knows about us? She’ll cover for you, right? Tell her I’m trying to whisk you away to a romantic weekend in Paris, how could she say no to that?”
Oh, you’re sure Lia could definitely say no to that.
“It’s expensive, Johnny.”
Doyoung takes your hand. “Do you not want to come?”
The way that he phrases that, you know that he’s already mentally planning for himself to go. He’ll leave you behind here if it means meeting up with Johnny for a night of romance in the CIty of Love. Part of you wants to tell him to go without you (and you mean it), but another part of you really, really would like to go too.
“I know that you told us you don’t want us buying you fancy gifts,” Johnny says over the phone, “But let us do this for you, baby. Let us gift you a romantic trip to Paris.”
“Let us treat you, sweetheart,” Doyoung pleads, lifting your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “Paris is meant for lovers, so it would be special for all three of us to be there.”
Johnny adds on, “Please? Doyoung meant to throw a please in there.”
You stand up suddenly, leaving Doyoung sitting on the picnic blanket, gazing up at you in surprise until you hold your hand down to him. “Come on. If we want to book our flights and have time to pack, we’d better head home.”
“Yeah?” Doyoung grins, jumping to his feet and lacing his fingers with yours. “You’ll come with me to Paris?”
“Yes!” Johnny cheers distantly. “I’ll have to ask the company to upgrade my room to a little bit nicer of a suite. Something separate from my manager. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
You lean against Doyoung to murmur into the phone, “See you tomorrow, Johnny.”
“Love you!” Doyoung calls.
After hurriedly packing up the picnic, you give Lia a call to beg her to cover your shift tomorrow. It takes most of the ride back to your apartment to convince her to take it, along with the promise of souvenirs to sweeten the deal. Doyoung helps you pack for the trip, offering up outfit opinions, giving suggestions for items you might want to bring as you whirl around your room throwing things into the suitcase.
You take advantage of the time Doyoung spends in the living room of your apartment booking the flights on his phone and contacting his manager to inform him that he’s taking a last minute trip to Paris Fashion Week. While he’s got his attention elsewhere, you pull out a pretty package you’d purchased recently, and you tuck it in the bottom of your luggage.
Once you’re sure you’ve got everything, and once all the travel details have been ironed out by Doyoung, you head back home to the other apartment. You leave your suitcase by the door, and while Doyoung packs, you decide to draw yourself a bath. You exfoliate and shave, and after you step out, you moisturize and wrap up in a stolen tshirt from one of your boyfriends, falling into bed for a sweet sleep.
You feel like a spoiled rotten Princess as you take in the Parisian skyline. The view from the hotel room is spectacular and charming. The suite behind you is nice too. Fancy, rich, and sleek. The room oozes wealth with a perfect blend of modernity and the traditional Parisian style that you might typically think of.
Johnny isn’t here yet. His flight won’t be getting in until right before the event begins, so he won’t have time to stop by here and get you and Doyoung. You’ll have to meet him at the after party.
But in the meantime, you’ve got to find a way to keep yourselves entertained.
Complimentary wine was cooling in a bucket of ice when Doyoung and you entered the suite. A tray of snacks, chocolates from the brand that Johnny was invited here by, a fancy card marked with his name in flowing script.
You and Doyoung sample the wine and the snacks. Doyoung entertains you by playing the piano in the room and singing to you. You journey down into the streets around the hotel, looking around in the cafes and shops – you buy Lia her requested souvenirs before returning to the hotel.
Doyoung locates a livestream of the red carpet for the Acne Studios show, and he streams it on the large TV in the suite.
When Johnny finally appears, you sit up straight, clutching at Doyoung, your mouth going dry and then instantly filling with saliva. God damn, Johnny looks good.
“He came straight off the plane looking like that?” You ask, unable to peel your eyes away from your boyfriend on the screen.
“His styling team was probably working on him in the car and in the staging area before the red carpet,” Doyoung explains in a tone just as awe-filled as yours. “I can’t wait to get my hands on him.”
You fully agree with that sentiment.
Johnny strides the red carpet exuding charm and Adonis-like beauty. He’s smiling with his eyes, waving and laughing, chatting casually and easily with the interviewers. God, if you didn’t already feel this way about him, you’d be head over heels, dazzled by him. Not to mention incredibly physically attracted to him as well.
It’s like the stylists had looked right into your fantasies when styling him.
A rich brown leather jacket is all that he wears on top, exposing his abs and pecs and collarbones. And you swear he’s actually highlighted, gleaming with a fine golden misting of glitter over every inch of his bared skin, but especially on the dips between his abs, along the attractive lines of his collarbones, and the tempting V of his hips.
The pants he wears are tight, but otherwise unremarkable, and the shoes they’ve got him in are heeled, accentuating and increasing his height.
But the entire time you’re watching the livestream of him on the red carpet into the show, you just can’t take your eyes away from the gleam of his golden skin.
You and Doyoung distract yourselves afterwards by ordering in room service while you get ready for the after party. You can barely eat, too excited thinking about the party and finally getting to see Johnny in his element. Too excited to be reunited with him after days apart.
The looks you and Doyoung go for are simple and unintentionally complimentary to Johnny’s. You spray Doyoung all over with a shimmery body mist that you’d brought — it does give him a pretty floral yet musky scent, while also giving him an overall silvery shine. Not that the shimmer matters much when Doyoung dresses in a cropped white button down that shows off just a sliver of silver skin at his waist, his slim wrists and hands glitter as well, and the glitter spreads to the black denim of his stylish jeans as he nervously brushes his hands across his thighs.
You wear a satiny deep blue almost sapphire dress with an open back and a tight fit and low cut in the front to show off your boobs. And you shower yourself in a combination of the two shimmery body mists you’ve brought from home — silver and gold, blending together on your skin.
“God damn,” Doyoung curses and covers his mouth when you step out into the main area of the suite. “You look gorgeous, darling. How are Johnny and I so lucky?”
You approach, laying your hand on his chest. “Honestly, I think I’m the lucky one, scoring both of you like I did.” You toy with the top button of his shirt, unfastening it while Doyoung is distractedly gazing at you. And then you undo another button, revealing a fraction more of his glittering skin, and as you work on the third, your boyfriend finally catches on.
“Hey! What—“
You kiss him, and that’s more than efficient at keeping him distracted as you undo just that third button, revealing his collarbones and a bit of his chest.
He whines a little bit as you pull away, his mouth chasing yours for a moment, his eyes still fluttered shut. “Don’t stop. You can’t just kiss me and start undressing me just to stop.”
You laugh, leaning in to drop another kiss to Doyoung’s lips. “I was restyling you, silly. If our Johnny looks sexy, and I think I look sexy, then you need to look just a bit sexier to make yourself really shine when you stand between us. You’re the real star, after all.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know if I’ve told you before or if you’ve noticed, but I kinda have a thing for collarbones, Doyoung.” You brush your fingers over the exposed triangle of his chest, the silver shimmer. “And seeing you like this in your sexy yet modest outfit, it’s doing something to me. Once we meet up with Johnny with all of his everything out for everyone’s eyes—“
Doyoung snickers.
You slide your hand up his chest and when you lightly press your palm to his throat, curling your fingers gently at the sides of his neck, you feel his Adam’s Apple bob. You drag your lips against the edge of his jaw and whisper, “We’re in the city of lovers, Doyoung. I want the pair of you to show me what that means.”
He swears, his voice tight, and his arms wrap around you. “If you don’t stop this right now, I’ll….”
“You’ll what?” You tease as his voice trails off into nothing. You take his earlobe between your teeth, lightly tugging.
A barely contained moan is all you get in response. You can feel his arousal growing, feel him pressing against your belly.
“Alright, fine,” you sigh, feeling like a tease when you fall away from him, dropping your hands to your sides as you back away towards the door of the suite. “I guess we’d better leave if we want to meet up with Johnny at the after party.” You turn away, grabbing your tiny bag from where you’d left it on a side table, and as you reach the door, you turn back to look at Doyoung.
He’s standing there with his face pinked, one of his hands covering the ghost of yours at his neck, the other hand has drifted to the front of his pants.
“Coming, Doyoung?” You call back as you walk forward, putting a little sway into your walk.
He catches up with you just before the elevator. Doyoung wraps his arms around you from behind, his chest flattened against your back, his erection nudging up against your ass. But there are other people in the elevator when the doors open, so he releases you, but walks closely behind you so your effect on him isn’t so visible.
By the time you reach the party, Doyoung has calmed himself down, no longer needing to use you as a shield to hide his erection. There’s not a red carpet or anything for this after party, but there is a crowd of spectators with phones out to see who is attending this party, and there are also paparazzi, so you and Doyoung walk several feet apart for the sake of his idol reputation, trying to make it look like you’re not here together.
It doesn’t take long for someone in the crowd to recognize him, though, and they cry out his name, snapping pictures, waving, excited at his unexpected appearance here in Paris. He approaches the fan, signing an autograph, taking photos, striking up a conversation with her. You continue on towards the entrance of the party since you have to look unattached.
You wait just out of sight of the crowd, but not yet fully stepping inside towards the security that stand there with their list of invitees.
When Doyoung rejoins you, sliding up beside you, his hand gliding over your lower back to usher you inside, he whispers, “The fan was saying Johnny’s already here. She said she wasn’t expecting to see me here, and she hopes that since we’re both here, it means we’re collaborating because she’s a fan of us both.”
“You should collaborate,” you agree.
“Mm, we will. Later, once we’re back at the hotel. There’s something we’ve been working on together.” Doyoung smirks a bit, and then he nudges you forward. “Let’s get inside.”
Once inside, you’re immediately swept up in awe at the place. The decor, the people, the clothes, food, drinks, and the music.
“There he is!” You can’t help squealing excitedly as soon as you lay your eyes on Johnny.
He’s on an elevated platform above the crowd, so he’s visible from everywhere within the venue. And although he’s dressed so simply now in a fitted black t-shirt with his hair loose and soft, he looks stunningly handsome. Gold shimmer still clings to his skin, caught in the lights.
Johnny is in his element, focusing on what he’s doing. He grabs a pair of headphones and puts them on, using them to push his hair back from his forehead a bit, leaving one side of the earphones off his ear so he can hear the feedback from the crowd.
God. He looks so hot right now.
“Damn, he’s hot,” Doyoung murmurs beside you. “Come on, let’s get closer.”
He slides his hand into yours, and you let him pull you forward into the crowd, though you can’t pull your eyes away from Johnny. There’s something so incredibly sexy about seeing him up there, seeing the focus and the pure enjoyment on his face as he does what he loves, as he feels the energy coming off the party attendees.
When you and Doyoung are lost somewhere in the middle-front of the crowd, Doyoung stops. He pulls you around in front of him, holding you there with your back against his chest while you both look up at your boyfriend. You move your body, dancing along to the beat of Johnny’s set, letting the music take over. Doyoung moves too, matching your movements, his hands on you.
You keep noticing Johnny’s eyes sweeping over the crowd, seeking out you and Doyoung probably. His gaze skips right over the pair of you more than once, and it’s only when you finally cry out, “Woo! Johnny!” during a very brief lull in the high-energy music that his gaze snaps towards you. A beaming grin appears as he finally spots you and Doyoung.
Johnny sends a wink your way, and then as he dives back into his focus, you swear there’s a new intensity to him, a heightened level of his effortless sexiness.
You dance with Doyoung until you can’t anymore, at which point he lets you drag him away to the bar. Someone recognizes him – a Japanese artist Doyoung has met before through industry connections – and they stand there chatting for a while as you drink and nibble on hors d’oeuvres. More people come up to talk, either because they know Doyoung, they recognize him, or because they simply want to know him.
After a while, you tire of sharing him.
There’s a little spike of jealousy as this gorgeous model-type woman keeps flirting with him, so you wrap yourself around his arm, lace your fingers through his, and tug gently. “Doyoung, let’s go see if we can get closer to DJ Johnny.”
The adoring look he turns on you evaporates any jealous feelings you had. He quickly bids farewell to the pouty model, and the pair of you make a beeline towards Johnny’s platform.
Johnny takes a break then, letting some pre-mixed music play to the afterparty as he quickly descends the stairs and throws himself at both of you.
Johnny smells of sweat and spicy cologne. He’s warm and damp as his arms come around you and Doyoung, crushing you both against his chest, but there’s no place you’d rather be in that moment.
You wrap your arms around his waist, bury your nose against his chest. You hear his laughter over your head, and Doyoung’s laugh comes in response.
“Come with me!” Johnny shouts to be heard over the music.
He guides you and Doyoung back down a hallway, and your ears ring, your blood throbbing still from the music even as the volume decreases significantly once Johnny pushes through one door and then another, into something of a green room. You spot his travel bag, his discarded outfit from the red carpet earlier, snacks and waters, champagne on ice.
Johnny twists his hand in the front of Doyoung’s shirt, pulling him close, and he crushes their mouths together.
Doyoung’s pretty hands rise to Johnny’s neck, to his cheeks, pushing his long fingers into Johnny’s hair. Soft moans emanate from Doyoung, and Johnny smiles into the kiss, clutching him closer.
You watch, satisfied with just standing back and watching your boyfriends consume each other hungrily. You’re very pleased when you realize that Johnny’s fingers are continuing your earlier work of attempting to unbutton Doyoung’s shirt even more.
It’s that that finally makes Doyoung back away, batting Johnny’s hands off. “Stop it, Suh! What is with both of you?”
You snicker, and Johnny looks your way, then he asks, “What did we do?”
You come closer to him as Doyoung steps back to focus on rebuttoning his shirt. “I may have been teasing him at the hotel before we left. Trying to get him to show a little more skin, trying to rile him up. I told him that I wanted him to look even sexier, to outshine you and I when he stands between us.”
Johnny makes a soft sound of disapproval. “You can’t honestly think that either one of us could outdo you, baby. Look at you.” He reaches for your hand, and once you slide your palm into his, Johnny lifts your hands, making you do a little spin before he tugs you right in against his chest. “Gorgeous, my love.”
Your heart thunders in your chest, heat rising under your skin.
My love, he called you.
My love. He’s looking you in the eyes.
My love. He kisses you, softer than he’d kissed Doyoung.
But that simple kiss sparks to life a hunger in you. You run your hands across Johnny’s chest, down over his abdomen in his tight-fitting t-shirt, dip your fingers beneath the hem so you can feel his skin beneath yours.
Johnny lets out a low moan, a hum of satisfaction as you spread your fingers, push your palm flat against his abs. And then, his fingers close around your wrist. Reluctantly, he pulls your hand out from beneath his shirt. He drops placating pecks to your lips. “I’m sorry, baby, as much as I would love to stay here and let you and Doyoungie devour me with those hungry, horny eyes of yours, I have to get back out there.”
You pout. “We can be quick.”
Johnny sharply shakes his head. “No, baby, we’re going to take our time tonight. I have to get back out there. Both of you, feel free to use this room to fuck out some of your frustration, but I’ll see you back at the hotel! I shouldn’t be any later than three or four o’clock!”
And before you can clutch him closer or argue, Johnny’s dipping out, slipping through the door.
As soon as he’s gone, you and Doyoung exchange looks.
“Doyoung….”
“I know,” he agrees without you even having to say what you’re thinking. And after a second’s pause, Doyoung speaks the exact words that you were thinking. “I just want him right now.”
“Right? Okay, I’m glad you’re feeling the same.” You sigh with relief, reaching over to grab Doyoung’s arm, drawing him closer. “He’s just exuding this energy tonight. I need him.”
Doyoung laughs. “I get it. Imagine you’re me, young and newly in love with Johnny, never having hooked up fully with him, and the company has him DJ for our Halloween party. He looked like this but he went dressed as a Greek god. I have been in this exact position before, darling, because he also wouldn’t leave his DJ position for long that night either. I did, however, drag him back to my dorm that night, bribe my manager to find somewhere else to be, and that was the first night Johnny and I fucked to the point of no return.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” You laugh, trying to picture Johnny all fucked out. He’s usually so put together, even after mind-blowing sex.
Doyoung smirks, a devilish gleam in his eye. “Usually Johnny’s a pretty big giver, right?” You nod. “Well, like I said, it was our first proper time going all the way, and I don’t think Johnny was expecting me to want as much from him as I did. I’m talking multiple rounds as close together as possible. I’m talking we had to change the sheets, disinfect a few surfaces around the dorm, and I ended up ordering a new mattress topper because we ruined the one I had. Like, if I was capable of becoming pregnant, it would have happened that night.”
Oh, so they fucked.
Doyoung’s fingers lightly brush your jaw, tilting your chin up until you raise your eyes to meet his. “I’m kinda hoping we can recreate all of that tonight.”
“Minus the pregnancy bit,” you say, “I’m fully on board with fucking to the point of no return.”
“Me too.” Doyoung strokes his thumb along your bottom lip. “Even if I have to personally drag our boyfriend’s ass away from that damn stage.”
Now that you’ve come to that agreement, you and Doyoung return to the party. The next couple of hours are spent mingling, drinking, dancing and making out in plain sight of Johnny.
When the clock strikes half past two, the vibes are starting to diminish. The crowd is dwindling, people heading out to other parties, though there are still quite a few people here. Not that you’re paying any attention to any of the other partiers; you and Doyoung are in the shadows.
You’d found a nice barely-private spot. A couple of chairs and a small table half-hidden behind a gauzy curtain. Doyoung hadn’t resisted when you dragged him over, when you pushed him down into one of the chairs, and when you started giving him a little bit of a lap dance (though it was mostly just sitting in his lap to make out and grind on him somewhat to the beat of whatever Johnny was playing).
His hands are groping your ass while you roll your hips and twist your tongue with his. He’s semi-hard, and you’re soaking your panties, moaning into the kiss and raking your fingers through his hair, working your hips a little more determinedly against the bulge in your boyfriend’s pants.
And then you hear someone loudly cough behind you.
You and Doyoung fly apart. You leap backwards right as Doyoung pushes you off of him.
Johnny laughs from where he stands a couple feet away, arms folded against his chest in a way that makes his arms look huge and also accentuates his pecs. “I gave you a whole room to use in the back, and you choose to fuck out here?”
“We weren’t fucking,” Doyoung denies, though his appearance makes that a bit tough to believe.
Doyoung looks visibly ruffled, his hair fucked, his shirt wrinkled, and the flush to his cheeks and the way he keeps his hands folded in front of his crotch make it fairly obvious that he’s been up to something.
“Sure, baby. You look good,” Johnny says with a smirk, not taking his eyes away from Doyoung. “Are you ready to head back to the hotel?”
“Yes, we’ve been waiting for you.” You slide your hand around his bicep, drawing yourself closer and pushing your body against his. “Even though it might not look like it. We’ve just been warming up.”
Johnny’s eyes gleam as he turns his attention to you now. “Warming up for me, huh?”
“Missed you. And you looked so sexy up there tonight, Johnny. Like genuinely…. I can’t even begin to describe what I was feeling while I was watching you up there. So hot.” You slide your hands down his arm, tugging his hand until his fingertips tuck beneath the bottom hem of your dress, and his eyes grow darker and his lips curl into a smirk as you guide his fingers to your panties, finding them wet.
Doyoung makes a softly displeased sound at being left out, and he rises to his feet, keeping his hands folded in front of him.
“Let's go,” Johnny growls hungrily. He passes his bag towards Doyoung, who gratefully holds it in front of himself as a more surreptitious way to hide his erection.
The car waiting outside the venue is a sleek black car, fancy enough that when Johnny opens the back door for you and Doyoung to slide inside, you see that it’s spacious and conveniently has a divider between the front seat and the back seat. Already your mind is spinning, plotting, fantasies whirling. Doyoung slides in first, taking the middle of the bench seat, you follow, and Johnny closes the door and walks around to the other door, taking Doyoung’s other side.
Doyoung manages to tell the driver the address of the hotel, and as soon as the man pulls off from the curb, Johnny hurriedly rolls up the divider between the front and the back.
To your surprise, Johnny somehow folds himself into the floorboard of the moving car, kneeling there in front of Doyoung, his fingers reach for the tented front of Doyoung’s pants.
“Fuck, Johnny,” Doyoung groans, pushing his fingers through his own hair while Johnny undoes Doyoung’s pants and frees his straining erection. “Right here?”
Johnny hums and nods. “Yeah I’m thirsty, Doyoungie. It’s been a while since I sucked you off, huh? And tonight you just look so delicious.” His thumb traces around the sticky tip of Doyoung’s cock. “And you’ve been hard all night, isn’t that right? Our baby teased you, kissing you, grinding on you?”
You feel heat flare in your belly. Johnny eyes flick momentarily towards you before he looks back up into Doyoung’s eyes. God, you think, are you really gonna sit here and just watch Johnny give Doyoung a handjob and head?
Johnny strokes his hand along Doyoung’s length, and beside you, Doyoung drops his head back with an audible moan that pitches into a whine when Johnny fits his lips around the pink head.
“Shh, Doyoung,” you whisper, trailing your hand over his chest. “You don’t want the driver to catch us, do you?”
Another cut off moan, Doyoung’s eyes roll a bit, hips rising off the seat to meet the heat of Johnny’s mouth as the elder starts to go for it, bobbing his head.
You pinch Doyoung’s chin and jerk his face towards yours before you seal your lips over his, kissing him quiet. Of course, it’s not a perfect method, you can still feel his moans vibrating over your tongue and beneath the hand still resting on his chest. And each time that Johnny swallows around him, Doyoung’s sounds grow in intensity.
And then you feel Johnny’s hand first at your ankle, sliding up your calf and past your knee, fingers skimming along your inner thigh beneath the skirt of your dress.
“Can’t leave you out, baby,” Johnny murmurs, “You want my fingers?”
“Yes, Johnny,” you sigh, squirming in your seat as his fingers brush your panties. “Touch us both.”
Doyoung’s mouth slides over yours, both of you softly moaning as Johnny continues to jerk Doyoung off and touch you over your panties. Johnny knocks a kiss to your knee. “What do you say, baby? How do you ask nicely?”
First of all, Doyoung didn’t ask at all, and Johnny gave it to him. So why do you have to ask? That’s not fair.
You reach for his hand, grasping his wrist, but the moment you do, you feel Johnny’s teeth against the softness of your thigh.
You gasp and jerk back from Doyoung’s lips to glare down at the boyfriend on the floor. “Hey!”
“Behave.” Johnny levels you with a stern look that has your core melting. “Ask me nicely for what you want, baby.”
“Please, Johnny,” you whine softly, releasing your grip on his wrist. “Please, touch me. Touch me like you’re touching Doyoung.”
Doyoung leans over, mouth connecting with your throat. Johnny continues jerking Doyoung off, but now his lips trail kisses on the bare skin just above your knee, and he slides his fingers inside your panties, dipping into your wetness gathered there.
“Fuck, mmm.” You roll your hips to meet the glide of his fingers over your clit, sending desirous sparks coursing through your veins, before he lowers his fingers, thrusting them inside you.
Doyoung lifts his mouth back to yours, now taking his turn to silence you by sucking your tongue into his mouth. And when Johnny’s lips leave your skin, when Doyoung’s moans pick up in frequency once more, you know that Johnny’s gone back to sucking Doyoung’s cock, still dedicatedly fingering you at the same time.
It’s so good, you love this moment, this feeling of being so intertwined with your boyfriends.
You run your fingers through Doyoung’s hair, dip your hand inside the unbuttoned top of his shirt so you can tease your thumb over his nipples. You can feel Doyoung’s desperation rising, and the man has been aroused all evening, so you’re not really surprised to find him so quickly shooting towards his peak. Even when Johnny pulls his mouth away, returning to grace your skin with the wet heat of his lips, that is only a slight respite for Doyoung, pulling him back from the edge only slightly until Johnny’s intoxicating mouth returns.
When Doyoung does cum, you can feel it approaching. His body tensing, the vibrations of his moans and the sounds of them escape in short bursts. You break the kiss, forcing yourself to bite your own lip as Johnny curls his fingers just right inside you,but you can’t even focus on your own climax at the moment. You want to play witness to Doyoung cumming down Johnny’s throat in the backseat of a car as it races through the streets of Paris.
You slap your hand over Doyoung’s mouth, muffling his moans.
His eyes are closed, his face and chest flushed, his hair is curling and fucked from your fingers. Every bit of his outfit is askew. He’s gorgeous, a sweet morsel that you wish you could take on your tongue too, but for the moment, you’re satisfied by looking down at Johnny’s puffy lips stretched around Doyoung, his fingers working the base, and his eyes are set on Doyoung’s face too as Doyoung’s hips rock off the seat, his head tips back, his chest rising and falling, abdomen flexing, and the palm you’ve got pressed over his mouth can only do so much to conceal the force of his moan as Doyoung’s climax crashes through him, as he spills his cum across Johnny’s tongue.
Johnny watches Doyoung’s face as he swallows the pulses of semen, slowly bobbing his head and milking his hand along Doyoung’s length to get it all.
His fingers have stopped moving so much inside you, but you don’t mind for the moment.
This is about Doyoung. Not about you, not about Johnny. It’s about what Doyoung needs.
You peel your hand away from his lips, instead pressing a soothing kiss. “Was that good, Doyoung?”
He hums, nodding. He doesn’t open his eyes yet as he slumps against the seat.
Johnny pulls off, licking his lips, and he laughs a bit softly to himself as he tucks Doyoung away, refastening his pants and doing his best to make Doyoung look semi-presentable, though he’s still definitely ruffled and flushed, looking like he just got his soul sucked out of his dick. Johnny leans up, pecking Doyoung on the lips with a kiss.
No sooner has Johnny pulled back from that brief kiss, than the car rocks to a halt, shutting off as the driver puts it in park. There’s a knock on the divider, and the muffled sound of the man saying, “We’ve arrived.”
The cool night air washes relievingly over your skin as you step out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Doyoung does indeed still look fucked as he follows you out, attempting to straighten his rumpled shirt, smoothing a hand over his hair. Johnny strides out, grinning cockily, a bit of swagger in his step as he swings his arms to drape around you and Doyoung’s shoulders.
Still like that, with his arms draped around both of you, Johnny steers you into the elevator. You push the button for your floor, and as you settle back against Johnny’s side, he kisses you. A long, languid kiss that steals your breath. And while you’re still drunk on it, he leaves you to kiss Doyoung in exactly the same way.
Fuck.
Your panties are still soaking wet, sticking to your pussy in a way that should maybe feel uncomfortable, but rather makes you even more excited.
Once in the suite, you’re eager to continue, ready to pick up from where you left off in the car.
Doyoung drags Johnny towards the fancy four-poster bed, and together your boyfriends climb on, still fully dressed as they collapse against each other. Doyoung settles on top of Johnny, pulling him into a kiss.
You stand at the foot of the bed, and for a moment you consider just waiting there and watching, excited to see the pair of them in action. But then you remember that Doyoung literally just reached orgasm in the car, and you were left near the edge. Plus, you have a gift you wanted to show off to your boyfriends.
You let your dress pour off of you, and when you stand there in only your heels, your jewelry, and the lingerie that you specifically brought along on this trip for exactly this purpose, you cough a bit to get their attention.
Johnny is the first one who looks your way. Doyoung is busy mouthing at Johnny’s throat when Johnny curses and groans. Then Doyoung turns, and both of your boyfriends look at you, awe-filled and ravenous.
The lingerie set fits you perfectly. Thin lace cups hug your tits, making them look fantastic. The matching panties are the finest lace that is probably ruined by how wet you are right now, and so fragile that you’re honestly surprised that Johnny pulling them aside to finger you in the car didn’t tear them.
“C’mere, sweetheart.” Doyoung sits up, extending a hand towards you.
You approach the bed. You slide your hand into Doyoung’s, and then you climb into bed, moving on your knees until you’re kneeling above both of your boyfriends, the pair of them gazing up at you like you’re a goddess they can’t wait to worship.
“Kiss me,” you demand, and when Johnny sends you a sharp look, you tack on a quick, “Please?”
They kiss you at the same time, and you love the thrill of a three-way kiss, how it feels to all three be kissing each other at the same time, the way that the heat builds in the space between your bodies like you’re a braided wick on a ticking time bomb.
Johnny’s hands move along your thighs, aiming to grab your ass. Doyoung’s hand covers your belly, moving higher towards your tits. Your hands clutch at Johnny’s biceps, Doyoung’s chest, slip around to grope both of their asses. Their hands wander on each other too – Doyoung at once point slides his hand inside Johnny’s pants; Johnny gets a handful of Doyoung’s ass while you’re busy squeezing the other cheek. Mouths wander too. Johnny’s lips on the bared triangle of Doyoung’s chest; Doyoung’s mouth leaving behind his mark on your throat; you kiss and lick along Johnny’s jawline, down his throat, along the defined line of his clavicle, tasting his sweat and glitter on your tongue.
You all three spend quite a while exploring each other’s bodies, touching and kissing. Layers come off of your boyfriends – Doyoung’s shirt vanishes but the pants remain, while Johnny loses everything but his underwear and socks. It’s all bare skin on skin, lips on lips, hands on asses and chests.
You find yourself straddling Johnny while halfway lying down, making out with him and slowly grinding against the growing bulge in his underwear. Doyoung is behind you, busy marking you up while he plays with your boobs which he has freed somewhat by pulling down the barely-there cups of the bra, and he’s circling his hips against the swell of your ass.
It’s one particularly well-timed thrust from Johnny at your front and Doyoung at your back that brings about an explosive moan from you.
You clutch Johnny’s arms, throwing your head back against Doyoung’s shoulder.
“Shit, baby, that was quite the reaction.” Johnny teases, rolling his hips forward again. “Gonna cum just from Doyoung and I humping you?”
You could. God, if they push you much further, you will. You squeeze his biceps.
“Yeah?” Doyoung asks, lowering his head to nip at the curve of your shoulder. He pushes his erection forward into the cleft of your ass. “Gonna ruin this pretty little outfit, darling?”
You shiver with delight.
Doyoung does that move again, thrusting his bulge against your ass, between your cheeks which are spread just right so that when he does it one more time, you let out another sharp moan that has you now tipping your head forward to hide your face against Johnny’s chest.
Doyoung pauses. “Johnny, I–” He rolls his hips forward experimentally again, and there’s your muffled moan against Johnny’s bare chest; there’s exactly what Doyoung was expecting to find. “Johnny, I think our naughty girl is wearing a butt plug.”
Heat rushes through you, fiery as if your blood is gasoline and Doyoung’s words were the spark.
“What?” Johnny’s voice rings with genuine surprise.
They both move at the same time, and suddenly you’re face-down in the mattress while your boyfriends kneel over you and drag your lace panties to the side to expose your ass and the cute little butt plug peeking out from between your cheeks.
“Holy fuck.” Johnny’s hand is hot when he smacks it against your ass cheek, making it jiggle and your hole tighten around the plug. “Baby? A plug?”
You make a sound even you don’t entirely understand.
Doyoung hand is gentler on the other side of your ass, fingers pressing in so he can better spread your cheeks, so he can get a better look. “Damn, when did you do this, you dirty girl? I’ve been with you all day.”
You turn your head to the side, looking back over your shoulder at both of them. “On the plane.”
“On the plane.” Johnny repeats, his eyes looking a bit dazed as he continues staring at the plug and your pretty second hole.
Doyoung licks his lips. “When?”
“You were sleeping,” you explain. “And I’ve had plans for how I want this little vacation to go. Hence the lingerie. And I want to have you both inside me, so I did a bit of prep. I was under a blanket, pretty much everyone in the cabin was sleeping, so I had a little bottle of lube and I just had a little fun.”
“Did you cum?” Johnny asks, his voice a growl.
“Yes. It was so hard to keep quiet.” You squirm when Johnny touches the end of the plug, gently pulling it out just a tiny bit, just enough that he can watch your tight hole suck it back in. “Ah, I was thinking of this.”
“Thinking of what, exactly?” Johnny plays with the plug again. “Tell Doyoung and I exactly what you were thinking of, my love.”
The warmth in your chest is something separate from the rest of the heat burning inside you. My love, he called you, and damn you want to call him that, call Doyoung that, tell them both how you’re feeling. But now isn’t really the right moment for that. They’re in Lust Mode. They want to hear about you fingering your own asshole on a plane.
“I was thinking about you fucking me doggy style, each of you taking turns fucking my ass.” You wiggle your butt a little.
Johnny’s hand comes down hard and fast, and the sting of his palm is white hot lighting shooting through you. Your pussy is dripping, ass clenching around the plug, heart pounding.
“I had both hands beneath the blanket on the plane,” you admit, “Fingering my pussy and my ass, and when I came it was one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever given myself. I snuck off to the bathroom to slide the plug in, clean up a little, and wash my hands. Doyoung, you were awake when I got back, and I wanted to tell you what I’d done, but I also wanted it to be a surprise.”
Doyoung swallows and nods. “I’m surprised.”
“You’re a bad girl, baby, that’s what you are.” Johnny smacks his hand lightly right against the end of the plug. Your whole body jolts. “Maybe Doyoung and I should punish you. You’ve clearly already had so much fun, so I think we should have fun.”
“But, in the car–” you start, but Johnny cuts you off.
“That was for Doyoung. Maybe it’s my turn to have something.” Johnny rubs his hand soothingly over the still tingling imprint of his hand on your ass. “Maybe I should fuck your pretty bottom, baby, but not let you cum?”
You whine and push your ass into his hand, squirming to seek friction.
To your surprise, it’s Doyoung that spanks you now, a quick snap of his hand against your skin.
“Or maybe,” Doyoung suggests to Johnny, “Maybe you open me up? Fuck me, hyung?”
Johnny curls his hand against the back of Doyoung’s head, and their mouths meet in a ferocious kiss until Johnny breaks away, saying, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
You’re excited, thrilled about how this scenario is playing out.
Johnny leaves the bed, fetching his belt from his bag which Doyoung had quickly dumped beside the door. He returns, takes your wrists, and binds them together with the belt behind your back to keep you from touching yourself. He leaves you with a gentle kiss and an inquiry as to where you hid your bottle of lube, which he then digs out of your carry-on and returns to the bed once again.
Doyoung has stripped the bed of the duvet cover to avoid making it messy. He’s ditched his pants and underwear at last, and leans back among the plush pillows with his hand lazily stroking his erection as he awaits Johnny.
Once again, you and Doyoung have eyes only for Johnny.
He looks feline, a predator cat as he stalks towards the bed, prowling over the sheets until he settles between Doyoung’s legs.
You watch from the side, sitting there with your arms bound behind your back, and you’ve got your knees up, feet spread just enough that you feel you might still be able to tempt Johnny to abandon this punishment and shower you with his attention instead. But despite your solid attempt, your distraction doesn’t work. You have a front row seat as Johnny pushes Doyoung’s thighs a little wider, and he dives in.
Obviously, you’ve watched Johnny eat you out before, watched the way that he buries himself between your legs and loses himself in the taste of your pussy. But you’ve never seen him eat Doyoung’s ass before. You’ve only once watched him spread lube on his fingers and slowly finger Doyoung open, and now you sit here eagerly anticipating a repeat performance.
Doyoung, to his credit, tries to keep his hands above his head, tries not to touch. But around the time that Johnny gets three fingers inside Doyoung, which is about the same time as Doyoung’s knees are drawing towards his chest and his toes are curling, Doyoung loses the battle of not touching himself.
His hand flies along his cock as you glimpse Johnny’s pink tongue trace around Doyoung’s pink hole, fingers disappearing into Doyoung’s depths.
Doyoung cums (again) with a cry, his cum pooling on his belly.
Your pussy is throbbing, both of your holes desperate to be filled, and you long to kiss one or both of your boyfriends, or to at least be allowed to clean up Doyoung’s spent cock, maybe to suck on Johnny’s fingers if he’ll let you.
You whimper as Johnny sits up, as he reaches down to push down his underwear.
His big cock springs free, and he runs his lubed-up and spit-slick hand over his length. “Doyoung?” Johnny taps Doyoung’s knee. “Do you still want hyung to fuck you?”
Doyoung moans and nods, making a noise that’s just kinda “mhnng” and which turns into a clear “yes, Johnny” when Johnny taps the head of his cock against Doyoung’s stretched entrance.
“Be a good boy.” Johnny pats Doyoung’s knee. “I want you to get hard again, okay? Then I’ll let you fuck our girlfriend while I fuck you, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Doyoung nods, turning his head to the side to look at you. His eyes sparkle. Hunger lights him up from the inside out, though you can see that his two orgasms are already rubbing him a little raw, but surely he can manage another.
The sounds Doyoung makes when Johnny slides his big cock into him are pathetic in the most scintillating way. He’s slipping, you can tell, into a more submissive role – whining and moaning and whimpering Johnny’s name as Johnny quickly picks up the pace fucking Doyoung. And Doyoung reaches for his softened cock in the puddle of his own cum, and you watch him tease his fingers around the tip, watch as his cock slowly blushes again, growing harder in his hand while Johnny drills into him with powerful thrusts that shake the whole bed.
“Fuck, Doyoung, you’re so tight,” Johnny moans, “I know it’s been a little bit since I fucked you, but damn, babe. Hyung’s gonna have to fuck you more, huh?”
Doyoung whimpers and nods, fisting his half-hard erection.
“But what about our girlfriend?” Johnny asks, slowing his thrusts suddenly, making Doyoung cry out and lift his hips, trying to fuck himself on Johnny’s cock in a way that’s so familiar to you because you do that every time that you have Johnny inside you.
Johnny looks over at you, his eyes are hot coals raking over all your bare skin, the pretty red lingerie that’s still there although it’s tugged out of place, leaving your hard nipples and your wet pussy and the butt plug open to his sight. Johnny groans, burying himself inside Doyoung and circling his hips, grinding in against a spot that has Doyoung keening.
“If I’m fucking you all the time to keep you loose, Doie, then who’s gonna fuck our pretty baby?” Johnny pulls back, sliding away from Doyoung entirely.
If you thought the sounds Doyoung made were pathetic before, now they truly are as his empty hole flutters around nothing. His fingers press in, trying to fill the empty space left by Johnny, but you look away from that sight as soon as you realize that Johnny is facing you.
“I think you’ve waited long enough, baby. Do you want Doyoungie to fill you while I finish fucking his ass?” Johnny’s hands close around your ankles, and he tugs, making you slide across the sheets on your ass towards him. “Do you want to?”
You nod.
Johnny’s hand slides between your legs, and you only feel the slightest tinge of disappointment when Johnny tears your panties to give him easy access. His eyes meet yours with an unspoken promise to buy you more, but all is forgotten the moment that his fingers glide right through your arousal, pressing smoothly inside your wet pussy.
You drop your head back with a moan.
“Use your words, my love. How many times have I got to tell you that I want to hear your pretty voice tell me what you want?” Johnny slowly moves his fingers, teasing you.
“Please, Johnny. Please, can I have Doyoung’s cock?” You cry out, bucking your hips.
Johnny curls his fingers, pressing against your spongy G-spot. Sparks dance across your vision for a moment before Johnny tears himself away from you. “Good girl. Yes, you can.”
He reaches around you, first unfastening the clasp of your bra so it falls loose, then he undoes the belt binding your hands together, and as soon as you’re free of the belt and the bra, you move across the bed. You straddle Doyoung, reaching back to take hold of his cock, guiding his nearly fully erect cock to your dripping pussy.
It takes a bit of repositioning as Johnny slides back into place.
He pushes you forward gently with a hand between your shoulders. Your legs slide under Doyoung’s as he lifts his knees again, opening himself up for Johnny to be able to enter him again.
You sink down on Doyoung as Johnny pushes into Doyoung. All three of you moan in unison. Your bodies move in rhythm, in sync. The rolling of hips, brushing of skin on skin, hands wandering over bodies.
And then Johnny takes hold of the end of the plug still buried in your ass, and he starts to pull it out, then thrust it back in, again and again he does this in time with his own thrusts inside of Doyoung who is quickly growing to full hardness inside your pussy. He’s whining and blushing, his nipples hard, his eyes damp as tears leak from the corners of his eyes, but between pathetic moans, Doyoung murmurs, “So good, so good, baby. I’m gonna cum.”
Johnny leans forward, his chin against your shoulder, his cheek against yours, and both of you watch Doyoung falling apart beneath you. You bounce on his cock, Johnny thrusts relentlessly inside him. You can feel your own orgasm approaching, and you imagine that Doyoung who has already had two orgasms wrung out of him will hit his climax soon too, spilling inside of you this time.
You run your hand along his bare chest, dragging your nails over his sensitive nipples on your way to his neck.
Doyoung’s eyes flutter shut when you curl your hand against his throat, fingers applying just the perfect amount of pressure to the sides.
Johnny keeps up his pace, pushing his cock into Doyoung, pushing the plug into you. He reaches around you, fingers finding your clit right as he bites at your earlobe, his voice low against your ear when he says, “Cum for us, my love. Cum for Doyoung, then you can cum again for me.”
You’ve been so tightly wound since having his fingers inside you in the car that all it takes now is his permission to cum. You let go, and the climax spirals through you.
Your hand tightens on Doyoung’s throat, cries of his name pour from your lips as you roll your hips recklessly on his cock, chasing that high, needing to feel him release inside you too. And it’s the combination of your pussy pulsing around him, your hand on his throat, Johnny nailing his prostate, and the sight of the two of you intertwined above him that finally sends Doyoung into his third orgasm of the night.
You’re still reeling, dizzy from the pleasure when Johnny drags the plug fully out of you, tossing it aside before he plunges into you.
There’s something even more arousing in knowing that he just left Doyoung’s warm hole and is now fucking yours. Johnny’s arms surround you, holding you up against his chest while he fucks into you, and whether you’re already cumming again or whether it’s just one continuous orgasm, you don’t know, but the pleasure keeps coming.
You have both of your boyfriends inside you. Doyoung is a moaning mess beneath you, dripping with sweat and cum and tears. Johnny’s sweaty chest and thighs and arms and cheek, his panting breath, the heavy scent of his arousal and sweat and cologne cloud around you.
He’s moaning against your ear, your name and Doyoung’s and swearing that he’s about to cum.
You’re on Cloud 9, blissed out beyond belief when the final wave of your orgasm rolls through you. Johnny pushes in deep, and he floods your insides with the heat of his release.
You collapse against Doyoung when Johnny lets go so he can pull out of you. Doyoung just simply wraps his arms around you, holding you close. Johnny falls beside you, leaning in to kiss you and then Doyoung, murmuring praises that you can’t handle comprehending right now. Your heart is thundering in your chest, sweet cooking in your skin, and so much heat is still trapped between your body and Doyoung’s as you both come down from your highs.
Johnny recovers first, getting out of bed, he walks out to the bathroom. You don’t feel like moving, and surprisingly, neither does Doyoung.
“Too tired to shower even though I know I’m filthy,” Doyoung mumbles, barely able to get the words out. His eyes stay closed.
Johnny returns, and you whine as he gently pulls you away from Doyoung, as he effortlessly lifts you from the bed. He carries you in his arms to the bathroom.
“Again,” he says softly, “I’m never gonna make you walk to the bath I’ve drawn you after amazing sex like that.” He kisses your shoulder. “But you’ve got to, yknow, piss and clean up a bit. Healthwise.”
Johnny carefully sits you on your feet in front of the toilet, then he turns and leaves the room again, giving you the privacy to pee, and then you walk over to the large jacuzzi tub. The water is warm and soothing as you slip into the tub.
Again, there are no lights turned on in the bathroom. There are elaborate candelabras with tall tapers that Johnny has lit. There is also a window set in one wall, providing enough ambient lighting to see by as Johnny carries Doyoung into the bathroom too. Doyoung is laughing when Johnny deposits him beside the tub.
“I know you too well to let you not clean up before bed, after sex.” Johnny pats Doyoung’s ass. “Now get in.”
It’s so nice to take a warm bath, to relax for a bit in a bath with your two boyfriends. Thank God the tub is big enough. Johnny breaks out the bottle of champagne the brand had gifted him, and the three of you drink bubbly in a bubble bath in Paris with your limbs tangled together beneath the water.
And because everything feels so good, feels so right, you just let what happens happen.
“I love you,” you confess, looking around at both of your boyfriends.
Doyoung smiles, encouraging.
Johnny’s eyes light up, and he can’t look away from you.
One of them rubs their leg against yours beneath the bubbles, and you say, “I know I didn’t say it back the other night, and I know that I talked about feeling hesitant to say it, but I feel it. I really do. I’ve been feeling it since we met. The night of our first date, Johnny, I was sitting there in your bathroom, in the bath you’d drawn for me, thinking that I could easily and happily fall in love with you, Johnny. And Doyoung, that night after the wedding, God, you amazed me, and I woke up the next morning, looked at your face, and I think a part of me knew then already that I was going to fall hopelessly in love with you, Doyoung.”
Johnny lifts a hand from the water, brushing bubbly fingers against your cheek. He says your name so tenderly, so filled with emotion that you have to take a long sip of your champagne to keep yourself in check. “I love you. I truly don’t know what my life would be like without you as a part of it. Don’t shy away from me, baby,” he strokes his thumb across your cheek again and says, “I’ve loved you for a long time.”
“Me too,” Doyoung speaks up, bumping his foot against your leg. “I love you, too. I said it the other night, and I mean it with my entire being. I thought my heart was full when I met Johnny, but the night that we met, I saw your smile and heard your laugh, and I realized so suddenly that you were the piece of us that I never even knew was missing, a piece of my heart that walked into my life, already acquainted with the rest of my heart.”
Doyoung takes your hand, pulling it to his lips. He kisses your knuckles lightly. Johnny kisses the side of your head.
You laugh. “Oh, God, are we cheesy or what? Making love confessions on a romantic trip to Paris?”
Doyoung slides closer. “I like cheesy romance. Are we a romantic comedy, darling?”
Johnny chuckles and kisses the top of your head again. “It’s your first time in Paris, baby, you’re allowed to indulge in the cliches.”
The rest of the bath consists of your boyfriends pulling you in, kissing you and touching you, all three of you laughing and teasing each other for being romantics.
You’re in love, surrounded entirely by it. It’s this cast pink love-heart shaped bubble, impenetrable and full of bliss.
You spend half of the following day in bed with them. All three of you take each other apart, pulling orgasms from each other. Doyoung rides Johnny at one point, gorgeous in the mid-morning light, and in a 180° from the night before, Johnny lets Doyoung do what he wants, to use Johnny for his pleasure.
The three of you fuck until the room is stuffy and musty, and you all feel gross and satiated and purely in love.
There’s napping and showering and then Doyoung decides that you all need to leave the room for a bit, explore what Paris has to offer while the hotel’s cleaning service unfortunately tidies up the room and changes the sheets.
“Tip them well,” he tells Johnny as you exit the room. “I barely want to touch those sheets, and we’re the reason they’re in such a state.”
You go shopping, stop in bakeries. Johnny insists on checking out some art galleries. Doyoung stops to listen to any busking singers, impressed by most of them. You take pictures, lots of pictures of everything, every place and every smile, trying to capture every laugh you share with your boyfriends in Paris.
The whole day has this light glow to it, a shine as if it’s already a memory encased in glass even while you’re living it. A happy memory to hold forever, a perfect day when you’re so totally and completely in love with Doyoung and Johnny.
<- previous || next ->
a/n: thank you so much for reading! I'm really hoping to wrap this story up soon because I've got the next chapter written, and the end of the story is still kinda up in the air. I have a few ideas and apparently only a month left to get it completely written. Thank you so much to those of you that have been reading and supportive of this fic. Luckily Johnny and Doyoung are providing me ample content to keep feeding my JohnDo fantasies (like them with a baby!! Are you kidding!! I was dying watching that whole video of them with Yijin!!)
As always, please like, comment, reblog, and let me know what you think! This fic is like lmao one of my worst performing ones, but I'm really enjoying writing it, so (again) thank you!
Neither Doyoung or Johnny seem to mind that you spend almost every night at their place after putting a label on it. You pretty much go home only long enough to change clothes or pick up fresh ones to take to their place, to check your mail or pick up packages.
Some mornings you’ll catch a ride to work with Doyoung when his manager comes to pick him up for a schedule, or Johnny will drive you — he always drops you off down the block and then arrives through the front door of the cafe as soon as you’re open for business.
“You’re not as sneaky as you think,” Lia whispers one morning when she catches you and Johnny smiling at each other.
Guiltily, you whip around to face her. “What?”
She rolls her eyes as she carefully creates a gorgeous milk foam cat atop a cappuccino. “A couple weeks ago, you couldn’t even look at him because you were so pissed off that he was a cheater. Now you can’t take your eyes off of him. You both keep smiling and glancing at each other, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you whispering to him when you go out there to wipe down tables and stock the bar.” She waves a hand at the bar stocked with napkins and coffee cup lids for customer use.
Damn. Have you really been that obvious?
When you glance at Johnny now, he’s got his bulky headphones pulled up, his fingers busy on his laptop keyboard and the launchpad he uses for music production.
Lia snorts a laugh, noticing your distraction. She pushes the cappuccino across the counter to the waiting customer, and then she rounds on you. Lia levels you with a look, her hands planted on her hips as she says, “As your friend, I’m kinda hurt that you haven’t been spilling every nasty little detail to me. I need to know what happened between a few weeks ago and today. Everything.”
Well, you’re not sure that you can tell her everything. That could get messy if any big details of your unconventional relationship get out. But as your shift passes by, you do fill Lia in on the developments with Johnny. You explain that it was just a misunderstanding that first night and that things are going well, you whisper sordid details to her when the two of you step into the back of the shop, and she actually spills a carton of oatmilk and gasps loud enough to draw even Johnny’s attention when you quietly confess to her that you’ve had a threesome with him.
“Who are you?!” She quickly mops up the puddle of spilled milk with her apron. “The girl I’ve known since you started here would never! Oh, God. Casual hookups are one thing, but shit, I didn’t think you had it in you to do anything so… so… un-vanilla, honestly.”
You laugh, glancing in Johnny’s direction.
He’s leaning back in his chair, headphones around his neck now, stretching his arms overhead and looking at you and Lia. You wink, and he smiles, returning his attention to his laptop.
“What can I say, Lia, he brings out a new side to me.” Which is true. Before Johnny, you never would have hooked up in a public restroom. Before Johnny and Doyoung, you’d never considered a threesome before, and now it's just normal to you to share everything between the three of you. Not that you don’t sometimes fuck around with one of them without the other, and you know they’ve still got their time with one another too. You’ve come home to witness the aftermath of your boyfriends both naked in bed, lube and condoms and a pink handprint on Doyoung’s ass in the shape of Johnny’s hand.
“You’re happy with him, though, right?” Lia asks a few hours later as you’re reaching the end of your shift.
Johnny left a couple hours ago. He came up to the register to order a few lattes before he headed into the studio to meet with an artist he was producing a track for. He’d told you goodbye, that he’ll miss you as he flies out for Thailand after the studio meeting. His fingers had lingered against yours when you passed him the receipt, a curling touch that sparked along your fingers and left them tingling with the ghost of his touch even until now.
“I am happy,” you reassure your friend. “From that first night with him, I knew he was someone I could see myself being happy with. I’m just glad that the misunderstanding got all worked out.”
Lia nods and then goes quiet for a moment as you step away to help a customer at the register. When you turn back to her, she cocks her head a bit, watching you closely and curiously as she asks, “What about the guy you met at the wedding? I thought you liked him. Weren’t you going on a second date with him?”
Oh. Shit. You forgot you’d told her about Doyoung. You’d not gone into a whole lot of detail, just that you met someone at your cousin’s wedding, things went great, that you spent the night in the hotel with him and grabbed breakfast the following morning, that you’d planned that second date. And then you’d not told her anything else about him, and she hadn’t asked until now.
“Interesting.” She smirks a little. “That’s an interesting reaction you’ve got. A curious expression on your face. More secrets?”
“Lia—“
She shakes her head, a small smile still playing on her lips. “It’s fine. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Or when I figure out what that look on your face means.”
She walks away and doesn’t inquire any more into your love life for the rest of the shift. But you’re still thinking about her inquisitiveness hours later when you’re at your apartment, planning to spend the night in your own bed for once. Neither Doyoung or Johnny will be at their apartment tonight, and while they would probably tell you that you’re welcome to stay there, you don’t want to sleep alone in their big bed or wander around their large empty apartment.
So instead you’re curled up with a blanket on your sofa, bingeing a show. Well, the show is on, but you’re barely watching, lost in your thoughts of Johnny at a festival in Thailand, Doyoung in another city for a variety show shoot.
I miss you, you text in the groupchat.
Neither of them respond, which dings your heart a little even though you know they’re both busy. You let the lack of response spiral you downwards a bit as you stare blankly at your TV with your phone gripped in your hand. Intrusive thoughts whisper doubts of your value in this relationship.
And then your phone buzzes.
Doyoung: I hoped the shoot would end early so I could come home to you tonight. I miss you too.
And again from Doyoung: date night tomorrow night? Just us before Johnny comes home?
And just like that, your emotions are lifted from that deep hole you’d sunk so quickly into. You also realize where you are in your cycle, that your hormones have had you in an up-and-down funk these few days leading up to your period.
You and Doyoung text back and forth for a bit about plans for when he gets back in the city tomorrow, he complains about one of the panel members of this variety show who’s rather rude off camera, you share the story of a rude customer you dealt with earlier and a funny story about a completely different customer.
It’s some time later, after Doyoung had to leave his phone to go back to filming, and after you’ve returned to watching your show and dozing off, that Johnny finally responds.
At first it’s just a video of part of his set at the festival. You’re not sure who was filming, but the video is taken from a short distance, giving you a wide view of Johnny, of his set up and all the lights, of the undulating crowd moving along to his music. God, how much you wish you were there, soaking in the heat and excitement.
After a moment, Johnny sends another. A selfie up close and you can see glitter on his face, sweat dripping down his forehead. He attaches a message to the image, saying, “I’m so amped up right now. That crowd was insane.”
“I wish I was there,” you reply.
“Next time. Both of you if Doyoung can manage it.” Quickly followed by: “Maybe make a whole vacation of it. We went to Bali together once and he’s been begging me to take him back there again.”
“I’m packing for it already,” you type out, already imagining what you would take for a trip like that.
Doyoung reacts with a heart to Johnny’s last message. “I’ll rearrange my schedule to make it work. Fansigns be damned if I can be on a beach with both of you.”
Johnny sends back a blurry selfie in which you can mostly make out that he’s now in a crowd, highlighted with a rainbow of colors coming from the stage, a wide grin on his lips.
Doyoung sends a selfie showing himself all made up and styled, the set of the variety show visible in the background and you think you spot the actor and the two members of a girl group he’d said were guesting on this episode with him.
You send a pouty selfie showing yourself snuggled with your blanket, cozy on your sofa. “You both look like you’re having fun.”
“Wish I was with you,” Doyoung replies quickly. “Filming just wrapped, and I don’t want to sleep alone in an uncomfortable hotel bed tonight.”
“Baby you look so pretty,” Johnny says. “Are those the pajamas we bought for you?”
You check your photo again and realize that you can see just the top edge of the silky pajamas your boyfriends had surprised you with earlier this week. It’s a tank top and shorts set of rosy pink silk, trimmed with a cream lace. Doyoung had insisted you try them on while he and Johnny put in a movie, and when you’d emerged from their bedroom dressed in the gift, Doyoung hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of you. He’d pulled you to sit in his lap, and he’d kissed your exposed shoulders and throat and let his hands wander up beneath the fabric of the top to just hold your boobs, which Johnny had teased him for, but he’d kept sneaking glances at you for the rest of the night.
You wore them tonight because they’re comfy and make you feel close to your boyfriends.
“Damn sexy,” Johnny says. “Wish I was there with you too. I love seeing you in clothes we buy for you.”
Feeling emboldened, you move the blanket away, and you take another photo, quickly sending it off. You check the photo, pleased as you notice how well the color of the top compliments your skin, how the neckline of the top dips perfectly and your boobs look great, and you can just barely make out the peaks of your nipples against the fine silk.
Your mind rushes and swirls, a whirlpool of emotions as neither of your boyfriends respond for a minute, then two, then…
Johnny sends simply: fuck baby
And then: more
Obediently, you shift around into another position on the sofa, angling your phone, snapping another picture, sending it. Tug your top down a little more, really accentuating your tits. Send it.
“It’s actually criminal right now that I’m in another country and you look like that.” Johnny waits only another moment before sending, “I was planning to stay at the festival to watch the other sets but damn maybe I’ll go back to the hotel to call you”
You shiver a little, pleased with the way you’re affecting Johnny.
He sends a photo now too, his phone held high and angled down, and you see that he’s lost his shirt, that he’s soaking wet, that there are trails of color dripping down his chest and he’s holding a water gun of some sort.
Doyoung rejoins the conversation now, reacting to your first and second photo, to Johnny’s. He sends his own photo though he’s half hidden in shadow, sitting in a car which is only evident by the way streetlight stripes over him through the windshield.
You react with a heart to his photo. The conversation lulls for several minutes. You resume paying attention to the show that’s been playing on your TV this whole time.
Probably ten minutes go by before Johnny messages again: you’re both definitely coming next time no one will even recognize us these crowds are insane and it’s so hot there are water and paint guns im gonna be washing paint out of everywhere every time i shower for the next week”
Again, a selfie and he’s definitely wearing more paint than he’d been in the last. His hair is streaked with multiple colors. There’s a shot of pink across his forehead, a splatter of purple on the bridge of his nose, and it almost looks like someone slapped blue across his cheek and chin.
Then he sends a video, the crowd around him jumping, raving, grinding, water arcing over heads, bursts of color in the waving lights strobing over the crowd.
You feel this hollow sense in your chest, the feeling that you’re missing out. You want to be there so badly; it looks like so much fun, and you can only imagine how much you’d enjoy being there with Doyoung and Johnny. You know they’d both probably keep in physical contact with you the whole time, worried of losing you in the crowd. You imagine Doyoung holding your hand, Johnny holding you against his chest with his chin resting atop your head. You want to dance with them and get lost in a crowd together, able to have fun in public with both of your boyfriends without having to try to hide.
Your imagination carries you away, creating a scenario in which water and paint guns have all three of you dripping and laughing. You twisting around to draw Doyoung into a kiss, tangling your arms around his neck to make out in the middle of the crowd while the colorful water rains down around you. Johnny’s hands sliding around your hips, against your belly, fingertips dipping beneath your bikini, fingers lightly touching your clit and his body pressing you closer to Doyoung’s, shielding what he’s doing from view.
You imagine instead a slightly different scenario: muddy festival ground beneath your feet, your chest pressed to the plasticky wall of a temporary festival building, Doyoung fucking you from behind to the beat of the song Johnny is playing on stage, his hands leaving your skin streaked with color for Johnny to see once the set ends. You can see Johnny letting his little jealousy take over, pulling you into his dressing room, sitting you on the sofa, making you watch as he pushes a smug Doyoung up against the door, as they make out, as Johnny gets his hand between them and Doyoung’s moans begin to fill the room.
You’ve watched them actually fuck only once, watched the way that Johnny took Doyoung apart with just his fingers until he was whining and writhing in bed, cock hard and weeping against his belly. In your imagined fantasy playing out behind your eyelids right now, you see this again, Johnny stripping Doyoung and making him sit on the dressing room table. Johnny fingers Doyoung until the latter’s toes are curling, his face flushed, and then you imagine Johnny pushing into Doyoung, his bare ass and powerful thighs flexing with each thrust.
In reality, you slide your fingers beneath the silky shorts, the background noise of the long-forgotten TV show fading into white noise. Your phone buzzes several times, but your hands are too preoccupied as you slick your fingers with your wetness, and the other hand pinches your nipples over the silkiness of your top.
When your phone rapidly receives several notifications back-to-back, you decide to check it one-handed.
Several missed messages from Johnny and Doyoung, though the only one you can focus on is one of the more recent ones from Johnny. A video mostly taken in shadow. When you tap on the video, it begins playing, and you quickly see that Johnny took the video while sitting down at a picnic table. There’s no one sitting directly beside him, but you can see blurry people in the background as he holds his phone at an angle. Most of the foreground, however, is taken up by the bulge of his cock against the black material of his underwear where he’s unfastened his jeans beneath the table.
A thrill courses through you, your slick fingers flick over your clit making your toes curl.
And then you watch as Johnny rubs his hand over his clothed length, as he teases his thumb in circles over the hidden tip. You find yourself moving your fingers in time with him, swirling them at your clit, stroking down your slit when he slides his hand along his cock.
You click out of the video, heart pounding as you read his and Doyoung’s messages. Doyoung’s are just messages of lust and pure frustration that he’s stuck sitting beside his manager in a car right now. Johnny’s messages are teasing, describing how hard he is right now, how he’s tempted to just free his cock and jerk off right there where no one is watching. Yet.
“Or should I go somewhere more private?” He sends as you’re reading the messages. “Save myself for just the two of you? Somewhere with better lighting so you can really enjoy watching me?”
You know you would prefer better lighting. Doyoung beats you to that answer though, so you decide to answer in a visual medium. You snap a photo of your hand tucked inside the silky shorts, send it.
Doyoung simply says “fuck both of you”
Then, he says, “I am in pain and hyung is laughing because he can tell something is going on.”
Poor Doyoung, trapped in the passenger seat, unable to touch himself as you and Johnny both freely touch yourselves and send him proof.
Johnny is silent for a few minutes during which you send another few photos — one of your top tugged up to show off your tits, one of your fingers glistening with arousal, one of your fingers buried between your lips as you taste yourself. You’re driving Doyoung wild if his responses are anything to go by, but that just drives you on.
And finally after nearly ten eternal minutes, Johnny rejoins the chat. Another short video: he’s somewhere indoors now, well lit to reveal his lower half as he reclines. He quickly pulls the waistband of his underwear down to reveal his cock. You hear a low moan as he fits his hand around his cock, giving it a few quick strokes.
“Fuck, I wish you were both here,” his voice is low, arousal bleeding through every syllable. “I’d have you both on your knees for me.”
The video cuts off suddenly, much to your displeasure. You quickly switch to your camera, hitting record for a video as you slide the little shorts down, shimmying and toeing them down to your ankles until you’re lying bare-asses on the sofa, your hand softly stroking at your pussy.
And then your phone rings.
Johnny.
You answer, and the first thing you hear is Doyoung’s irritated—though thoroughly aroused—voice. “You assholes! You’re being mean right now!”
Johnny laughs. “Hey, I called you, didn’t I? I could’ve just called our baby and left you out of this, would you have preferred that?”
“No,” Doyoung pouts. “But it’s still not fair.”
“Well, you can join in on the fun when you reach your hotel,” you tell him. “Shouldn’t you be almost there by now?” It’s been a while since he first said that he was in the car. Surely, it can’t be much farther? Then this can become a Group FaceTime for you all to watch each other get off.
“Honestly I’m a bit surprised you answered. Isn’t your manager going to hear us through your phone?” Johnny asks. There’s a hitch in his breath, and your core clenches as your brain creates the image of his hand on his cock or lightly massaging his balls.
Doyoung sighs. “I’ve put in my AirPods.”
“So you want our sexy ASMR?” Johnny teases. “Go on, baby, give our Doyoungie one of your pretty moans.”
You’re happy to oblige. You finally, finally press a finger into your heat, a satisfied moan directed into the phone. “Doyoung,” you add on for his benefit.
“Hate you both.” Doyoung has no punch behind the words. Actually it’s almost more of a whine.
Johnny laughs. You whimper a little pathetically as you fit your finger in all the way to the knuckle, grinding your palm against your clit, which only makes Johnny chuckle a bit more, then he says, “Listen to her, Doyoung. Our girlfriend is so lonely without us. She can’t go one night without us, gotta get herself off on the phone with us. Bet she’s soaking wet. Are you, baby?”
You moan, lowering the phone from your cheek down between your legs as you finger yourself, the wet sounds of your pussy audible to you so certainly clear for them as the microphone is right there.
Johnny’s moaning lowly by the time you lift the phone back to your ear. You can’t hear anything from Doyoung, and you check to make sure that he’s still on the call. He is. A silent observer to you and Johnny.
There’s something so, so hot about just hearing Johnny’s raw breathing and moaning over the phone, letting your sounds flow freely from your mouth just for them to hear as you touch yourself, as you curl your fingers just-so, as you imagine having one or both of them inside you.
“Yeah, baby, are you making yourself feel good? Touching yourself how we would touch you?” Johnny asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.
You whine in reply, and when Doyoung still doesn’t speak, you whine again, this time with: “Doyoung, please.”
Now you hear his sharp inhalation.
Johnny barks a short laugh. “Oh, she just wants you, Doyoung. Give our baby what she wants.”
You know he’s hesitating because of the manager sitting beside him, but you more than want to hear his voice. You need the honey tone of his voice in your ear as you touch yourself, as he and Johnny weave their words together in a joint effort to remotely get you off.
“Are you having fun, sweetheart?” Doyoung asks, his voice soft and hesitant for a moment. “I want to be there with you, to see you, to hold you.”
Warmth blossoms in your belly and in your chest. You wanted sexy talk from him, and you’re getting romantic longing, which is nothing that you’re complaining about because it’s kinda receiving both things.
“He wants to taste you, too,” Johnny throws in, “You know you love the sweet way she tastes, being buried between our girlfriend’s legs, making her cum on just your tongue.”
A choked off moan leaves you. You grind your palm to your clit, rolling your hips desperately as you press your fingers inside yourself, trying to imagine your hand is Doyoung.
“I do,” Doyoung agrees with Johnny. “I want that more than anything right now.”
“You’re not really giving her what she wants, you know? Baby girl, you want Doyoung to talk dirty to you, don’t you? Babe, are you still driving?” Johnny addresses this last question to Doyoung, then says, “You’ve been driving for ages.”
Doyoung hums. “We’re almost there now. Hyung drives fast.”
Johnny snorts at Doyoung’s supposed sarcasm.
“No, really. He’s fast. We’re, like, ten minutes away.” Doyoung clears his throat. “Ten minutes away, darling. That’s all you have to wait to get what you want from me.”
“FaceTime us as soon as you get to your room,” Johnny says. “I want to see both of you.”
“Mm,” Doyoung agrees, “I want to see you too.”
You sigh, slowly stroking your fingers through your wetness. “I just want to cum.”
“Just wait.” Doyoung rarely commands you to do anything, but there’s a sense of power behind his words. “Darling, I just need you to wait. I need to see you.”
But it’s so hard to wait when you just want to touch, just want to cum, and Johnny’s not making anything any easier as he keeps talking dirty in your ear. He’s still touching himself too, as he helpfully sends a visual aide to show you and Doyoung that his hand is still playing with his cock, the pink tip weeping precum beneath his thumb while the rest of his hand cradles the thick shaft.
Just looking at the picture now, when you’re already so needy, just makes you sad that you’re only using your fingers. Although, if they really want you to hold off until Doyoung’s found his room for the night, then you’ve got time to go dig out your vibrator. It’s not as big as Johnny either, but it’ll do better than your fingers alone.
You slip your fingers from inside your shorts, reluctantly moving from the comfortable position you’re in so you can go fetch the vibrator. And you tell your boyfriends, “You’re not both allowed to leave me here alone anymore, by the way. This is no fun.”
“I’m having fun,” Johnny says. “Phone sex is fun.”
“Not as fun as being there in person.” Doyoung’s end of the call is suddenly filled with a dinging sound followed by the loud shutting of a car door. “It’s fine as a necessity, doing this over the phone, but I’d so much rather have you both in person. I want to touch you, taste you, watch your faces as you cum for me.”
Johnny moans a little. “Out of the car now? Or just feeling a little more bold to say that in front of your manager?”
You walk into your bedroom, keeping the phone cradled to your cheek.
“Both.” Doyoung laughs, then adds quietly, “I’m so hard right now from listening to the two of you that I almost don’t even care if he hears me.” Another car door shuts loudly, Doyoung murmurs something not directed to you or Johnny, and then into the phone he says, “Give me just a minute, and we can pick up where we left off.”
You’ve just fetched the vibrator from its spot beneath your bed, and you’re returning to the sofa when a few things happen.
First, Johnny swears at Doyoung.
Second, someone knocks at your front door.
Third, you nearly jump out of your skin, dropping your vibrator and the phone.
Quickly, you scoop both items up, depositing the vibrator under a throw pillow on the sofa. And you press your phone back to your ear as you drag a blanket off the back of the sofa to drape around yourself for modesty.
“God, that scared me. Someone just knocked at my door.”
Johnny makes a short sound of irritation, likely frustrated that there’s now a new interruption to further delay the phone sex fun.
Doyoung simply says, “You should probably see who it is.”
But it’s so late. Why would anyone be coming to your door this late at night? Your mind whirs and jumps from bad conclusion to worse.
“It could be someone,” Doyoung says, “who just bribed their manager into skipping hotel reservations and speeding back into the city so he could see his girlfriend in person. To touch her, taste her, fuck her on FaceTime for their boyfriend who’s stuck in Thailand to watch.”
You throw the door open.
Doyoung’s smiling widely, pleased with himself for surprising you. He’s even more pleased when you drop the blanket, when you grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him inside. He laughs when you push him with his back against the door, and his hands fumble across the door, making sure it shuts fully before he allows himself to touch you.
“Hey! Don’t forget about me!” Johnny’s voice sounds so distant over the phone.
“You’re here,” you say to Doyoung. Your eyes are wide, roving over his face, drinking in the sight of him as if it’s been months and not a day since you last saw him. “Why are you here?”
“I have several pictures and videos and a lot of messages in my phone that are each one a reason to be here tonight.” Doyoung’s hands touch everywhere — your hips, your arms, the back of your neck as he tilts you face up towards his. And then he closes that last bit of insignificant distance, kissing you.
Your hand falls limply from your ear, the phone tumbling to the floor.
Doyoung kisses you breathless, holding you against him so you can feel the rigid line of his dick in his pants, digging against your belly.
You reach for it, sliding your hand between your body and Doyoung’s. “God, I want you.”
“What about me?” Is the very far away sound of Johnny.
You ignore him momentarily, choosing that kissing Doyoung and feeling up his hard-on is more important. Doyoung seemingly agrees, hungrily kissing you back for a few minutes, hands roving over your silky pajamas, diving into your hair, holding you closer as he moans when you dip your hand inside his pants and underwear to fully wrap your fingers around him.
The sound of a FaceTime call is what eventually breaks you apart.
Doyoung laughs, pressing a few last soft kisses to your lips before he reaches down to remove your hand from his dick. He doesn’t let go of your hand though, instead he laces his fingers with yours, and then he snags your phone from the floor, answering the FaceTime from Johnny.
“Just cause I’m not there doesn’t mean you have to leave me out.” He frowns slightly. “I want to watch.”
Doyoung guides you over to your sofa, he props the phone up on the coffee table, providing Johnny a good view of you sitting on the sofa as Doyoung returns to the door to grab the bag he’d dropped right outside on his excitement to see you.
You and Johnny gaze at each other through the screen of the phone. He’s reclined in what appears to be a hotel room, an ugly painting over a plain headboard imprinted with a single hotel brand’s logo. He’s shirtless, hair tousled, his eyes dark, splashes of paint through his hair, across his arms and chest.
“He sent me a picture of him standing outside your door right before he knocked. Asshole.” He says that last bit affectionately. And then he compliments you with, “Really, baby, you look so pretty in those pajamas. Bet you looked so pretty touching yourself under them.”
You laugh. He’s just jumping right back into it.
“Yeah, do you want to see?” You ask, spreading your legs open.
Doyoung comes back through the apartment door, hauling a suitcase and his travel shoulder bag.
He glances at you and the phone, reaches back to lock the door, and then semi-reluctantly continues on to your bedroom where he leaves his luggage.
By the time he returns less than a minute later, you’re leaning back against the sofa, one hand buried inside the silky shorts, the other hand has pushed up the top so you can touch your tits for Johnny.
Doyoung moves the throw pillow at the end of the sofa so he can join you. You’re focused on the way Johnny’s watching you, so you don’t notice what Doyoung’s doing until he asks, “What’s this?”
He’s holding the vibrator, shooting a look at Johnny on the phone, before he turns a devious smile back to you. “You were doing a tiny bit more than just touching yourself, huh, darling?”
“I was about to, and then a strange man knocked on my door.” You grab for the vibrator, but Doyoung holds it out of your reach. “Would you believe that I let that man into my home?”
Johnny tuts at you. “Naughty girl. Why haven’t you ever showed us your toy collection?”
Heat rushes to your face. You shouldn’t be embarrassed by this, not when you’ve done all sorts of things with both of them, but nevertheless there’s a small sense of embarrassment when it comes to telling or showing your boyfriends the toys that you use when you’re alone.
“Aw, sweetheart,” Doyoung coos, “Don’t be shy now.”
“Show us,” Johnny requests. “Put on a show.”
Doyoung brings the vibrator back into your reach, and you snatch it out of his hand. He smiles, all wide eager eyes as he readjusts in his seat, watching you.
You stand up, reaching down to trail your fingers along the hem of your silky top before you grip it and lift the top up over your head, casting it to the floor, baring your tits for Doyoung’s eyes. Your back is turned to the phone on the coffee table, and Johnny protests until you lean over and slide the shorts down all the way. Bent over as you are, Johnny gets a clear view of your ass and then your wet pussy. That shuts him up quite quickly.
As usual, the worshipful gazes of these two men quickly banish any sense of modesty or shyness that you might have. You settle down on the sofa again, bringing your knees up towards your chest as you lower the vibrator to tease it through your arousal, wetting the tip.
“I was fingering myself while we were talking, but after you sent that photo, Johnny, mm, I knew I needed more than just my fingers.” You use your hand to spread your wetness along the toy, catching Doyoung’s eye. You’re a little tempted to lift it to your lips, to use your mouth to really get the toy wet, tease both of them by blowing your vibrator. But instead you decide to satisfy yourself instead, filling your needy pussy with the toy, flicking it on with the switch at the base as you sink it into yourself.
Both men moan, watching you immediately relax into the pleasure.
It feels different doing this with them watching. But you close your eyes and perform like you would if you were alone, trying your best to not picture how you look from an external perspective because then you’ll be thinking too much and not focusing on making yourself feel good.
But you must look good because after a moment, Doyoung rises from the sofa. You open your eyes to watch as he begins stripping. His shirt joins your discarded pajamas, and then his pants are gone, and he stands there in his underwear and socks, his hand already pulling the waistband down to free his erection.
This. This you can do. Both of you touching yourselves and watching each other feels better than just being watched while you do it to yourself.
Doyoung sits back down, hand slowly stroking his length. You glance at the phone and find Johnny in a similar position, hand working his cock.
It goes like that for a few minutes, getting yourselves off while watching each other. And as toe-curling as it is to keep fucking yourself with your vibrator while Doyoung wraps his fingers around your ankle to spread you open a little more for him to see, you quickly realize that now that you’ve got one of your boyfriends actually here with you, this toy doesn’t even compare.
Johnny is watching closely as you pull the vibrator out, switch it off, and sit it aside. Doyoung has his head thrown back, low moans as he moves his hand along his length. But Johnny asks, “You gonna touch him now, baby?”
You’re already moving, sliding to your knees on the floor, craving Doyoung’s taste on the back of your tongue. Doyoung shifts to make it a bit easier for you, and you quickly swallow him down, savoring the weight of him on your tongue.
Johnny is talking but his voice is just a dull buzz in the background. Doyoung’s fingers twist through your hair, his moans weaving melodically through the room. You can’t hear anything that he or Johnny is saying, not until Doyoung pulls you backwards off his dick.
“Pretty girl, we’re talking to you. Were you not listening?” He asks, running his thumb under your bottom lip.
“Cock dumb.” Johnny’s voice sounds staticky from over the phone. “A chronic condition with our girlfriend.”
You turn to look at the phone, Johnny’s face close to the screen. “Keep talking like that, and it’s a condition that I’ll be saving for Doyoung alone.”
Johnny smirks. “You can try, but baby loves my cock too much to stay mad about it for long.”
You roll your eyes although you know he’s right.
Doyoung pets your hair a bit, bringing your attention back around to him. “I was saying that as much as I love your lips around me, I want more. Johnny was teasing us because I never say stuff like that to him. To be fair, he doesn’t say that about me either.”
“Neither of you have a pretty, tight pussy like me though.”
Johnny laughs at your bold statement. Doyoung just smiles and leans down to kiss you. You lift yourself up off the floor, settling over Doyoung’s lap to sit and makeout with him, all skin on skin under the bright lights of your living room, under Johnny’s heated gaze.
“You two are so sexy,” Johnny praises from a million miles away. “Fuck, if I didn’t have another stage scheduled for tomorrow night, I’d have been on a flight back to you hours ago. Just wait til I get back.”
Doyoung’s mouth slips from yours, kissing along your neck. One of his hands slides down the length of your spine, cupping your ass, giving it a squeeze.
You moan for him, reaching for his cock again. “I need you, Doyoung.”
“Mm, me too, baby.” Doyoung sucks lightly at your throat, leaving a burning mark that makes your core tingle. “You wanna ride me, darling?”
Your answer is to reach for his cock, to kiss him deeply once more, and you reposition yourself up on your knees.
When you sink down on him, you forget everything else but you and Doyoung, the feel of him inside you, the tightening in your belly, his hands settling on your hips. You lock eyes with him, and the sensuality, the lust, the emotion held in his gaze just fills you with incredible heat.
“Doyoung,” you sigh his name in the moment before you tilt your head and press your mouth to his.
Admittedly, you forget about Johnny watching from the phone propped on the coffee table. You forget about him until you hear him moan your name, and then you’re reminded that you’re meant to be putting on a show for him.
Doyoung smiles lazily as you break the kiss. He leaves his head tipped against the back of the sofa, just looking up at you with satisfaction as you start moving, rolling your hips gradually to get started.
His hands knead your hips and your ass, and you know that when he dips his fingers in to pull your cheeks apart, he's doing that for Johnny’s benefit. And it’s working if Johnny’s moans are anything to go by.
Doyoung’s eyes roll when you push your fingers into his hair, raking them through it to mess his hair up. Recently, he dyed it a warm chocolate brown, which was a big change from the white-blond he’s had since you met him, but you like the change. It looks better on him, though you’re fairly certain he could pull off any color if he wanted to. You drag your nails lightly over his scalp, you brush your lips against his, you lift yourself up a bit on your knees just to drop back down in his lap, your pussy hugging tight around his dick.
“I’m glad you rushed home tonight,” you tell him. “My vibrator just wouldn’t have felt this good.”
Doyoung licks his lips. “And my hand is nothing compared to you. Poor Johnny, settling for his hand.” He peers around you, checking on your boyfriend through the phone. “Though he looks to be managing well enough.”
You look back over your shoulder, focusing on the small image on the phone.
Johnny’s positioned his phone to offer you both a full view of him. His hand stroking his cock, his bare thighs, bare chest. He’s got one hand on his chest, thumb flicking over one of his nipples. His gaze is dark, hungry, focused on you.
And when you suddenly lift yourself up, and turn around in Doyoung’s lap so you’re facing the camera, Johnny swears.
“Ah, fuck.” He throws his head back. His fingers pinch his nipple, his other hand twists sharply around the head of his cock.
You settle back against Doyoung’s chest, and his arms come around you — one hand rising to your boobs, the other sinks to take hold of himself, directing his tip back to your entrance.
You let out a small, satisfied moan as you roll your hips, meeting Doyoung’s gentle thrust into you. His focus shifts to your clit on the one hand and teasing your nipples with the other.
This position is better, you think. Better for all three of you. Now Johnny can clearly see you both, and you can both watch him.
Doyoung kisses at your throat and along your shoulder, skimming his mouth across your jaw as you tip your head back on his shoulder. His fingers never hesitate, and he’s consistently rocking his hips off the sofa to meet the downward motion of your body. It’s a slow dance of your bodies, an orchestrated performance designed to draw it out and make it feel good.
Each touch of Doyoung’s hands winds you a little tighter, ups the tempo bit by bit. You swear you feel like you’re just the instrument of his pleasure, and his fine fingers are tuning you to perfection, playing your strings until your melodic moans fill the room.
Doyoung tweaks your nipple between his fingers, he strokes quick circles on your clit. He bites down at the juncture of your neck and shoulder just as he thrusts up sharply into you.
To go along with the way Doyoung has you feeling like a musical analogy, it’s like the beat drops and then picks up more intensely than before.
You’re both in motion, no longer the slow tuning and enjoyment of each other. It’s fast and hard and loud, grinding and touching, turning your head to the side to capture Doyoung’s mouth in a kiss that’s more tongue and moan than anything else. His hand leaves your chest for your neck instead, fingers pressing lightly but just hard enough that you feel the thrill, feel the rush of heat and this song Doyoung’s playing with your body transforms into an inferno.
Your orgasm swells through you, overwhelming and all-encompassing like getting lost to the beat in the middle of a dancefloor, your body moving on autopilot to the music, while your mind is miles away riding on waves of melodies and pounding to the beat of the song.
You’re still riding Doyoung, milking this for every drop. You can tell by how wet your thighs and his feel that you probably squirted, that you could do it again if he can hold on for much longer.
Johnny’s close too.
Doyoung shifts you, tipping you forward with his hand between your shoulders. You place your hands on the coffee table to steady yourself, and that gives you an up close look at Johnny over FaceTime.
He’s flushed, his skin dewy as he fists his cock, breathing heavily.
Doyoung has both hands on your hips now, driving into you with the intensity that precedes his peak.
Johnny meets your gaze through the phone. You open your mouth, hold out your tongue as if to invite him to take your throat, to cum across your tongue.
There’s thousands of miles between you, but the trick works nevertheless.
Johnny’s cock twitches in his grip, cum spurting from the tip. You watch the shots land across his belly, his thighs, dripping down his fingers that still stroke along his shaft, and a bit of it even lands on his phone, blurring the edge of the image of him.
You push off the table, moving upright once more so you can twist around and kiss Doyoung, a hand cupping the back of his neck. You drop your other hand to your clit, drawing your fingers in tight circles as the intensity inside you races towards climax again.
“Cmon,” you moan to Doyoung. “Cmon, cum in me. Show Johnny how well you can fuck me without him. Show him what he’s missing tonight.”
You dig your nails into the back of his neck, scraping them over his skin, and the sharp pain of it pushes Doyoung over the edge.
He fills you with heat, cumming so suddenly that he doesn’t have the chance to even push in deep or pull out either way. Doyoung moans loudly against your ear, the sound so pathetic and desperate and lusty that you take over moving. You push back, sinking him deep inside you, desperate to pull one more orgasm out of having him inside you.
Doyoung’s cum makes the glide so smooth, and you’re just slicking his cock, bouncing on him as he leans back against the sofa again. You lift both hands to your chest, attending to your boobs while you ride Doyoung like you’re getting paid for it.
Johnny’s watching through the phone, his hand absently stroking his not yet soft cock. “You look so sexy, baby. Riding Doyoung like that. Are you gonna cum for us again? Gonna squirt on Doyoungie again, make him all wet?”
“Yeah,” you whine. “Yeah, I want to cum again. I need more. He feels so good; Doyoung, you feel so good.”
And suddenly his chest is against your back again, damp with sweat from exertion, and his arms come around you.
Fuck, yes, all you need is him to give your clit some attention, and you’ll be cumming so hard you’ll see stars, the moon, and into galaxies far away. You just know it’s going to be an intense one, already sensitive from the recent orgasm.
And then you hear the buzz.
Johnny laughs. “Fuck, yes, Doyoung.”
You feel electrified, more than on fire, more than your body at that moment.
Doyoung holds the vibrator to your clit at the highest intensity, and your entire state of being dissolves instantaneously, propelling you into an intergalactic state as you’d just imagined.
He holds it there, even as you’re orgasming around him, as you’re squirting enough to dampen his lap and likely stain your sofa. It’s slightly embarrassing and arousing and intoxicating in its efficacy. It’s bordering on overstimulating as your muscles all begin to quiver and a truly whiny whine escapes you. You reach down brushing your fingers against Doyoung’s wrist, a foot kicking out, knocking into the coffee table and jarring the phone out of position.
It feels so good that it’s almost come full circle, bordering on hurting.
“Doyoung,” you whimper. Another pulse of pleasure courses through you, a spurt of wetness between your legs, your eyes roll. You can barely get the words out as the vibrator ceaselessly stimulates your clit, and Doyoung — now fully hard inside you again — thrusts in.
“So good, so good, s-st-stop.” In an instant the pleasure finally gives way to being too much. Tears swell in your eyes, you close your legs as best as you can, and you suck in a breath, trying to get out the request again as Doyoung slides the vibrator in circles around your clit, rocking his cock into you, moaning beautifully in your ear, lost in the sweet feeling of you.
Distantly, you hear Johnny’s voice, sharply saying, “Doyoung.”
A cry from you, and finally you manage to gasp out, “Papaya!”
Doyoung jerks at the sound of the safe word you’d mentioned before but never used.
His hand immediately releases the vibrator and it falls to the floor, still buzzing. “Full stop?” He asks, hands hovering just above your skin, not touching you more than necessary right now.
You nod.
Your body is tingling, your clit pulsing sensitively.
“Full stop.” You blink wearily, carefully and tenderly lifting yourself from his lap. Your belly aches, the inner muscles having been overworked in the last few minutes.
Doyoung doesn’t touch you as you move to the cushion beside him, as you position yourself sideways with your back to the arm of the sofa, your knees drawn up to your chest. He watches you warily, like he’s worried that he’s really hurt you or upset you, like he thinks that just because you wanted it to stop means that you don’t want him to touch you at all right now.
The phone is lying flat on the coffee table, screen facing down which has blocked off Johnny’s view.
“Are you okay?” Doyoung asks, ignoring Johnny for a moment. “Did I go too far?”
You reach over, laying a hand on Doyoung’s arm. “I’m fine. It was just… a lot for me to handle at the moment. You know what they say about too much of a good thing, right? It felt good, Doyoung, really really good, until it was just too much all at once. But I’m okay. Just need a rest. Sorry.” You gesture to his erection.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks tentatively.
You nod.
Doyoung leans in, chest pressing to your knees, and he kisses you tenderly, gently parting your lips to touch his tongue against yours. He moans a little, and you feel his hesitation, and then he breaks the kiss with a small groan.
“Hello?” Johnny again, sounding a little more irritated at being left out.
Doyoung pulls away from you, lifts the phone from the coffee table, and he holds it up so he can look at his boyfriend. “What?”
“What’s going on?” Johnny repeats. “She used her safeword, and then the phone fell over and everything was muffled.”
“I overstimulated her.” Doyoung answers, glancing your way. “We stopped. Oh, shit, the vibrator.”
He leans down, picking the toy up off the floor and switching it off. He places it on the sofa beside his thigh, his cock bobbing.
“You’re still hard,” Johnny comments, noticing Doyoung’s cock at the same time as you. “Gonna take care of that?”
“I came once.” The evidence is currently dripping out of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore about running this sofa, not when you can see the dark spot soaked into the sofa beside Doyoung’s thigh. “I’m fine,” Doyoung says, but there’s a tone to his voice that makes it hard to believe.
“Tch,” Johnny clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Just get yourself off, babe. I wanna see.”
You nod, reaching over to push your toes lightly against Doyoung’s thigh. “You don’t have to be done just because I am. If you still want to cum, Johnny and I want to watch.”
You’re not sure you’ve really gotten to just watch Doyoung jerk off. Typically, between you and Johnny, he’s always got some attention and doesn’t have to be the one to bring himself to orgasm.
“Our girlfriend wants to see you cum for us, show off those pretty hands on your pretty dick, babe.” Johnny encourages Doyoung. “Use her vibrator if what you really want is to be filled.”
Your belly swoops and aches at the thought of getting an up close view of Doyoung fucking himself open with your vibrator, jerking himself off at the same time until he’s striping his belly with his cum.
“I don’t think I could handle all of that right now,” Doyoung admits. “But you both really want to just watch me jerk off?”
Johnny smirks. “Yes, babe. It takes me back to our early days. All those Snapchats of you fisting your cock in the bathroom at the company building, fingering yourself open while trying to be quiet in your dorm. Love watching you use your hands.”
You smile and nod at Doyoung, taking one of his hands, you pull it to your lips. First you kiss the back of his hand, then his knuckles, and then you take his middle finger between your lips.
Doyoung’s cock twitches in his lap. He wraps his free hand around it, stroking himself off in time with you sucking on his finger, mesmerized as he stares at your lips wrapped around his finger.
“Looks a little dry, Doyoungie.” Johnny teases, “Baby, why don’t you help him with that a little? He needs a bit of spit.”
You drop his hand from your mouth, and Doyoung immediately begins using it to jerk off with. You lean in, lowering your head to drool over the pink tip of his dick. And then you turn your head to the side, wink at Johnny, then turn back to kiss Doyoung’s abs, licking and kissing your way up his chest as he jerks off with your saliva.
Doyoung’s moans are so beautiful, just as lovely as the first time you heard them. And the sounds only get louder when you trace your tongue around one of his nipples before sucking lightly at the nub. His chest arches, his hand twisting around the tip of his erection.
“How careful do I need to be about marks?” You ask, pressing kisses to his chest. “Any shirtless photoshoots coming up?”
“No.” He jerks his head. “Do what you like.”
That’s exactly what you like to hear.
You have that slight obsession with Doyoung’s pretty collarbones and broad shoulders, and with his permission now, you plan to worship them with your mouth. Licking, nipping, sucking, biting, kissing until Doyoung’s upper torso is littered with faint marks left by your mouth. His moans grow in frequency and volume, and then he’s cumming for the second time tonight, shooting cum across his belly and up his chest.
You move your mouth to clean it up, gathering it in your mouth so when you move to his dick, you let it all out over the tip, using your hand to spread it around, jerking him off with his own cum until Doyoung is the one whining about oversensitivity.
Doyoung pulls your hand away, lacing his fingers with yours. You grab the phone off the coffee table before you curl up against Doyoung’s side, holding the phone up so you and Doyoung can talk to Johnny.
“You look tired now, Doyoung. Did our girlfriend wear you out?” Johnny teases, but he looks a little tired too.
“Mhmm, she did. But I get to go shower with her and sleep with her, so I think I won.” Doyoung smiles a little, tilting his head so he can brush a kiss to the side of your head. “But you’re back… the night after tomorrow night?”
Johnny nods and yawns. “Two more sleeps til I’m home, my babies.”
You sigh, resting your head on Doyoung’s shoulder. “Too long, honestly. Who’s supposed to keep me distracted when I work tomorrow morning? By the way, my coworker Lia knows about me and you, Johnny. She said we’re being very obvious.” He snickers. “She called me out for it this morning! But she also wanted to know all the nasty details.”
“And did you tell her?” Doyoung asks.
“Not everything. I mentioned a threesome, but didn’t say with who, didn’t say how often they occur.” You kiss Doyoung’s shoulder. “Your privacy is secure for now.”
But a slight frown plays across Doyoung’s features, gone before you can question it.
Johnny yawns again. “Alright, well, I know Doyoung, you’re probably itching to go take a shower now. I need to try to shower some of this paint off, too. I love you both, sleep well. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, love you!” Doyoung replies easily.
You, however, are stuck on the whole “I love you” of Johnny’s goodnight. This hasn’t been going on long enough for you to know if that’s truly how you feel; you don’t know if you’re ready to say that yet.
“Goodnight, Johnny.” You blow him a kiss, which makes him laugh, and then Doyoung taps the screen to end the call.
Neither of you address the “I love you” from Johnny. Not right then, not when you accompany Doyoung into the bathroom for a shower, not when you join him in your bed. You’ve been thinking about it nonstop, but you tuck those thoughts and feelings away as you climb into bed.
Doyoung is already all snuggled in, his arms hugging the comforter to his chest, already hogging it. His damp hair is tousled and he smells like your body wash and he’s only wearing a pair of underwear covered in dinosaur print that Johnny bought him as a joke. He’s soft and sleepy, but he opens his arms to make room for you.
You notch yourself between his arms, settling against Doyoung’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” Doyoung murmurs after a few moments. “About earlier. Taking it too far, not stopping when you first asked.”
You brush your lips over his heart. “I’m fine, Doyoung. It’s not like you kept going on purpose. And you stopped the next time I asked.”
“But I made you cry.” His thumb strokes your skin where your top has risen up your back. “Not in a good way.”
You press yourself closer to him now, holding him tightly and you breathe in deeply, inhaling the perfect combined scent of your body wash and Doyoung. It’s comforting beyond words, like a lullaby in scent form.
“Doyoung, I’m serious. You don’t have to keep apologizing for it. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did right, and you made me feel so good that it got turned around.” You kiss again over his heart. “That’s the point of a safe word, isn’t it? To use it when I can’t handle anymore? And you stopped, and you did everything right, so just, stop worrying about it, darling.”
The affectionate name slips out.
Doyoung hums softly, a pleasant sound that funnily reminds you of a purr. He holds you a little tighter. He rests his chin atop your head. “Am I your darling, darling? I thought that was my name for you?”
“I like the way it sounds,” you admit. “And you are darling, Doyoung. Everything about you. I hold you in such high esteem, and the way I feel about you just makes you… darling.”
You don’t have the words to properly explain it. So you fall quiet instead, keeping your forehead resting against his chest.
“Darling.” Doyoung tilts his head, kissing the top of yours, and he whispers, “I love you.”
You don’t mean to, but you feel yourself tense up.
Doyoung notices it too.
His fingers comb soothingly through your hair. “It’s okay, y'know, if you’re not ready to actually say it yet. I noticed earlier, ending the call with Johnny. And it’s fine if you’re not ready, it’s a big step of commitment. Johnny’s full of love, and certain of his love. He told me he loved me really early on too, and look at us. But don’t feel rushed to say it back. Like me, I say it when I know how I feel; I won’t let anyone make me say it before I’m ready. So don’t feel like you have to say it back, it’s fine if it’s not love with us.” He massages his fingers against your scalp. “If you just want to lavish in our love and the fantastic sex, who could blame you? He and I have certainly done that in the past.”
You hold your tongue. A strange feeling thrums along with your heartbeat, like nerves or a slightly more intense anxiety.
Doyoung kisses your head again. “It’s okay, darling.”
“I think I’m just scared,” you softly admit with your lips brushing his chest. “This is all new, and it’s so big and fast and intense.”
You pull your head back so you can look into Doyoung’s eyes when you tell him, “But it’s real. This relationship with the three of us, all of these feelings. It’s so real. I think I’m scared of it all falling apart. The fantasy of this vanishing like a dream.”
Doyoung makes a sound that you can’t decipher — some kind of sad sound combined with finding you cute— and he gathers you against his chest again, his fingers cradling the back of your head, his lips to your forehead.
“You don’t need to be scared. I promise you. The way both Johnny and I feel for you… Since those first dates, we’ve just known that we belong with you. You’re the missing piece. We’re not going anywhere, and I promise you, we both hope you’re not going anywhere either. It’s not just a fantasy or a dream, like you said, it’s real. I really love you.”
You can feel it then, the words dancing almost on the tip of your tongue.
You take a deep breath, swallowing them back down.
Not now. Not right now, anyway. This doesn’t feel like the right moment.
“Goodnight, Doyoung.”
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a/n: sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! I've been trying my best to finish the story because I still have the final chapter to finish writing. Two more chapters til the end unfortunately.
As always, I'd love to hear your feedback! Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate every one of you 💗
Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (Mark insists 'just the tip' but it's very much not that), multiple orgasms
Summary - What starts as a joke about condoms turns into desperate, heated intimacy that ends with Mark grinning against your lips, swearing his pull-out game is flawless.
Word Count - 2.3k
Author’s Note - This was inspired by a fever dream about texting Mark
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls (join my taglist!)
Now Playing: Watching TV - Mark
Your thumbs hover over your phone longer than they should before you text your boyfriend, Mark.
‘we’re out of condoms’
‘too lazy to go buy more’
‘how good is your pull out game?’
You don’t expect a reply right away. He was probably on his way home right now. But your phone buzzes within seconds.
‘👀’
‘you wanna test it?’
‘because i’m almost home’
You laugh to yourself, tossing your phone aside. You were mostly joking anyway.
By the time you hear his key in the lock, you’ve forgotten all about it. You were in sweats and one of his hoodies, reheating leftovers and scrolling through social media when he walked in with a grin tucked into the corners of his mouth like he already knows something you don’t want to admit.
“Hey,” he greets, dropping his bag by the door. “About what you said earlier…”
“I was kidding,” you tell him, handing him a plate. “Mostly.”
Mark smirks, brushing a kiss to your cheek before settling on the couch. You join him not too long after. Dinner is easy, quiet. You eat with your legs tangled together, shoulders brushing, the TV humming in the background. It’s the kind of night that feels domestic. Warm lighting, full bellies, a shared blanket. Ordinary in the best way.
But then Mark’s hand slips beneath the hem of your hoodie. Just a little. Just enough to trace circles over your bare waist, his thumb brushing the softest part of your stomach. His fingertips graze the band of your underwear like it’s an accident, but you know better.
You glance at him, ready to tease, but he’s already watching you, his gaze low-lidded and dangerous.
“Still too lazy to go buy some?” he asks.
You blink at him. “You’re the one who drove here and didn’t stop to buy any.”
“Mmm,” he hums, lips twitching. His fingers trail higher, ghosting just beneath the curve of your breast before slipping away again. “Guess we’re not doing anything tonight, then.” You shove his shoulder lightly, but he only laughs, leaning closer until his breath warms your ear. “Nothing at all,” he whispers, hand skimming down your thigh under the blanket.
“Nothing,” you agree, biting back a smile, though neither of you seems to mean it as the teasing touches linger, each one daring the other to break first.
The first kiss is slow, more a press of mouths than anything urgent. But it builds fast, his fingers skating under your shirt, yours curling in his hair, the blanket slipping off both of your laps as he nudges you onto your back.
Mark’s hips settle between yours. It was just the weight of him, the warm slide of sweatpants against you. Then he grinds down, and your breath catches.
He groans, low and sharp. “Are you sure we don’t have anything?” he groans into your neck. “And you’re not—”
“Nope,” you respond, already rolling your hips up into his. “Not on anything.”
You both freeze for a second. The tension builds between you in a shared, sharp awareness. But then he does it again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, letting you feel how hard he is even through the layers.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is—this is so bad.”
“It’s so bad,” you echo, arms tightening around his shoulders. “But you feel so good.”
You’re both laughing under your breath, the kind of laugh that dissolves into breathless sighs as your bodies fall into a rhythm. Dry heat. Friction. His hips meet yours again and again, your panties growing damp.. You feel his cock twitch, how close he’s getting just from this.
Mark pulls back just enough to look at you. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”
“Doing what?” you tease, but your voice is thin, your thighs already trembling.
He kisses you again, messier this time, his hand dipping down between you and into your underwear. His fingers slide through the heat of you, and he groans into your mouth. “You’re so—” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pushes two fingers inside, your walls gripping him instantly, and he swears against your lips.
The stretch makes you gasp, your hips lifting into his hand. He curls his fingers just right, knuckles dragging against your softest spots until your thighs tremble. It’s all slick sounds and sharp breaths now. His fingers massaging your walls, your hips rocking into his hand helplessly.
Your hand finds him, too, slipping past the waistband of his sweats. He’s flushed and hard when you feel the silky heat stretched tight over the heavy length of him. He shudders when your fingers wrap around him, leaking slick against your palm. You stroke him in time with the thrust of his fingers inside you, the rhythm sloppy and desperate but perfectly matched, each of you unraveling the other with every tug and curl.
“Fuck, babe—” Mark’s forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers pump faster, curling deep until your thighs quake. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with each movement, pulling sharp little sounds from your throat. You squeeze him harder in return, dragging your thumb over the swollen, wet tip, making his hips jerk helplessly into your hand.
It builds fast, too fast, and you’re clenching around his fingers, pulling him deeper, moaning into his mouth as your body seizes with release. He doesn’t let up, working you through it until your hips fall limp beneath him, sweat slicking your skin.
You barely catch your breath before you’re fumbling at your waistband, tugging your pants and underwear down your legs, and tossing them aside. Mark sits back, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he watches you crawl towards him.
“Wait, wait—” Mark’s protest is drowned in a choked sound as you kneel between his thighs and tug his sweats down just enough to free him. He’s thick and flushed in your hand, twitching when you lean down to take him in your mouth.
The first wet lick up the full length of his cock has his head tilting back against the couch. “Oh, fuck.” His fingers thread into your hair, not pushing, just clinging.
You hollow your cheeks, sliding down until he hits the back of your throat, then pulling off with a wet pop to lick along the sensitive underside, tongue tracing every vein until he’s trembling. Mark moans helplessly, thighs flexing beneath your hands.
When you cup his balls gently, his whole body jerks. He gasps your name like it’s the only word he knows, high and thin, hips twitching up despite himself. You suck harder, dragging your tongue in slow, deliberate laps, alternating between swallowing him down and teasing the swollen head with light flicks until he’s whimpering.
“Fuck—baby, please…please, I can’t,” he pants, tugging weakly at your hair. “You’re killing me.” His voice breaks on a groan. “I need to be inside you, just the tip—I promise, just the tip.”
You hum around him, pulling back just enough to smirk. “Only the tip. You have to promise.”
“I promise!” he cries out, already dragging you up for a desperate kiss.
You’re already half gone, nodding as he pulls his sweatpants and underwear off, throwing them to join yours on the floor. He pushes you back against the couch, guiding himself to your entrance. The first stretch has you crying out, your nails digging into his arms.
Mark shudders, jaw tight, pushing only the head of his cock inside. His whole body shakes as he exhales through clenched teeth, forehead pressing to yours.
“Fuck—just the tip,” he growls, almost like a warning to himself. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he fights not to push farther, but every pulse of your walls around him drags him deeper by instinct. He’s panting, chest heaving, veins standing out in his neck, yet he stays still, like he’s convincing himself as much as you. But then your hips twitch, a needy little roll that drags another inch of him inside.
“Mark,” you whine, already trembling.
He curses again, thrusting shallowly, just enough for the tip to press and retreat. His resolve breaks with every little sound that escapes from your mouth. Each time he rocks forward, more of him slips past the tight clutch of your walls until you feel the thick weight of him stretching you open.
“I only meant—just the tip,” he pants, but the lie dies when his hips drive forward harder, burying half of him in one slick thrust. “God—fuck—you’re so tight,” he stammers, voice cracking. His rhythm falters as he pulls almost all the way out, then sinks back in, slower this time, savoring every inch.
You cry out, back arching, knuckles white against his shoulders. “Mark—fuck, you’re already inside,” you whimper, voice breaking. “You might as well just fuck me.”
Mark squeezes his eyes shut, groaning like he’s tearing himself apart. But your desperate pleas crack him wide open. With one hard thrust, he pushes fully inside, hips flush to yours, the stretch searing and euphoric.
The heat of him fills every inch, thick and throbbing, textured veins dragging against your walls until you’re gasping, overwhelmed by how deep he reaches. You cling to him like you’ll fall apart if you don’t, sobbing his name against his shoulder as he holds you there, buried in your wet heat, shaking with the effort to stay in control.
It’s too much, too hot, too good. Mark sets a rougher pace, hips snapping into yours with raw need. His body trembles against you, growls ripping from his throat as he loses his rhythm. You’re gasping, nails scraping down his back, his body shaking with the effort of holding on.
“Shit—shit, I’m gonna cum—” His thrusts grow frantic and desperate, the tip of his cock nudging so deep you swear you can’t breathe.
Your hands fly up, clutching Mark’s face, forcing him to look at you. “Not inside, Mark—You have to pull out.” Your voice is broken but firm, even as your own pleasure crests.
He groans miserably, teeth gritted, fighting his body’s instinct. “Fuck—I will, I will—”
Mark’s hips stutter before he yanks out at the last second with a ragged groan cry, spilling hot across your stomach in heavy spurts where your hoodie rode up. The sound of his pleasure tears out of him, sharp and guttural, as his body bows and then collapses forward. His forehead falls to your shoulder, chest heaving, his muscles trembling with the aftershock. His breath is harsh against your neck, broken gasps tangled with the sound of your own ragged breathing.
But he doesn’t stop. Still shuddering, he drags his mouth down your throat, pushing your hoodie up higher, exposing your breasts, and leaving open-mouthed kisses on them as he makes his way lower. His hand slips between your thighs, spreading you wide as he settles in, his other palm smearing through his own release across your skin. He groans at the mess, at how wet you already are even before his tongue is on you.
The first drag of it is slow and deliberate, from your entrance to your clit, but then he’s sucking you into his mouth, greedy and insistent. He flattens his tongue against you, licking broad and heavy until you’re writhing, then narrowing to spear inside you, fucking into your heat with wet strokes that make your hips jump. He pulls back just enough to circle your clit, lips closing around it, sucking until your vision swims.
“Mark—holy fuck—” Your voice cracks, your thighs trembling around his head, but he only groans into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He alternates between tongue-fucking you deep and sucking hard on your clit, working you with a feral sort of focus that leaves you gasping. The wet, obscene sounds fill the air as he slurps at everything you give him, tongue drinking you down like he can’t get enough.
It’s too much, the pleasure building until it finally breaks you. Your body arches, shuddering hard as your orgasm rips through you, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, licking you through it, swallowing every drop as you cry out and shake against him.
Only when you’re trembling and boneless does he finally let up, kissing back up your body in slow, messy lines. His tongue traces your stomach, licking up the cooling streaks of his cum, lapping at the taste of himself before moving higher.
When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deep and wet, pushing the salty tang of him and the sweetness of you onto your tongue. The kiss is filthy and desperate, spit-slick and hungry, until you’re both panting against each other’s mouths.
At last, Mark lowers himself onto you, his body heavy and warm as he goes limp. His arms circle around your shoulders, holding you close, his cheek pressed to yours, while his breathing finally starts to steady.
His hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead when he finally cracks a grin against your cheek, breath ghosting over your skin. He nuzzles into you, lips brushing lazily along your jaw before he murmurs, voice hoarse but teasing. “My pull out game is pretty solid, huh?”
You let out a weak laugh, still dazed, smacking lightly at his shoulder. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Mark only chuckles, smug but exhausted, pressing another sloppy kiss to your mouth as if to seal his point. “Almost doesn’t count, babe.”
You groan, burying your face in his chest, but the corners of your mouth betray you with a smile. His arms tighten around you, and even as his joke lingers, he melts further into your body, humming softly as sleep starts to creep in.
Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like LOL (Laugh-Out-Loud) - S.Johnny
All Member Masterlist || a cup of coffee Chapter Index
summary: after the night you had, it might take some time to decide if this is really what you want, if it's too much to handle, or if you're just going to say fuck it all and take whatever hot sex from two insanely hot guys you can get
length: 14,210 words
tags: smut, shower sex, morning sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, slight cumplay, squirting, very mild degradation, multiple partners, soft dom Johnny
<- previous || next ->
Somehow, you fall easily and quickly into this pre-existing relationship.
When you wake the next morning, it takes you a few moments to fully rise to consciousness and realize that last night wasn’t just some hot fantasy playing out in your dreams. You’re really here, really tangled in bed between the two most attractive men you’ve ever met.
Doyoung is curled up on his side with his back to you, the sheets tugged up around his chest but his bare shoulders peek out. Johnny is on his stomach, arms folded beneath the pillow, the entire expanse of his back out in the open, rising and falling gently with each sleep-slow breath.
Silently and carefully to not disturb either of them, you slip out of bed.
You pull on your clothes from the night before, steal an overly large hoodie, and you sneak out into the overcast morning, hoping that you don’t look like you’re sneaking out from a hook up wearing yesterday’s clothes, like you’re doing a walk of shame, even if that is exactly what you’re doing.
Well, not really a walk of shame. It’s not like you’re ashamed of having been with Doyoung and Johnny last night. Quite the opposite. Your mind is whirring still, your skin flushed and tingling with the memory of their hands and lips and bodies on yours. You just needed to get out of their space so you could have a little bit of time to process, to wrap your head around the reality you’ve ended up in.
Your intention was to maybe head home, shower off, have some privacy to think about everything you learned and experienced last night.
You make it as far as the nearest bus stop (two and a half blocks from their fancy-ass apartment building), and while you’re standing there waiting for the bus to show up, you’re looking around. And you spot a cafe, see a music shop next door advertising, of course, the album Doyoung released a few weeks ago.
Damn it.
It’s got to be a sign, right?
You return to their apartment before either of them have even left bed. You’ve got a bag of pastries pinched between your elbow and your torso while you balance a cardboard carrier weighed down by four coffees. Four, because you don’t know how Doyoung takes it, so you made two educated guesses, hoping that one of them is at least close.
The morning view from their apartment is even more stunning than the night view. Sunlight filters through a break in the clouds, dappling the city as it wakes. You realize that you can see the river from here, that there’s a good view of the park that’s not too far away, and up this high you can watch as birds soar over the rooftops of the buildings below.
From down the hall, you hear one of the boys yawn and groan. The sound pulls you away from staring out the window, reminding you of the coffees and pastries in hand.
Johnny is sitting up with his back against the headboard, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he checks his phone. He glances up as you enter the room.
“Good morning,” he says, his deep morning voice resonating. “You went out and got us coffee?” Johnny sits his phone aside on the bedside table.
“I know how you like it.” You carefully climb back onto their bed, straddling Johnny’s outstretched legs. “I wasn’t quite sure about Doyoung, so I guessed.”
Johnny takes the coffee that you indicate with a glance, and then he takes the carrier off your hands, too. He slides it onto the bedside table, and then he looks at the little bag you’re still holding. “And what’s that?”
“Pastries.”
Doyoung lifts his head, still half-asleep, his hair standing up in all directions on one side. “What kind?”
Johnny chuckles into the first sip of his coffee, but you list off the few options of pastry you bought for Doyoung. He takes a cream cheese bread, takes the sweeter decaf coffee you brought for him, and he happily sits there munching down the pastry. You slide off of Johnny’s lap to sit cross-legged on the bed between the two men, sipping at your own coffee and sampling bites from the pastries.
Johnny chatters to fill the silence, reading things off of his phone — news, weather updates, gossip, tweets that he finds funny — as he drinks the coffee and wordlessly requests bites of whatever pastry you’ve just pulled from the bag. He sits there, looking at his phone with his mouth open as he leans towards you, waiting for you to tear off a small piece and feed it to him.
It feels ridiculously domestic.
It feels good.
The three of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the sweet breakfast and the sleepy atmosphere. Doyoung scoots closer to Johnny, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder and blinking tiredly, telling the pair of you about the dream he had last night, about the schedule he has later tonight, about a dinner he’s got planned with his older brother and his parents.
You like this. You like talking with them, spending time with them, laughing with Doyoung, teasing Johnny about being a coffee snob (one sip of your coffee and he’s wrinkling his nose, talking about the flavor notes). You like the way that when you climb out of bed, clambering over Johnny’s legs, as you walk away with the crumpled up bag empty of pastries, you can feel them both watching you. A quick backwards glance confirms it.
You toss the trash in the can in their kitchen, stop briefly in their small restroom off the kitchen to use the toilet and wash your hands.
When you come back to their bedroom, Doyoung’s snuggling Johnny’s pillow, but the man himself is walking into the en-suite bathroom.
Doyoung’s eyes flutter, looking between you and Johnny before he lets his eyes fall shut again. “Don’t have too much fun without me. I’m going back to sleep.”
For a moment, you hesitate, not sure if you want to climb back in bed with Doyoung or if you’d rather follow Johnny into the shower or if you should leave.
Doyoung opens his eyes after a moment, looking right at you, and he waves his hand towards the bathroom. “I’ll still be here when you come out.”
You shower while Johnny takes his time brushing his teeth and shaving, and then he joins you for just a moment beneath the warm spray. You fall prey to the temptation that exists in the form of a nude Johnny. His hands find your hips as he stands behind you, his touch exploring higher as he cups your tits in his hands, rolling each nipple between his fingers. You lean back against his chest, a small moan leaving your lips, your hand wanders down between your legs, and while Johnny massages your chest, paying special attention to your sensitive nipples, you touch yourself.
He leans down, lips brushing your ear, whispering to you about Doyoung in a way that makes you feel like your skin is on fire.
When Johnny maneuvers you so your chest is pressed to the glass wall of the shower, you have a clear view through their bathroom doorway to Doyoung’s bare form stretched out in the sheets. His head is turned in your direction, but from here you can’t tell if he’s looking or if he’s truly asleep. You don’t mind either way, but Johnny’s voice in your ear paints a vivid story of Doyoung’s present voyeurism, watching as Johnny enters you from behind.
Johnny fucks you against the glass with your chest and your cheek smushed into the steamy wall, his fingers in your hair. It’s a hard, fast fuck. You cum with your fingers on your clit, Johnny pumping into you. He pulls out quickly, and you spin around to face him. With one hand you drag his mouth down against yours by the back of his neck, and your other hand goes to his erection, flying along his length until he’s cumming, grunting and groaning against your lips while his cum drips from your fingers and gets washed down the drain.
Doyoung only sighs softly as you slip back into bed and snuggle up next to him. He curls an arm around you, dragging you closer against his chest. Johnny moves quietly around the room, dressing and accessorizing and spritzing cologne on.
“I’ve got a meeting,” he explains. “Though, honestly, I’m more than half-tempted to cancel it.” Johnny leans over the bed, appraising the two of you naked and tangled together, but he just sinks down to brush a kiss to your cheek, to peck Doyoung on the lips, and then he goes.
You doze off again.
At some point later, you wake comfortably and lazily in bed. It’s warm, speckled with sunlight from across the room. You’re alone, but for the moment that doesn’t bother you. You spread out, groaning softly as you stretch your arms and legs, enjoying the softness of Johnny and Doyoung’s expensive sheets. You don’t want to move. Maybe you could just stay here like this, a permanent fixture in their bed.
But you also don’t want to overstay your welcome.
When you sit up, you notice a note on the bedside table beside your phone, which is plugged in. You’re fairly certain you’d left your phone in your purse, dropped somewhere out in their living room last night.
I had to leave for my schedule. I found your phone and plugged it in to charge since it was nearly dead. If you’re hungry, you can eat anything in the apartment. You’re welcome to stay until either of us return. I know I can’t wait to see you again.
x Doyoung
You sit in bed, holding the sheets wrapped around yourself, reading the note once and then again. Stay, Doyoung wrote, and you feel warmth at the feeling of being wanted.
And when you check your phone, you’ve also got a message waiting from Johnny: dy said he left you in our bed im on my way back if you want a late lunch we can go out?
It would be a late lunch. You check the time and see that the hour is creeping into afternoon. You drag yourself from bed, and as you pull on last night’s outfit, you wish that you had something else to wear. The outfit for the date to the bar last night is not what you would choose to wear for a lunch date with Johnny.
You’re in the process of brushing your teeth with your finger and some toothpaste when you hear the door to the apartment open. Johnny calls your name.
“In here!” You shout, quickly rinsing your mouth with minty mouthwash, and you’ve just stood up straight, when you catch Johnny’s reflection in the mirror. He stands in the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom.
“I have something for you.” Johnny holds up a shopping bag.
Cautiously and curiously, you turn and walk towards him. “What is it?” You reach for it, but Johnny pulls it back just a bit.
“Don’t tell me no. Just take it. Okay?” He holds the bag forward again, and you quickly take it, opening the bag and pinching light wrapping paper out of the way. Johnny watches you, and before you can really see what is inside, Johnny’s already saying, “I like giving gifts, so don’t tell me it’s too much.”
You peer inside the bag, and find finely folded clothes inside. You look up at Johnny, and he nods. “You bought clothes for me?”
“I want to take you out to lunch,” Johnny says, “And I figured you might want to wear something different than what you wore last night. Like I said, don’t tell me no, just put them on.”
Part of you does actually want to tell him no, that you can’t accept these clothes because already as you pull them out the bag, you can see expensive brand names on them. How much did he spend on this little gift for you? But another part of you feels warm and tingly and fuzzy thinking about Johnny picking out these clothes for you, gifting them to you.
“Go on,” he encourages you, then he turns and walk back out to the bedroom, calling back over his shoulder to ask, “And what would you like for lunch? We can go anywhere you want, baby.”
The clothes fit you goddamn perfectly as if when Johnny was touching you he was memorizing the shape of your body. There’s a pretty matching set to replace the bra and panties Johnny tore off of you last night. The pants are designer, and they fit your hips and thighs perfectly, the length cut exactly right. The top is silky, flowing like water over your skin, draping nicely over your chest. There’s even a pair of shoes, though you didn’t feel like Johnny spent too much time observing your feet.
He whistles appreciatively from the spot where he sits on the end of the bed as you walk out into the bedroom. “Perfect. And I’ve got a little something more, though I can’t really take credit for it. I’m more of the deliverer than anything. Just picked up and am delivering what was ordered.”
You stop in front of him, watching as Johnny pulls a small box from behind him. It’s small but long and flat, and immediately you recognize it as having come from a jewelry store.
“Johnny—“ you warn.
“It was Doyoung’s idea. We both like giving gifts, baby, and if that’s going to be an issue, I want you to tell us up front.” Johnny hesitates to open the lid, awaiting your response. “Yes, these are maybe a bit expensive right off the bat, but we just really like you, and we want to show you that through gifts.”
I mean, damn, you can’t really say no to that, can you? They want to give you these fancy gifts; it makes them happy. But at the same time you feel a little wrong, a little dirty for accepting expensive gifts after sleeping with them.
“I think it’s just how expensive this stuff all is that’s putting me off. I don’t mind little gifts every now and then, but I just… I don’t want you guys to feel like you need to shower me with big gifts.” You put your hand on Johnny’s arm. “I like you guys even without all of your money, actually, I like you both in spite of the money.”
Johnny laughs. “So you don’t want the necklace? Or the clothes?”
“I didn’t say that!” You quickly protest. “I just don’t want you two to feel like I need these things. I just want you and Doyoung. I don’t need all this extra stuff. But! I really appreciate the clothes, even if these jeans cost a month of my rent, and I really, really want to see the necklace Doyoung chose.”
Johnny lifts the lid and your breath leaves you.
It’s gorgeous. Of course it is.
The fine chain is made of white gold. A pretty pendant dangles from the chain: an amethyst surrounded by small diamonds.
It’s beyond gorgeous, actually. It looks insanely expensive.
“I can put it on for you?” Johnny offers.
You hesitate for just a moment, wondering if maybe this is too expensive of a gift to accept from a man you’ve not even known for very long. But Johnny raises his eyebrows at you expectantly, so you turn, moving your hair out of the way as best as you can.
Johnny moves so lightly, carefully draping the necklace around your throat, his fingers gentle against the back of your neck as he fastens the clasp of the necklace. The pretty jewelry rests coolly against your skin. And Johnny brushes a burning kiss to the nape of your neck.
“Lunch?” He reminds you.
You don’t really care where he takes you for lunch. You’d eat at McDonalds with him if that’s where he took you, but given how dressed up both of you are, you’ll take something nicer.
Lunch is good. It’s an Italian place with cloth napkins and candles on the tables, authentic music playing over hidden speakers. You like talking with Johnny, which is something you’d already known of course, but over the past few weeks since Valentine’s Day, you’d fought against that feeling, but now with the progress of last night, you’re falling back into the feelings, deeply and quickly like he bound a stone to your feet and tossed you into the deep waters of love.
You spend a ridiculously long time sitting in that restaurant, lost in talking with Johnny about everything and anything.
He takes you home that afternoon. He walks you up to the door of your apartment. Johnny kisses you at the door, leaving you breathless and half-tempted to invite him inside.
To your surprise, Johnny is the one who breaks away first. He takes a step back, his eyes trained on your lips as he says, “I should go. We left the car in that two-hour spot, and I could easily surpass two hours with you, baby.”
Your fingers are twisted in his belt loops, and you tug a little, wanting to draw him back in.
Johnny smiles this soft smile at you that makes your insides burn brighter. He reaches down and takes both of your hands, peeling them away from his belt loops, and he brings both of your hands up toward his lips.
Gentlemanly, Johnny brushes a light kiss to the knuckles of each hand.
“Have a good night, baby. See you soon.”
There’s a dull ache in your chest when Johnny lowers your hands and lets go. As he takes a few more steps back without breaking eye contact with you.
“Bye, Johnny. Good night.” You still want to ask him to stay. The heat in your belly is really insistent that he stay, actually. But you also know that you probably need to take a little break from he and Doyoung. Just a little one. A few hours at least to wrap your head around everything in privacy without the pair of them tangling themselves up in your thoughts.
By dinner time, you’re already itching to see them again, an addict needing her fix. And really, what could it hurt to text them? But you don’t want to seem desperate or clingy. Then again, how desperate and clingy could you possibly appear when Johnny’s the one who still consistently showed up to the cafe — usually with sad puppy eyes — after you walked out on him that night and even after you continuously ignored him.
You hold off on texting either Doyoung or Johnny. You distract yourself with showering, cleaning the apartment, making yourself dinner, bingeing a show you’ve been trying to finish. You even put your phone on silent, no vibrate, face down on the sofa.
It’s late, nearing midnight when you stir from the doze you fell into on the sofa. The TV is stuck on a “are you still watching?” screen, and you stretch out for the remote you’d left on the coffee table. In doing so, you knock your phone to the floor, the screen lights up, and as you glance at it, you see a screen full of notifications.
Some are just social media notifications. There’s a bunch from the group chat you’ve got with your friends. One from Lia, asking how your date went and would you be able to stay a little extra at work tomorrow? And then there’s a new message that has you sitting there staring at your phone until the screen goes dark.
Doyoung
When can we see you again? I miss you
That message leaves you giddy. Grinning and giggling and kicking your feet beneath your blanket. It’s hard to fall back to sleep after that, but you move to bed and do eventually doze off again, tumbling into sweet dreams of Doyoung and Johnny.
You work the next day, and the one after that. Your hours of availability don’t seem to overlap with Doyoung and Johnny’s at all. They’re both working and slow to respond until after you’ve fallen asleep, but for the next few days you wake up to a slew of messages from both of the men. You don’t even get the chance to see Johnny in the cafe, and honestly after three days without being able to see either of them, you’ve got a hollow feeling in your chest, an absence that can only be filled by them.
You’re lucky enough to snag a few minutes of a phone call with Doyoung while you’re grocery shopping and he’s riding in the car on the way to a scheduled video shoot. He’d also pretty good about keeping you and Johnny updated on his day as he sends regular messages and photos in the new group chat for the three of you.
By the time the weekend comes back around, you’re living the saying “absence makes the heart grow fonder” only in this case absence is making you feel a bit delusional because of just how much you miss them. And also horny. On Saturday morning you wake with the craving to have Doyoung, the way you lose all your inhibitions when you’re with him, both of you let passion take over, let each other be as noisy as you want.
And then fucking Johnny Suh. You swear you almost head straight to their apartment when he sends a damn shirtless gym selfie to you and Doyoung.
If you didn’t have pre-existing plans with friends, you think you probably wouldn’t have been able to hold yourself back from going to see Johnny right then.
You can barely look away from the photo. Your attention keeps returning to the band of his sweatpants slung low on his hips, no underwear in sight, the V of his hips far too tantalizing when you’re already feeling needy for dick, but the impression of his bulge in the front of the gray sweatpants makes you wish you were on your knees for him right now.
The whole time you’re grabbing lunch and shopping with a few of your friends, you’re thinking of Doyoung and Johnny. It’s not fair, you keep thinking. Johnny sent that photo, and a few hours later, Doyoung sent a photo from his dance practice with his face flushed and glistening with sweat, and all your one-track mind could think about was Doyoung looking like that after fucking you into the mattress.
You try to keep your messages tame, but after Doyoung sends another photo while you’re at lunch — this one is just his bottle of water gripped in his hand, positioned just-so on his lap that from the angle he takes the photo, it’s quite reminiscent of him wrapping his hand around his cock. Johnny’s response is filthy, so you let yourself vent out a bit of the steam building in your own message.
But you keep up with your friends. Lunch and shopping turns into making dinner plans too, inviting a few of your friends who hadn’t been able to make it earlier.
Over drinks and appetizers, you laugh and chatter with your friends, though you keep checking your phone for messages, still thoroughly distracted by the two men. And when love lives are brought up, you can’t help wanting to share, but you hold your tongue, not quite sure you’re really ready to share this new thing you’ve got.
And as the hours stretch later and later, you know you should call it a day, head home and climb in bed. You’ve got work in the morning, and you’ve been drinking since late afternoon, best to sleep it off. But you’re having fun with friends you’ve not seen in a while, and the drinks and food and laughter keep coming.
Eventually, over yet another round of drinks and the scraps of dessert, your tongue is loose enough that when someone asks you if you’re seeing anyone, you just tell your friends everything — hooking up with Johnny at work and going back to his place (which a few of them had heard that part of the story already), about meeting Doyoung at the wedding and spending the night at the hotel with him (also, a few of them have heard that), and now you share the newest part of the story: the revelation that the two men that blew you away in bed are actually already in an open relationship which they’ve now invited you to be a part of, and you had a threesome with them.
The silence that follows is deafening, and then suddenly your friends explode into a flurry of questions and advice and general exclamations of surprise at pretty much every part of your story. You leave out the parts of the story about Doyoung being a professional singer and about Johnny being a famous DJ and producer, but you tell your friends everything else.
Mostly what you receive are encouragements to pursue the relationship.
“You’re young, beautiful, and free. May as well have some fun with two hot men that are talented in bed and won’t get jealous of each other,” one of your friends says.
It’s reached the point in the evening when toasting each other comes as easily as the laughter, so it shouldn’t surprise you when your friends begin proposing toasts.
“To your happiness!” One says, raising her glass.
“To good sex!” Another giggles, clinking her glass against the first raised.
The others quickly lift their glasses, and as you join in, you find yourself grinning and saying, “To great sex!”
You’re not exactly sure what the time is when the elevator drops you off in front of Doyoung and Johnny’s door. It’s late, that much you’re pretty sure of. And you’ve had quite a lot more to drink than you’d originally intended, that you’re certain of. But neither of those things stop you from knocking on the apartment’s door, from leaning against the wall and pressing the button of their doorbell.
It takes a few minutes, during which you slide a bit down the wall, but eventually the door opens a crack. Doyoung peers out.
He says your name softly, and in your not-quite-drunk but definitely tipsy state, you just smile dreamily at Doyoung.
You have a feeling that you may have woken him. He’s wearing cotton sleep pants decorated with bunnies, and the shirt he’s wearing is probably Johnny’s given how big it looks on Doyoung’s slighter frame. The neck of it is stretched with age and wear, dipping down low enough to show off Doyoung’s collarbones. His hair is a bit messy, with a slight wave or curl to it as if he fell asleep with it wet. And as you blink away the blurry haze that infiltrates your vision, you notice pillow marks on Doyoung’s cheek.
“Hi,” you murmur, “I was thinking about you.”
“Come inside,” Doyoung invites you in, stepping aside to make way. He quickly closes and locks the door shut again behind you.
You toe off your shoes, slip your jacket off. Both your jacket and your purse hit the floor.
Doyoung’s hand finds your lower back. “Let’s get you some water. Have you had a good night?”
“I was out with some of my friends,” you explain as you let Doyoung corral you towards the kitchen. “Dinner and drinks. I told them about Johnny and you and me. Well, the thrupple thing, some of my concerns about how this is gonna work.” You wave a hand dismissively. “They think I should go for it.”
Doyoung urges you to sit on a chair at their small table.
You plunk down on it a little heavier than you meant to. You frown as you readjust, sitting a little straighter. Doyoung is too busy digging around in a cabinet to notice your mild struggle to orient yourself properly.
He doesn’t speak as he fills a glass with water and sits it in front of you. He doesn’t say anything as he digs through another cabinet and comes out with a bottle of aspirin, which he also deposits in front of you.
It’s only after you’ve taken down aspirin and gulped down half the glass of water that Doyoung finally speaks. “Johnny isn’t here. He’s working late at the studio.” At your questioning look, Doyoung elaborates, “If you have concerns, questions, anything you want to discuss about the three of us, I think Johnny should be here for that.”
You nod a little. Then: “I think I kinda just came by because I wanted to see you.”
Doyoung smiles softly at you. “Yeah? You missed me?”
“All I’ve thought about since I woke up alone in your bed was the two of you.” You take another gulp of the cool water. “I mean, today especially, I woke up horny, thinking of you specifically, but then all day both of you kept sending those pictures, making it worse. But even before today, all week, I kept thinking about you both over and over in daydream fantasies, wanting to be around you both, thinking of going out somewhere on fun dates, being with you both again, talking and joking around with you guys. I want to listen to your music, to see you perform, to listen to Johnny’s work and be excited with him when a DJ gig goes well or when one of his tracks gets picked up by an artist he wants to work with. All I’ve been thinking about is how much I like you guys, how I barely know you but I miss you, how much I want to see where this relationship between the three of us can go.”
You can’t look at Doyoung as you admit all of that to him, as the words come rushing out in a drunken rambling confession. Instead, you draw your fingertip through the condensation gathering on the water glass, dragging droplets together until they grow heavy enough to race down towards the table.
Doyoung reaches for your hand, peeling it away from the cup, and he holds it comfortingly between both of his hands. At that point, you look up, and your gaze meets Doyoung’s. His dark eyes latch onto yours, holding you entranced. “Darling, that’s what we want too,” he says, “Johnny and I have talked about what we want in regards to you, and like I said, he’s working late tonight, but if you stay tonight, we can talk about it in the morning.”
You nod. Yes, you want to stay the night.
“Come to bed.” Doyoung rises, gently tugging your hand to follow.
You trail behind Doyoung to the bedroom, then through the doorway of their bathroom. He disappears into the walk-in closet off the bathroom, returning a moment later with another oversize shirt that you again assume belongs to Johnny. Doyoung passes it over to you, cups your chin in his hand to tilt your face up towards his, and he passes a light kiss over your forehead. Then he leaves, padding back out to bed, leaving you to get changed.
You quickly rinse off in the shower. You steal some toothpaste and brush your teeth with your finger, rinse your mouth with some mouthwash beside the sink. You do your best to quickly tame your hair into a pair of braids to protect your damp hair while you sleep. Johnny’s shirt – for that’s definitely whose it is, you realize once you catch the familiar smell of him on the collar – wraps warm and soft around you, the hem falling just short of your knees like a dress.
Doyoung is dozing when you crawl into bed, but he stirs just enough to open his arms to let you snuggle in against his chest. “G’night,” he mumbles.
“Good night,” you softly reply.
He instantly dips back off to sleep, but it takes you a little while longer. It’s only once you move your head to Doyoung’s chest, once you’ve got the soft feel of his shirt beneath your cheek, the clean smell of him, the comforting beat of his heart in your ear that you finally let sleep overtake you.
You sleep well, restfully, deep in dreams that you can’t even remember when you wake in the morning. All you know is that you slept deep enough that you didn’t even notice when Johnny came home, but as you blink in the bright early-morning light, Johnny is asleep on Doyoung’s other side, lying on his stomach, arms folded beneath the pillow, breathing evenly. Doyoung is still asleep too, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close to his chest.
The apartment is quiet save for the whir of the air conditioning, the distant buzz of the refrigerator, and a chiming noise that it takes you too long to realize is a phone.
You sit up, looking around for any sign of your phone or a clock.
Shit, in all the fun with your friends last night, you’d let yourself get a little too carried away with drinking, and then with telling them about Johnny and Doyoung, you’d come on this little sidequest on your way home.
You were supposed to work today.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You curse, stumbling out of bed, untangling yourself from the sheets much to the sleepy disgruntlement of the two men left in bed. You hiss at the cold feeling of the flooring under your bare feet as you hurry down the hallway, out to their living room, dropping to your knees beside your purse and your jacket where the chiming sound is emanating from. It falls silent before you manage to dig your phone out of your bag, but it starts ringing again almost as soon as your phone is in your hand.
It’s your boss.
“Hello?” Shit, how are you going to play this?
Her voice is sharp as she says your name, followed up with, “Where are you?”
Sick. If you play sick, she can’t be mad at you, right?
“Oh my God. What time is it?” Lucky for you, your voice is rough with sleep, a rasp to it that maybe will come across as sick. “Oh, God. Ma’am, I’m so sorry! I – I meant to call, but I must’ve fallen back asleep. I was up off and on all night puking. I must have a stomach bug or food poisoning or something. I was going to call when it wasn’t the middle of the night, but I guess I slept right through my alarm!”
You feel only a little bit bad about lying. What makes you feel worse is when your boss immediately switches her tone from ready to berate you to a tone of concern and understanding. You must actually sound pretty rough if she’s letting you off this easily, but by the time you end the phonecall a minute later, she’s promised you that you’re fine to take off today and tomorrow too if you need it, to just let her know.
You end the phone call and press the edge of your phone to your forehead with a groan. How could you have been so stupid last night? You completely forgot about work!
“I hope you don’t make a habit of this — Why is it that I’m always waking up to you being gone from our bed?” A voice croaks from behind you.
You twist around, and there’s Johnny.
He’s running his fingers through his hair, leaned against the corner of the hallway, watching you crouched on the floor. He still looks pretty sleepy, ready to fall back into bed even though he extricated himself from it to follow you out here. He’s only wearing boxer shorts, and the cool air of the apartment doesn’t seem to bother him at all.
“I forgot I was supposed to work today,” you pathetically explain. “That was my boss.”
“Oops.” Johnny offers up a half-smile. “Do they still want you to come in? We could drive you?”
You shake your head, pushing up off the floor to stand. “No, I convinced her that I’m sick. You guys are stuck with me.”
“Oh, damn, how unfortunate,” Johnny says without the slightest bit of sincerity as you walk closer to him. “So now we’re just going to have to get back in bed and sleep a little longer? What a shame. You look really good in my shirt, by the way. That was a really nice surprise to come home to this morning; you and Doyoungie in my clothes, curled up together in bed. Too cute.”
Doyoung is awake when you walk back into the bedroom, sitting up and sleepily rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“You dick-notized her into forgetting she had work this morning,” Johnny says, hauling himself back into bed, collapsing halfway over Doyoung.
Doyoung snorts. “First of all, I’ve told you before that I have no hypnotic powers. Second, my dick didn’t do anything to her last night. Third,” and now he’s looking right at you as he asks, “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
You shake your head no and walk around the bed to fill in the empty space Johnny abandoned. “Told them I’m sick, so I’ve got the day off.”
“Which means we can all go the fuck back to sleep,” Johnny mumbles, not bothering to lift his head from the pillow.
Doyoung doesn’t take much (or any) convincing of that, and the three of you fall back asleep shortly, only waking again a couple hours later to the sound of someone else’s phone ringing. Doyoung curses, and he climbs halfway over you and Johnny to reach his phone where it’s plugged in on your side of the bed. He stays over top of you like that, close enough that you feel the heat of him, but not close enough that he’s touching you.
“Hello?” He greets, and quickly begins speaking into the phone after that, pausing only briefly every now and then to let a tinny voice speak on the other end. You don’t even try to keep up with the conversation, too busy looking over at Johnny who is staring at you.
Johnny’s gaze roves over you appreciatively from your messy braids to the tshirt of his you’re wearing and down farther. He seems transfixed by the long stretch of bare skin that starts at your hip where the shirt has ridden up and goes all the way down your thigh and your calf to your bare foot that’s resting against one of Johnny’s. Somehow all of the covers have ended up bunched up on Doyoung’s side of the bed, leaving you exposed in the morning light to Johnny’s appreciative gaze.
Doyoung is still chattering into the phone, but he shifts out of the way as you and Johnny move close to each other. Doyoung climbs the rest of the way over you, sitting on the edge of the bed to continue his phone conversation while Johnny reels you in.
His hand finds your bare hip, his skin burning hot against yours, tickling against the back of your thigh as he guides your leg up over his hip. You can feel the hard shape of his morning wood nudge between your legs.
“Good morning,” you whisper, subtly rolling your hips forward. “Did you sleep well?”
Johnny’s hold on you tightens. “So good, baby. I know Doyoung said you two didn’t do anything last night, but I dreamed differently. I was picturing you both tangled up here in bed, hands all over each other. What a pretty sight.” His hand strokes along your thigh, moving up to cup your ass, giving it a little squeeze.
From your left, Doyoung’s words cut off. You glance up to find him watching the pair of you, so you send him a wink. Doyoung just clears his throat and turns away, refocusing on the phone call.
Johnny presses his lips to your jaw. “Baby, you smell like Doyoung right now. Did you shower here last night?”
“Mm.” You tilt your head, opening yourself up for Johnny to have better access to your throat. “I’d been out drinking with my friends, I was a bit drunk and probably smelled like my friend’s cigarettes.” One of the girls was a social smoker, only smoking her cigarettes when she was drinking, and last night was certainly one of those times.
“Smell good now.” Johnny’s nose trails your jawline for a moment before he places his lips to your throat, a sweet kiss that draws a soft moan from you. He follows that kiss with another. And another. You curl your fingers at his side and against his chest, drawing yourself closer against him, trying to pull him over top of you, but Johnny doesn’t budge, just content to lie there on his side facing you, kissing your neck.
You roll your hips, rubbing yourself against his definite bulge. “Johnny,” you moan, only just barely able to keep the sound quiet for just him.
“Do you want more, baby?” Johnny asks before lowering his mouth again to suck at a sensitive spot on your throat. “Doyoungie’s not the biggest fan of morning sex, but I get the sense that you are.”
You run your fingers up his chest, pressing them deep into his hair as Johnny sucks again at your throat and he grinds forward. This time a salacious moan spills out of your lips.
“Just a moment, please.” Doyoung’s voice sounds mildly irritated behind you, and then he hisses, “Can you two please just wait?”
“Hurry up, then,” Johnny retorts, making no effort to stop touching you or marking up your throat.
Doyoung resumes his conversation, talking more rapidly, though you’re still not listening to a damn word coming out of his mouth, far more preoccupied with what Johnny’s mouth is doing. Doyoung’s voice is just a hint of background noise as you sink into the warmth and bliss of Johnny’s roving hands and lips, melding with the thunderous racing of your heartbeat in your ears as you keep rolling your hips to meet Johnny’s slow movements.
And finally he rolls you beneath him.
Johnny pushes his fingers into your hair, mirroring the way that you’ve got your fingers knotted in his, and he crushes your mouths together. You open to his kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, and an absolutely filthy moan leaves you before you can help it. Johnny grinds against you. Your panties and his boxer shorts creates only the thinnest most irrelevant barrier between your bodies as his cock keeps gliding right over your clit.
Distantly, you hear a clatter as of a phone being tossed carelessly to the floor, and then Doyoung is right there. His hand touches yours as he pushes his fingers into Johnny’s hair, and he drags his boyfriend’s mouth away from yours.
“That was an important call that the two of you were interrupting,” Doyoung complains.
“Wasn’t me. It was her.” Johnny accuses with a shit-eating grin that’s quickly wiped away when Doyoung kisses him.
“For the record,” Doyoung says in between hungry presses of his lips to Johnny’s, “I don’t dislike morning sex. It’s just usually not a very convenient option when one or both of us has work to do.”
“Nothing on my schedule today.” Johnny breaks from Doyoung. “We’ve got all day, plenty of time to enjoy each other.”
You have been simply lying there, enjoying your front row seat to this, but as Johnny leans back in to share lazy kisses with Doyoung, you decide you’re ready for more. “I’m not feeling very patient this morning,” you tell the pair of them. “So while we can take hours and hours, I’d really like to get things going now.”
Doyoung pulls back from Johnny with a laugh. “Poor neglected darling. How should we play with you this morning?”
“However you want.” And your gaze darts to Johnny hovering above you as you request, “Use me.”
Johnny makes a short sound of amusement. “Do you mean it?”
You nod, and docilely you lift your arms above your head, crossing your wrists on the pillow. “My safe word is papaya.”
Doyoung snorts with laughter, and then he’s in your space, his lips skimming along your jaw. “Understood. Papaya’s the word, and we back off.”
“I’m not feeling anything too wild this morning.” Johnny holds himself above you, looking down at the hazy look of desire unfolding in your eyes as he starts grinding against you again. “But if you feel the need to use your safe word, baby, go ahead.”
Your hands leave the pillow, reaching for Johnny as Doyoung moves back again. Your hands slide down to clutch at Johnny’s forearms where he’s braced himself on either side of your shoulders. You lick your lips, gaze fixed on Johnny’s mouth again, and he smiles mischievously down at you.
“Doyoungie, I’ve got an idea.” Johnny starts to move, starts to pull away from you.
You dig your nails in and groan a quick “No!” in a way that just makes Johnny laugh as he drops his hips back between the apex of your thighs, satisfying you with a few slow rolls of his hips..
Doyoung’s fingers touch your chin, turning your face towards him. “Be good for us.”
“Yes, sir.” You settle into the softness of their bed, tilting your face and parting your lips as Doyoung leans in again to kiss you.
This time when Johnny draws away from you, you don’t have the breath to even complain.You’re enjoying kissing Doyoung far too much to care what Johnny is doing even as his fingers tickle up beneath your borrowed shirt, as he pushes the top higher and higher, as his breath puffs against your skin. It’s only as his lips skim along the curve of your breast, as Johnny’s warm hands come up to cup your tits in his hands and he traces his tongue around one peaked nipple that you finally break the kiss with Doyoung, a gasp breaking your silence.
Helpfully, Doyoung drags the shirt the rest of the way up your body, over your head. The shirt flies away, forgotten instantly as he kisses you again.
Between kissing Doyoung, Johnny playing with your nipples, and the way that you’re still grinding against Johnny’s hard bulge, it’s not long before you can feel yourself burning up from the inside. Your pussy is so wet, every inch of your skin is sensitive to the touches of the two men, and you genuinely feel like you just might combust if you don’t get more than this fucking frottage with Johnny.
Luckily, he seems to feel the same way.
Johnny is big and broad and strong, so it comes as no surprise when he is able to slide his arms beneath you, and he lifts you suddenly from the bed, tearing you away from Doyoung to instead sit in his lap, your bare tits snug against Johnny’s chest, seated directly over his prominent erection.
“Babe, lie down,” he addresses Doyoung, and judging by the rustle of sheets behind you, Doyoung does just that.
And then Johnny is manhandling you again.
He turns you around so you can see Doyoung, and then Johnny lifts you again and deposits you over his boyfriend. Johnny’s hand is a gentle weight between your shoulder blades, urging you to lower yourself against Doyoung’s chest. The very moment that you’re within range of Doyoung’s lips again, he’s got his hands in your hair, and you sink happily back into the kiss.
Johnny tugs your panties down, and you can feel the cool kiss of air against your wetness, though Johnny soon has his fingers there dipping into your wetness, rubbing his fingers over your clit in a manner that has your thighs twitching and you moaning onto Doyoung’s tongue.
“So pretty,” Johnny murmurs, kissing your bare back. “Both of you. I like seeing you together, my pretty babies.”
Doyoung’s mouth veers away, lips against your cheek as he responds to Johnny. “‘M not your baby.”
“No?” Johnny circles one finger around your clit, smoothly entering your ready pussy with another finger. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re begging for my cock, my love. Our girl, though, she’s being good. She knows she’s my baby, and she wants whatever I give to her, isn’t that right?”
You nod, panting a little bit with desperation. A faint whine of “Johnny” leaves you before you can help it, pushing back on the finger he’s slowly pumping in and out of you.
Johnny’s free hand comes up, curving against your hip, his fingers spreading over your ass. “Yeah, baby, you want it?”
All you can do is whine, rocking back to meet each thrust of Johnny’s hand.
“You’re so pretty like this, sweetheart.” Doyoung’s hand rises to your jaw, cupping it before he guides your mouth back to his. “Needy. Cute. Whining for Johnny and I,” Doyoung presses the words out between kisses. “I can’t wait to see you cum for us.”
Johnny chuckles and leans over you, his chest against your back, now two fingers stroking into you, and he brings his free hand up to Doyoung’s hair, stealing him away from you. They kiss right there beside you, mouths frantic and hungry. If it wasn’t for the way that Johnny’s still dutifully finger-fucking you, you’d have thought they’d entirely forgotten you.
You’ve never shied away from being vocal in bed, and you don’t let the fact that they’re enamored with each other prevent you now either. Soft moans flow constantly as you roll your hips back, needing more and more of Johnny’s touch, needing it faster and more focused.
Doyoung is the one that breaks from Johnny first, laughing as he looks at you. “And both of you want to tease me about being noisy? Listen to yourself, darling. Almost think we need to stuff your mouth to keep you quiet.”
Johnny turns his attention to kissing your throat, which does nothing to help the sounds you’re making; nor does your volume improve when Doyoung’s hands move to your breasts, pinching and rolling and massaging your tits.
“I love the way you feel,” Johnny murmurs, lips skimming over your pulse. “So soft and wet, so sensitive too.”
Your whole body quakes as the pair of them attack at the same time—both of them kissing either side of your throat, Johnny’s fingers massaging your G-spot, Doyoung’s fingers stimulating your nipples.
“You’re just dripping wet, like some kind of slut.” Johnny pulls his hand away from your pussy, and he smacks your ass. “You just want to be used, don’t you? Just need cock to satisfy yourself?”
A pathetic whimper is all you can manage. Your brain has melted, all you know is their lips and hands, the heat of their bodies around you.
Doyoung keeps licking and kissing, sucking and nipping at your throat. Johnny’s lips trail away from your neck, down between your shoulder blades, along the line of your spine. His fingers slide along your slit, gathering slick wetness, and you can barely comprehend what’s happening when suddenly Doyoung is falling back from mouthing at your throat, his head now back on the pillow with two of Johnny’s fingers disappearing between his lips. His eyes float shut in bliss as he sucks the taste of you from his boyfriend’s fingers.
“Is it good, Doyoungie?” Johnny asks. “Think she’s sweet enough?”
Doyoung moans around Johnny’s fingers, and you catch a glimpse of his pink tongue dipping between Johnny’s fingers, licking up every bit.
“Think I should taste her too?” Johnny asks, dropping a series of kisses down your spine. His fingers slip from Doyoung’s lips. “Baby girl loves my mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes, Johnny,” you answer quickly, eagerly.
Johnny’s mouth leaves your skin, and you swear your whole body tightens, anticipating the next brush of his lips.
But it doesn’t come.
With a whine, you look back over your shoulder. Johnny is kneeling there behind you, a smug look on his face as he catches you looking.
“What are you waiting for?” You hiss. “Eat me out!”
Beneath you, Doyoung snorts with laughter.
Johnny smirks. “Is that any way to ask for it? You know I like polite partners. Ask me nicely, baby, tell me exactly what you want. Use your words.”
God, why is it so hot when he talks down to you? He’s using this goddamn condescending tone that you really shouldn’t find so sexy, but you do. You like the way that Johnny is so in control of not only you but also Doyoung. He’s down to give either of you whatever you want, but he wants you to ask for it, and he just might make you work for it.
“Johnny, please, please, eat me out.” You’re begging. Your pussy is throbbing with the need to be touched, so you tell him that, tell him that you need to feel his mouth, that his tongue is all you’ve been thinking about, that you just need to feel him go down on you.
“See, was that so hard?” Johnny pats your bottom lightly. “Now be a good girl. Lie down on Doyoung, but keep your ass up.”
You arch your back, getting your knees beneath you as you lift your ass, keeping your chest pressed against Doyoung’s.
You can hardly see back over your shoulder anymore, but you watch as Johnny sinks down, feel the shift of weight on the mattress as he gets into position.
Shit, the warmth of Johnny’s tongue sends golden tingles rushing through your bloodstream. The relief as he fills you again with three fingers draws a moan from you. Johnny’s tongue flicks your clit, dances around where his fingers enter you, catching the wetness from between his fingers.
And you can’t deny that when Johnny pulls his head back and spits on your pussy, you grow even more aroused. He fingers you with his own spit as lube, sucks your clit between his lips.
You feel you’re going a little insane with the feeling of it all.
Doyoung grounds you back in reality a little bit. He tilts your chin, captures your lips. He kisses you with a lot of tongue, a little messy, definitely uncoordinated as you keep moaning and the angle isn’t optimal, and your whole body keeps rocking in time with Johnny’s movements. Doyoung takes it; he doesn’t seem to mind that he’s getting so little attention, that he’s just here holding you while Johnny has all the fun, just kissing you while you’ve got his boyfriend’s tongue dipping inside you.
But Doyoung doesn’t seem in any particular rush. He seems to be somewhat patiently letting Johnny have his turn. And you don’t mind if they choose to play with you like this, passing you back and forth between them, something like a toy for them to share.
You can picture it now. Johnny fucking into you for a few thrusts, pulling out and passing you over to Doyoung. Doyoung rolling his hips forward, burying his cock inside you with brutal, intentional thrusts meant to tease rather than please, setting you on edge before pulling out, handing you back to Johnny. Fuck, to be used like a toy for them. You wouldn’t even mind if they wanted to use you as like a conduit, to be held between them with both of them inside you, gazing at each other over your head while they fuck you and pretend as if they’re each fucking the other.
“God, baby, you like that?” Johnny asks. “You’re clenching down tight around my fingers, so wet right now.”
You drop your head down to Doyoung’s chest. “Yes, Johnny, you feel so good.” You reach back, and manage to bury your fingers in Johnny’s thick hair, to guide his mouth back. “Keep going.”
He happily dives back in, sloppily eating you out, making it noisy because of how wet you are. You keep your fingers in his hair, raking them through it, pulling at it, pushing to get his tongue deeper while you roll your hips back on his face too.
“Johnny’s mouth is just amazing, isn’t it?” Doyoung says, stroking your hair. “Gonna cum on his tongue, darling, or are you going to hold it til you get his big cock inside you?”
You whine, a broken sound that shows how truly far gone with need you are.
“Yeah?” Doyoung teases. “You gonna let my boyfriend fuck you while I hold you? And what about me, sweetheart? Johnny’s going to give you to me as his sloppy seconds, dripping his cum, stretched out loose from his big cock.”
Again, a pathetic little whimper.
Johnny moans from behind you, pulling back and knocking your hand from his hair. “Do you want me to fuck you now, baby? Or should I let you cum on my tongue first? Get you so nice and sensitive before I give you my cock?” His tongue flicks your clit. “Doyoung, I think she liked the thought of her being a sloppy mess by the time you get her. She was squeezing tight around my tongue when you said that. Is that how you want it, baby? No condom so you can feel me inside you?”
“Raw. Now. Fuck me raw right now,” you gasp, cheek smushed against Doyoung’s chest. You can only just barely see Johnny right now. Mostly, it’s just the top of his head, his black hair all messy from your fingers raking through it. His tongue twists against you, and another sensitive cry tears from you. “Please, Johnny, I need it.”
“You need it? Oh, I’m sure you do.” Doyoung teases. “She likes it raw, hyung. That’s how we did it the night in the hotel. Our pretty girl,” his fingers stroke your cheek tenderly before he continues, “She just needs dick so badly, she took me raw despite only knowing me a few hours.”
You whine, hiding your face against his chest, letting your teeth scrape his skin in weak retribution.
Johnny squeezes your ass, sucks your clit between his lips for a moment, and then he pulls back. “Is that how you really want it, baby? Bare and raw? You want me to cum in you?”
The sound of desperate need that you attempt to muffle against Doyoung’s chest is ungodly. “Yes, fuck, Johnny. And then, Doyoungie, please. Need you after.” You manage to lift your head, to meet Doyoung’s gaze, though you feel like your vision is blurring as Johnny fills your pussy with a few fingers again, pumping and spreading them to make sure you’re ready to take him. “God, oh, I just need it. Need you both.”
“God damn,” Doyoung curses, pinching your chin between his fingers, drawing your mouth back to his. He places a swift kiss to your lips. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. I love doing this with both of you.”
You agree, fully and completely and wholeheartedly.
Your body is trembling with anticipation and the need for orgasm by the time that Johnny decides you’re loose enough for his thick cock.
“Ready, baby?” He checks again with you.
“Stop asking. Just fuck me, use me!” You cry out, but he doesn’t make a move until you whine, “Yes, Johnny.”
Doyoung kisses you then, and you’re glad that he did otherwise all of their neighbors for the surrounding floors would know what’s happening.
You like taking Johnny at this angle, on your knees with your hips in the air, your upper body flush with Doyoung’s. At this angle, Johnny hits different, his cock immediately gliding over your G-spot, sliding deeper and deeper until his hips are fitted right against your ass, as close as he can be, filling you so much better than he had with just his fingers. His hands cup your curves, thumbs pressing into the soft crease of your ass to pull your cheeks apart so he can watch the way that your pussy stretches around his cock, to see his cock as he pulls out to just the tip only to thrust back in.
You rock forward on your knees, and you roll your hips back for more, moaning against Doyoung’s lips. His fingers knot in your hair, keeping your mouth on his as he slides his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss.
It’s easy to get swept up in the passion, the heat of being caught between both of them. Making out with Doyoung while getting fucked by Johnny is just a perfectly wonderful experience that leaves you feeling dazed and floaty when your orgasm finally snaps and releases through you in a powerful wave.
Johnny presses you down against Doyoung, his chest snug against your back, his hips cradling your ass. You don’t mind being sandwiched between them, nor do you have it in you to care much when Johnny steals Doyoung away from kissing you again.
Doyoung is hard, rocking up against your belly, moaning noisily while Johnny rolls his hips smoothly forward into you at an insanely even pace. You want them both, need to experience having both Doyoung and Johnny inside you at the same time, but you figure that that fantasy will have to wait as right now Doyoung desperately cries out and starts humping your belly as best as he can with the combined weight of you and Johnny pinning him down.
“You gonna cum before you even get the chance to be inside her?” Johnny taunts Doyoung, pressing the words to the edge of Doyoung’s jaw.
Doyoung’s head falls back. His throat bobs, and he’s letting out these breathy moans, still writhing beneath you.
You touch your lips to his throat, just light kisses that aren’t likely to leave any marks behind. But those little kisses drive Doyoung just as insane as if you were marking him up with love bites. The glide of his cock against your belly is growing easier as his cock is blurting precum, slicking the way.
“You make a mess, Doyoungie, and you have to clean it up,” Johnny says, and then he’s tracing the sharp line of Doyoung’s jaw with his tongue, his gaze fixed on his boyfriend’s, almost challenging him. “Or, if you can hold off cumming long enough, you can give it to her. She needs it. Pretty baby just wants our cum filling her sweet hole, dripping out because she’s so stuffed full with it.”
God, the mental image has you flushed with heat, rocking your hips, thrusting yourself back on Johnny’s cock with renewed fervor, grinding down against Doyoung’s cock pinned between your bodies.
“Save it up for me, Doyoung,” you beg, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. “Please, I do need it, like Johnny said. Wanna have you both in me like that.”
Doyoung moans wantonly. You imagine his hands are probably fisted in the bedsheets.
“Look how much she wants it.” Johnny grips your hips, grinds his cock deep inside you in a way that makes stars of pleasure spark across your vision, steals your breath away in the same move. “I want to see it too, Doyoung. Want to see you cum in our girl —“
Your brain short-circuits a little bit at that. “Our girl” he called you, and you like the possessive nature of it, the way that his grip tightens on your hips to almost bruising as he says it. You can’t even focus on the words he says after. Another orgasm rushes through you, and this time it pulls Johnny right up to the edge of orgasm too.
Johnny peels himself away from your back as he kneels, dragging your hips up away from Doyoung.
When you look down, you can see Doyoung’s cock standing tall, pink and damp with his own arousal. It taps against your belly as Johnny thrusts forward, pushing you a little more down towards Doyoung on your weak knees.
“Shit, baby.” Johnny moans, “Gonna cum, and then she’s all yours. Our pretty girl is gonna take it all, aren’t you?”
His hips slam forward. Instinctively, your pussy clenches around him, pulsing with the last waves of your climax racing through you, and Johnny lets go.
“Baby, baby,” Johnny moans, grinding against your ass, shallow thrusts as his orgasm quakes through him. Heat floods your belly, his cum filling you and spreading this blissful contented feeling through your whole body. He drops his cheek to rest against yours, murmuring your name.
God, you feel so good right now. Blissful and relaxed, boneless as Johnny pulls away.
You don’t even know how you manage to roll yourself off of Doyoung, but then you’re lying on your back with your fingers curled against Doyoung’s arm trying to get him to roll over top of you.
You want to feel him inside you too, to feel him filling in the places where Johnny had just been, using you and Johnny’s cum as lube.
Doyoung slides over top of you, but he sinks down between your legs, presses your thighs apart, and then carefully leans in.
He kisses you clit. Gentle. Tender.
And then there’s the warm glide of his tongue that has your eyes rolling back, a long moan involuntarily leaving you.
Doyoung works magic with his tongue that has you quickly trembling through a weak, quick orgasm, but that’s enough. He lifts his head, and holds out his tongue to show you the pearly treasure he’s found inside you.
“That’s hot,” Johnny murmurs. “Do we taste good together, Doyoung?”
Doyoung nods, closes his mouth, and swallows. “So good, hyung.”
Johnny leans in, kisses Doyoung, and for a few seconds while you recover, Johnny sucks the taste from Doyoung’s tongue. “Perfect,” he sighs when he breaks the kiss. “But now give her what she really wants.”
It takes a couple moments of rearranging.
Johnny helps you sit up, then he slides behind you, letting you lean back against his chest. His hands gravitate towards your tits, playing with them while Doyoung kneels between your legs, as he strokes his hand along his cock and lines up with your entrance.
Your thighs close against Doyoung’s hips, and he just sinks forward into you.
He’s beautiful. Angelic. His soft bleached hair is kinda a mess this morning, haloing around his face. His lips are pink and swollen, glistening with your arousal still. His eyes race back and forth between your face and Johnny’s, between the place where your bodies meet and Johnny’s hands on your tits and then your lips as they part around a moan of his name.
Doyoung fits so well against you and inside you. He’s slighter than Johnny, not as wide or as tall, not as muscular, but he fits with you just as perfectly.
“So wet and warm,” Doyoung moans as he fills you to the base with his cock. “So messy. Listen to you, darling.”
Doyoung pulls out and thrusts back in, a few quick times during which you can hear the wet sound of your pussy, all the cum and arousal squelching as your bodies meet. But he seems to like it a lot. Doyoung grasps your thighs, hoisting them a little higher around his hips, holding you up a bit more so he can drive into you at a different angle, hitting smoother and deeper.
Johnny keeps one hand on your chest, but the other freely roams your body, ranging down over your stomach to press his hand against your belly, murmuring against your ear, “Can you feel him there, baby? Our Doyoungie is deep, isn’t he? I can feel him right there. Yeah, just like that.” You think his eyes must be fixed on Doyoung’s because Doyoung is staring over your head, fucking into you with determination. “Does he feel good, baby?”
“Mmn.” You nod, and stupidly your eyes feel wet. Are you going to cry?
Doyoung slows it down a little, slowly rolling his hips, smooth thrusts that hit home. The pleasure is building, powerful like a whole flood gathering just behind the dam, and you feel it’s about to break loose.
“Doyoung!” You moan, head rolling back on Johnny’s shoulder.
“Yes, darling?” Doyoung’s voice is like silk, flowing easily into your ears as he closes the distance between your bodies. His lips land again on your throat, and you feel his teeth bite, a gentle burn quickly soothed by his tongue.
You feel Doyoung’s heartbeat against your chest, feel Johnny’s against your back. Johnny has one hand slid down from your belly to get his fingertips at your clit, and Doyoung is humping into you with shallow thrusts that are driving you insane. Your toes curl, orgasm just barely out of reach.
“More,” you beg. “Give me more.”
His lips part from your throat. Johnny’s mouth brushes the side of your head.
You reach for both of them, a hand going to the back of each of their heads, and you drag them in for another threeway kiss. It’s a tangle of tongues and moans, saliva stretches between lips and tongues, down your chin though one of them licks it up before thoroughly kissing you again and then they’ve got their tongues down each others throats and you’re kissing the line where their mouths meet, and Doyoung’s cock is throbbing inside you, pushing and pulling out in rapid sharp thrusts that tug at the knot in your belly.
You suck Doyoung’s tongue between your lips, tangling your tongue with his. You hook your ankles behind his hips, drawing him fully against you, Doyoung’s cock sinking as deep inside you as he can be. Johnny’s fingers pinch your clit, his tongue trying to sneak through the seam of your lips to rejoin the kiss.
And just like that, the dam breaks.
Your orgasm is a flood, unable to be contained. You feel yourself lose control, squirting a bit against Doyoung’s belly and Johnny’s fingers. All three of you moan into the kiss which devolves into tongues and saliva again, Johnny kissing praises to you and Doyoung’s lips.
Doyoung cums too, crushing his mouth against Johnny’s while he fills your pussy with his load. His hips smack noisily against yours, all the wetness down there where your bodies meet, and he tries to pull out but your legs are locked around his hips like a vice, your pussy still milking his cock for everything he’s got.
You just lean back, truly boneless now after that orgasm. Your legs loosen from Doyoung’s hips. Johnny’s hands move from your clit and from your chest, locating your hands where you let them fall to the bed, and he gathers them against your belly, lacing your fingers with his. Doyoung leaves off kissing Johnny to instead kiss your throat, down your chest and belly, and you whine but don’t protest as Doyoung lowers his mouth between your legs.
Doyoung’s mouth keeps busy, cleaning you up with his tongue, sending aftershocks through you from your orgasm. He presses his fingers inside you, gently scooping out his cum and Johnny’s and it’s actually incredibly hot to watch Doyoung lick it all up, the way that he buries his face between your legs and closes his eyes, savoring the taste and the sounds you make as your sensitivity reaches a high point, and you feel like you might just split into a million pieces if you cum again, but you know you’re going to reach that climax regardless of the aftermath.
Your mouth is open, and any words you’re trying to say are basically just a nonsensical garble of sounds, whimpers, whines, and moans of his name.
Doyoung curls his fingers just right. His lips brush your belly, but his eyes are lifted to your face and Johnny’s right behind you. There’s a devilish gleam in Doyoung’s eyes, his fingers stroking right over that spot inside you as he says, “Come again?”
“Yes!” You gasp, managing to make the words clear, begging, “Yes, please, Doyoung! Make me cum, please. I need it!”
Johnny’s teeth scrape your earlobe. “Good girl. You’re being so polite and well-mannered, baby.”
A shiver rolls down your spine, radiating to your fingertips and toes. Your eyes roll, toes curl, your fingers twist tighter with Johnny’s. You gasp, Doyoung’s name falling breathlessly from your lips, a raspy chant of praise and encouraging him to keep going scrape their way from your throat until you’re nothing but a trembling heap of quivering muscles in Johnny’s arms.
Doyoung smiles up from between your legs, his lips and chin glistening.
He offers up one last little flick of his tongue to your clit, which has you whining and your legs draw up, attempting to squeeze together.
“Enough.” Johnny murmurs, brushing his lips to the side of your head. “Have you had enough for now, baby?”
“Mm,” is all that you can manage, paired with a loose nod.
Doyoung slides away, but he doesn’t go far. He kneels up and leans in to kiss Johnny.
You tip your head back against Johnny’s chest, looking up as the two boyfriends lick the taste of you from each other's mouths.
“Told you I can do morning sex,” Doyoung mutters after a few moments. He gently pushes Johnny back, though the elder nips at Doyoung’s bottom lip before he acquiesces and falls back into the pillows again. “As long as we’ve got the time to properly enjoy ourselves, I’m down for any time of day.” Doyoung looks at you, at the relaxed and boneless state of you.
“We’ve got all the time and more time today.” Johnny brushes his lips against the crown of your head. “Just go shower, Doyoung.”
You watch Doyoung bluster, acting like he wasn’t already edging slowly back towards the edge of the bed to head for the bathroom. “If we’re just going to have sex again, there’s no point in me showering!” He keeps up the protests for only a moment longer before he glances over his shoulder to the bathroom’s doorway. “But, really, I’ll just do a quick rinse off.”
“We’ll miss you,” you tell him, “Hurry back.”
Doyoung dips in, dropping a swift kiss to your lips, and then he’s going.
Johnny sighs, wrapping his arms around you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms, your chest, your belly. He lowers his lips to your bare shoulders, tucks his nose in the soft, sweet crook where your shoulder joins the column of your throat. You impossibly relax even further, melting against Johnny until you feel you’re formed against every bump and dip and ridge of his body.
There’s the sound of the shower kicking on in the bathroom, the echo of the spray on the shower tiles and glass walls. Doyoung starts humming and then slowly progresses to singing. You like listening to him, like how warm and deep his voice is, swelling with emotion as he really gets into his shower performance.
You like this. This moment right here, it’s so utterly domestic as if you belong here with them, as if you’ve held this spot for far longer than just the few days that you’ve actually been with them like this.
You like being surrounded by Johnny, covered with his tender touches, and his little praises he drops between kisses. You like listening to Doyoung sing in the shower while you lay in bed. You like the way that as your blissful numbness after multiple mind-blowing orgasms fades, you feel that you should get up and join Doyoung for a rinse in the shower – just a rinse, nothing more – and you’re starting to feel hungry, starting to remember too the reason that you came by last night.
The final thing that sets you in motion is your stomach growling hungrily. It embarrassingly rumbles beneath Johnny’s hand laid over your belly.
“Hungry?” Johnny shifts behind you. His hand pats your belly a little. “I make a mean brunch, if you’re interested?”
“That sounds fantastic,” you sigh. “Although, Doyoung did tell me he’s the better cook in this relationship.”
Johnny rolls his eyes as he carefully moves out from behind you, trying not to jostle you too much once you sink down onto your side again. “He would say that, but I do just fine, thanks. I can make a good breakfast, but Doyoung’s more of a, like, dinner man. You’ll see.”
Is that a promise? To one night have a dinner made for you by Doyoung?
You get comfortable in bed, watching as Johnny starts searching the floor for his boxer shorts, and then he plucks up the shirt Doyoung discarded, putting it on as he heads out of the room. And then you’re alone in their bed again, but the sheets smell like all three of you – like Johnny’s cologne, Doyoung’s body wash, your shampoo, and the more overwhelming combination of all three of you sweating and cumming.
You lie there for a couple moments longer, listening to Doyoung’s voice in the shower, to the rattle and clang of Johnny starting breakfast.
Your limbs still feel loose after the power of your last orgasm, but you manage to make your way to the bathroom. Doyoung’s back is turned as you pass by to use the toilet, but he’s facing you through the steamy glass when you come to join him. He slides open the glass door, welcoming you into the steam.
Adorably, Doyoung’s pale blond hair is spiky and sticking up in multiple directions. His cheeks are bright pink from heat and the way that he’s clearly been properly washing up, not just rinsing off. And then you notice something.
“I’m sorry.” You lift your hand to Doyoung’s chest just beneath his collarbones. There’s a mark in the shape of your mouth, the only imperfection on him. “I really have a thing for your collarbones, and I guess I got a little carried away.”
Doyoung’s hand comes up to cover yours. “It’s alright. It’s not the end of the world if I’ve got a hickey, especially one that can easily be covered with clothes. Now, pass me that shampoo bottle. I’ll help you with your hair.”
You’re fully capable of washing your own hair, but you like the way it feels to have Doyoung taking care of you. You like how careful he is to not be too rough, how he takes his time to massage your scalp, how he takes advantage of having his fingers in your hair with your face tipped up to kiss you briefly but frequently until you’re giggling.
You slink back into bed after the shower. You toweled off quickly, but the air of their apartment was a little too cold, so as soon as you felt like you were dry enough, you tucked yourself back between the warm sheets, wrapping yourself up snuggly.
Doyoung emerges from their bathroom fully dressed in a long sleeve shirt, sweatpants, and socks. He’s combing his hair to make it lie flat.
He takes one look at you in bed again, and his smile melts across his lips. “Are you going to fall back asleep?”
You might. The bed is warm, and you did just expend a decent amount of energy. Plus, today is feeling like a lazy sort of day.
“Alright.” Doyoung pats your leg over the covers. “I’m going to go make sure Johnny isn’t burning anything. We’ll wake you when the food’s ready.”
Your eyes are already closing before Doyoung leaves the room. You can hear his soft footsteps padding down the hallway, hear the moment when he enters the kitchen and asks, “What are you making, Johnny? Other than a mess?” There’s quiet conversation between the two of them; the white noise of dishes being moved around, the fridge opening, the running water from the sink; Doyoung’s hushed laughter melding with Johnny’s, a barely perceptible sound that could be a kiss, and then Doyoung sighs and says, “I love you.”
Johnny repeats it. “I love you, Doyoungie.”
And there’s this feeling in your chest. Not quite a pit that opens up, just this space where you can feel the emptiness like cracks. Just a place where you long for what they’ve got, to be filled in with love, to be in love and loved in return.
You curl in on yourself, tucking your face against the pillow, and you let yourself be pulled under into sleep.
“Breakfast!” Johnny calls some time later, startling you awake.
He’s entering the bedroom with a tray piled with food. Doyoung follows with three glasses stacked together in his left hand, various drink cartons held with one arm against his chest, and somehow two mugs of coffee balance in his right hand.
You yawn and stretch, feeling rather feline as you arch your back and extend your toes to feel the stretch in your calves. You barely have it in you to sit up in bed, but then Johnny is sliding into bed, sitting the tray down on the mess of bedsheets, and you have to sit up to make room for Doyoung.
You hadn’t bothered redressing before you climbed back in bed for your little nap, and as you sit up the sheets pool around your hips, leaving you exposed. And you feel warmth in your cheeks as they both look at you with admiration. It’s ridiculous, you realize, to feel at all embarrassed about being naked in front of them now, when you’ve just been very naked with both of them. But without the sexual context, and with each of them clothed, it just makes you feel more vulnerable.
“Toast?” Johnny asks, averting his gaze as you drag a thin bedsheet up to cover your chest, tucking the edges of the sheet beneath your arms to keep it there.
Doyoung offers you your choice between coffee, orange juice, water, a small bottle of banana milk, or he can go back out to the kitchen and make you a smoothie. With the subtle ache of a headache in the back of your head, probably the remnant of a hangover from last night, you decide to go with coffee for the caffeine and water for the hydration.
They prepared quite a breakfast. Toast, eggs, bacon, some kind of savory pancakes, cut up fruits, rice, small side dishes to pair with the rice, and sugary cereal.
And you talk.
“Didn’t you want to talk about us?” Doyoung proposes as he passes you a mug of coffee. “Isn’t that why you came by last night?”
So you confess to them that while you want them both, and definitely want to see what this can become between the three of you, you have worries. You talk about not wanting to ruin the amazing thing that they have. All of your worries, all of your wants, all of the things you’ve been feeling since discovering that they are a couple and you’re the side-piece, you talk about all of that with them while you eat breakfast. You put everything out there, and when at last you’ve said it all, you wait for them to say something.
“If you’re worried about this,” Johnny says first, “we can just let this go slow, watch it grow. You don’t have to be like ‘our girlfriend’ but just consider us the guys you’re seeing casually.”
“But that’s the thing,” you admit, “I have all of those worries, but I also want to be all in with you guys. I want you both so much, I want to be in a relationship with you. But I don’t want to fuck it up. I feel crazy for wanting this unconventional thing, but I can’t deny how right it feels, how much I want it. Since the night of our first date, Johnny, I thought about a future with you until it went up in flames later that night. And then I met Doyoung, and again the future I could have with you unfolded like a blooming flower — beautiful and tantalizing, filling me with wanting. And I still want that. If anything I want it more, and it scares me.
“I told you on that first night, Johnny, that I haven’t been so open and honest with anyone in a long time, that I haven’t allowed myself to take what I want. So even though I’m honestly a bit scared about jumping feet first into the unknown that is this relationship with both of you, I want it. So I’m going to take it.”
Doyoung grins at you, wide and warm. “So does that mean we can call you our girlfriend?”
“Mhm.” You reach for Doyoung’s hand, and he quickly offers it up. He laces his fingers with yours the moment your palms meet, and you say aloud, “So should I call you my boyfriends?”
Johnny thinks about it for a moment before he says, “Boyfriends. Partners. Lovers. Whatever you like, baby.”
Mine, you think. I want to call you mine.
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a/n: chapter 4 is finally here! It's a little bit later than I intended, but I was busier than expected today, so I didn't get around to the final edit until late tonight. I'm very excited to be reaching this point in the story finally, and even more excited to share the rest of this story with y'all
as always likes, comments (in the form of tags or messages or just comments on the post), and reblogs are forever and always appreciated and keep me writing! Thank you for reading!
All Member Masterlist || a cup of coffee Chapter Index
summary: you wanted to believe that this was the year for you to fall in love. and maybe it sounds crazy, but even after the disaster with Johnny, you still find yourself believing that you might somewhat unexpectedly find love.
In the days after your Valentine’s date with Johnny that ended in disaster, he attempts to reach out to you multiple times, offering apologies and explanations, but you refuse to hear him out.
He cheated on his partner with you, and you refuse to be complicit in that. You won’t be the Other Woman.
Now, that doesn’t mean that you don’t still have nighttime fantasies about him from time to time.
Sex with Johnny had been mind-blowing, spectacular. You’d been enamored with him from the first time in the restroom at the coffee shop, and if you’d continued on in ignorance of his partner, you’re sure you would be living a very sexually satisfied life instead of this life of sexual frustration.
Johnny still comes into the coffee shop, though not nearly as often as before. Any time he comes in while you’re there, you refuse to be the one to help him, will actually go wait in the back until he walks away from the order counter after someone else helps him. Lia, your closest friend at work, had been there the morning you hooked up with Johnny. She’d so eagerly anticipated hearing your report on him, and she was greatly disappointed when you told her about his relationship.
In true work bestie fashion, Lia also gives Johnny the cold shoulder when he comes in.
As the weeks pass by, as February thaws into March, you decide this sexual frustration is too much. It’s time you move on.
Fortunately, as fate would have it, the second weekend of March, you have a cousin’s wedding to attend. Weddings are a fantastic place to find someone, at least in your experience. You met an ex at a friend's wedding reception a couple years ago.
The wedding ceremony itself is brief, and before long you’re standing at the open bar in this hotel ballroom, sipping a glass of champagne, snacking on tiny hors d'oeuvres while waiting for the wedding party to finish up their photography session. One of your younger cousins is standing in front of you, yapping about her excitement for today, talking about her dress and her new sister-in-law’s dress and your dress, how pretty everyone looks all styled up today, and some drama going on with the members of the wedding party.
You definitely put in a little extra effort to help with your intention to find a guy to take you home tonight. You’d styled your hair, done your makeup to exquisite perfection, worn a very flattering dress, waxed and exfoliated, and you’re wearing your favorite perfume. You feel good about yourself.
Your cousin is still jabbering when you look across the bar. Your gaze falls upon a man, and you feel your heart leap in your chest.
That man. That’s the one you want.
There’s something almost familiar about him, but you can’t quite pinpoint it. Maybe he’s come into the cafe before. Maybe he’s just strikingly handsome — a Renaissance beauty, like an angel with his jawline and the bleached blond hair. You consider for a moment approaching to ask him where you know him from, but then your cousin is following your gaze to see where your attention has strayed.
“That’s one of my sister-in-law’s friends,” she explains. “I met him at the rehearsal dinner last night. He’s nice. Handsome. As far as I could tell, he doesn’t have a ring on his finger.” She nudges you and winks. “His name is Doyoung. You should go talk to him.”
Doyoung sits at the bar, waiting for his drink, looking around at all the wedding guests. His hair is an unnaturally light shade of blond, styled a little messy. Already he’s got his tie loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his black jacket draped over his forearm, and when the bartender slides his drink into Doyoung’s hand, he looks the picture of relaxation.
And you’re happy to note as your cousin leads you over to him, that Doyoung definitely doesn’t have a wedding band on his finger.
Your cousin slides up to the bar, positioning you between her and Doyoung. You’re standing close enough to catch the scent of his refreshing cologne. He looks up from his drink to you; his eyes flare wider for a brief moment, his lips part around a surprised breath. For a split second, there’s a curious look in his eyes, but then it’s gone, covered by the way that he quickly looks you up and down before flicking his gaze back up to your face, eyes meeting yours.
“Hello again!” Your cousin chimes in from your other side.
God, you can’t look away from Doyoung. Up close, he’s even more attractive than he’d appeared from across the room. His gaze dips around you to your smiling cousin, and you catch the flicker of recognition in his eyes.
“Hey! Your brother did better for the actual ceremony than he did last night, huh?” He laughs. “Your boyfriend managed to not step on your dress either.”
You glance at your cousin in time to catch her rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile about her boyfriend of five years. “I threatened to castrate him if he did. And what about you? Is your girlfriend here?”
Doyoung shakes his head, cocking his head slightly to the side, a hint of suspicion in his eyes as he answers. “I haven’t got a girlfriend. I’m here alone tonight.”
“Oh, how awful,” your cousin pouts without a hint of true disappointment in her voice. “Oh, I’m needed over there. I hate to leave you alone,” she addresses this last part to you, again, without a tone of true disappointment, before she looks to Doyoung again, asking, “Could you keep her company for me? This is my cousin. She’s here alone too.”
Doyoung switches his attention fully to you. Again, his eyes sweep over you, checking you out.
Your cousin slips quietly away into the crowd, her job done.
“Hi,” Doyoung says with a smile, “Having a good time tonight?”
“Oh, I hope so,” you confess, checking him out just as obviously as he’d just done to you. You return the smile, leaning a little closer, and you quickly introduce yourself by name.
Relief and hope flood your body as Doyoung pushes out the seat beside him and invites you to sit with him. He freely offers up his name and his company for the evening. You take the seat, let Doyoung order you a new drink, and you proceed to spend the next couple of hours doing your best to flirt your way into his bed tonight.
You drink, you dance, you talk with him all evening, you make sure to reconfirm with him that he’s not got a girlfriend (“No,” he says with a warm smile, “No girlfriend.”), and you dine at the bar with him instead of sitting at the table with your family. And as the evening grows late, as wedding guests begin leaving the hotel ballroom to head home, Doyoung holds you a little closer where you’re dancing together.
“I don’t do this much,” he whispers, leaning in so his lips are against your ear. Your senses fill with Doyoung — the heat of his skin brushing yours, the scent of his perfume, your hands curve over his shoulders, his voice honey in your ears as he asks, “Would you want to get out of here with me?”
Absolutely. You’ve had your sights set on him all night with only one goal in mind.
You part from Doyoung only long enough to give your goodbyes to your family, give your well-wishes to your cousin and his new bride, and then you meet up with Doyoung again at the coat check near the exit. He’s just then claiming his coat, a long black coat that looks very dashing on him, and once you’ve reclaimed your coat as well, Doyoung helps you into it, his fingers brushing your bare shoulders, his touch gentle as he trails down to tangle his fingers with yours.
That’s one thing you’ve come to learn about Doyoung over the last few hours: he loves to touch. He’s almost constantly in contact with you, whether that means a light hand at the small of your back, his hand brushing yours, his arm around your shoulders as he guided you through a crowd at the edge of the dancefloor. And now, he guides you by the hand out of the hotel’s ballroom.
You cling to the warmth of Doyoung’s hand, drawing tight to his side as the pair of you walk down the hallway towards the lobby.
“Where are we going?” You ask, looking up at him.
Doyoung looks down, his smile appearing slow and sweet as he says, “Honestly, I’m not sure. I just knew I wanted you to myself, away from the party.” He stops suddenly, tugging lightly on your hand to get you to turn towards him. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night, but I wasn’t so sure about doing it in front of your family.”
“You can kiss me now. No one’s around to see.” You glance down the length of the hallway. There’s no one in sight.
Doyoung’s hands fall to your hips beneath your coat, and you can’t fight back the grin that rises as you take hold of his tie, as you drag him down, as you lift slightly on your toes, reeling Doyoung in for a kiss.
The first press of your lips is sweet. A fairly chaste kiss that Doyoung ends first, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, to draw in a breath. And then he rushes back in, hungry for more.
His shoulders hit the wall. You lean against him, stretching your body against his, melting away the last of Doyoung’s polite hesitation. His hands slide around to your ass, squeezing while his thigh slips between your legs.
You part your lips, Doyoung’s tongue meets yours between the hot press of your lips, feverish intensity quickly building as you cling to him, as he drags you closer, as you sink your weight against Doyoung and that delicious offer of friction as his thigh meets the apex of your thighs. A tiny whimper flies from you as you subtly grind down on his thigh, momentarily forgetting that you’re out in the open in this hotel hallway. Doyoung moans in response, his tongue flicking yours.
The distant ding of an elevator is somehow what brings you out of the sexual haze.
You peel yourself away from Doyoung, stumbling as you take a couple steps back, but you don’t loosen your hold on his tie, so Doyoung follows.
“Wanna get a room upstairs?” You ask with tingling lips.
Fire is burning away in your belly, and you’re not so sure that you can make it any farther than it will take to get upstairs before you combust. You want him, and you want him now. You can see the same fire mirrored in Doyoung’s eyes as he nods, “Absolutely.”
You know the guy at the desk can probably tell exactly what’s going on here as you and Doyoung can’t be more than an inch apart as you arrive in the lobby. The man just blinks boredly as he clicks through the computer, checking for available rooms, taking his sweet time while your hands are itching to undress Doyoung, body burning with yearning to have him against you again.
“Uh, it looks like we’re pretty much booked up for the night,” the receptionist says, “We’ve only got, uh, the Penthouse Suite. Three bedrooms. $5,000 for the night.”
Shit. You’ll just have to find somewhere else. Your place really isn’t so far; you can probably wait til you make it home.
“We’ll take it.” Doyoung slides his card across the reception desk. “Thank you.”
What?!
“Doyoung.” You tug on his hand.
He doesn’t look at you, just watching the receptionist enter in his card information. “It’s fine, darling,” he whispers, “I can afford it.”
Again, what?
Doyoung’s finances weren’t a matter of conversation this evening, like that’s not something that you ask about when you’ve first met someone. Sure, he holds himself with the confidence of someone that’s got money, but not in a flaunting way. Certainly not in a way that would’ve indicated to you that he could casually drop $5,000 for one night at a hotel on a whim. How wealthy is he?
The receptionist slides the card back to Doyoung along with two roomkeys, spitting out a rote message about the amenities and gratitude for choosing the hotel for your stay, and then Doyoung’s leading you away.
You don’t say anything until you’re in the elevator with the doors shut and the button at the top of the long panel of floor options illuminated.
“What the hell?” You turn to Doyoung. “We could’ve gone somewhere else! You didn’t have to–”
“I wanted to.” Doyoung can’t quite meet your eyes. “Without going into too much detail, I’ve got the money. My career allows me to stay in a lot of fancy hotels around the world, but I’ve never gotten to stay in a fancy ass Penthouse suite. This is as much a fun, new opportunity for me as it is a convenient way to make sure that we can continue what was happening in the hallway as soon as possible.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “What is it you do, again?”
You’re pretty sure that you discussed this earlier this evening. You thought he said that he worked at a local musical theatre.
Doyoung looks at you then. A small sigh. “I’m a singer. I also act, sing in musicals, I’ve dabbled in fashion.”
So not just a lowly local theatre actor then.
“If I googled you, would a Wikipedia page pop up?”
Doyoung laughs. “Yeah, along with a lot of embarrassing stuff, so please don’t. Not yet, anyway.”
“Would I know any of your songs?” Was that why he’d looked familiar when you first spotted him earlier. Have you seen him online before? Heard some of his songs?
“Maybe.” Doyoung reaches over, taking your hand once again before he says, “Maybe I’ll play some for you some other time.”
Your heart does a funny little flip at that. He’s saying that like this isn’t just a one time thing tonight, like he hopes to see you again.
The elevator eventually arrives at the top floor of the hotel, opening into a small marble foyer, a set of double doors before you that Doyoung has to unlock with a swipe of the roomkey.
The room is amazing. Shiny marble floors, luxurious rugs, overstuffed sofas, a TV that’s large enough that it takes up most of one wall. And then there’s the view, overlooking the city. You try not to let your brain wander back to the last time you saw a view like this – Valentine’s night with Johnny, his luxury apartment, everything that transpired.
You leave your coat on the back of an armchair in front of the TV. Your heels click against the floor as you pass into the dining area – a large table fit to hold at least a dozen people – and the minibar, and then you’re at the doors that lead out onto a small rooftop patio.
The breeze up here is brisk, immediately raising goosebumps on your bare arms and tearing at your hair.
Looking out at the view, at the whole city laid out in miniature beneath you, it’s almost enough to make you forget what you came here for. You watch the traffic race along the streets, lights blinking in windows like stars thrown across the earth in new constellations.
Doyoung is suddenly there, bringing you back to the moment. His hand settles at the small of your back, his other hand tucks loose strands of your hair behind your ear.
You lift your gaze to his face, finding him already looking at you.
“Come inside?” He tilts his head, indicating the doors back into the room. “There’s a billiards room, a kitchen, a mini movie theatre, and an office in there.”
You follow Doyoung back inside, laughing as he spins you around in front of him, as he winds his arms around your waist.
You kiss him, knotting your fingers in his hair, bringing his mouth down to yours.
The kiss and the press of Doyoung’s body against yours immediately works to ward off the chill from standing outside. Heat flashes through you, tingling to the tips of your fingers, down to your toes, though the majority of the heat resettles in your belly.
You don’t really know where you’re going as you start moving Doyoung through the suite. You edge him back against the dining room table. He grunts and laughs, biting lightly at your bottom lip as he parts his legs and draws you against him. You twist your fingers in his tie again, tugging it loose, pulling it free of his collar and dropping it on the table.
Doyoung’s fingers rake through your hair, knocking loose the few pins you had holding it in place. Your hair cascades around your face, easier now for him to hold onto as Doyoung pulls and tips your head back.
His lips trail down your throat, sucking just over your pulse point in a way that makes your knees go weak. You almost roll your ankle as you sink against him, so you pull back long enough to kick off your heels, leaving them there beneath the table as you grab Doyoung’s hands and pull him away.
“You smell so nice,” Doyoung compliments, his nose brushing along your neck, busy sponging kisses to your throat. You only make it as far as the first doorway off the living room before Doyoung’s got you pressed to the wall, your chest against the doorframe. Your hands fly to his hair as he sucks a mark against the base of your throat, his hips press to your ass, the shape of his erection obvious.
He grinds forward against the plush swell of your ass, and that fire inside you grows, your core tightening, wetness clinging to your panties.
“Doyoung.” You sigh his name, arching against him, grinding back onto his bulge.
His hands come around the front of you, legs bumping against yours as you both start moving, shifting away from the doorway, moving like some strange creature as you move to the next room – the billiards room sits before you with a pool table set up for a game, low lights making everything visible.
You slip out of Doyoung’s arms, turning to face him. You push his jacket off his shoulders, grin at the smear of your lipstick against his mouth. His eyes are dark and alive with lust, drinking you in like he simply can’t wait to have you.
“You’ve got a little bit…” You wipe at his lips with your thumb, and Doyoung only nips at the pad of your finger, catching your thumb between his teeth as he backs you further into the room until you’re backed up against the pool table. Your hands shoot back to steady yourself as Doyoung smoothly reaches down to lift you by the hips onto the edge of the pool table. Your fingers hit a pool ball, and you hear the crack as it collides with the others, sending them scattering across the surface.
Doyoung tips you down, laying you out across the green felt, his hands cradling your head, protecting it as the pool balls shoot across the table. You feel at least one of them bump against his hand at the top of your head, but you can’t bring yourself to care about anything but the way that Doyoung fits between your thighs as he lowers over you, the way that his lips find yours, the way that you can feel his cock hard in his pants separated from you by four measly layers of fabric.
You reach for the hem of your dress, fingers bunching in the material to pull it up, lifting it high enough that soon it’s only three layers of fabric between you and Doyoung. And then your fingers are at his belt, diligently working to unfasten it even as you kiss him, taking apart his belt with your fingers and taking him apart as you fuck your tongue into his mouth, turning the kiss filthy with moans and saliva, though Doyoung seems to enjoy it.
You tug on his belt, pulling it through the loops and flinging it away without looking, not breaking the kiss for anything.
Doyoung moans. His hands fall away from your hair, instead bracing on the table on either side of your head, a sharp gasp leaving him as you get your hand inside his pants, sliding your palm along his length.
A burst of power and confidence floods through you as Doyoung begins falling apart so easily under your touch. You work your hand along the defined shape of him over his underwear, and he ruts forward into your touch, moaning once and dropping his head to your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin.
He tries to keep quiet but with each slide of your palm over the sensitive tip of his cock, Doyoung lets out a barely restrained moan.
“Are you that sensitive?” You tease. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re moaning like this for me?”
Doyoung bites down on your shoulder, and you have to work hard to not let out an incriminating sound yourself. Heat lurches in your belly, your core fluttering around nothing but desire.
His teeth leave your skin stinging in the most delightful way, and he begins kissing from your shoulder to your throat. “You’re just so pretty,” he murmurs against your skin, “I can’t help it. You’re so feminine, dainty touches that are just teases. I get a bit vocal when I’m being teased. I’ve been called whiny.”
You laugh, giving him a gentle squeeze. Doyoung breathes in sharply, and then suddenly his lips are on yours again, kissing the laughter away.
His hands leave the table, flying down to your thighs bared by the way you’ve hiked up your dress. Your legs twitch, ticklish from the way that his fingertips skim along your inner thighs, ticklish in the way that he tucks his fingers into the edge of your panties. Doyoung smoothly slides them down, leaving the fabric to dangle off one of your feet while his hand returns between your legs.
Just a single finger is all that he teases you with. Brushing it lightly up and down your slit, gathering wetness on the tip of his finger.
At last, you push your hand inside his underwear, feeling the bare soft heat of his cock, the wetness at the tip slick against your palm.
It’s not long at all before you’re both moaning into the kiss, hips rolling into each other's touch.
Doyoung grinds into the tight fit of your fingers around him. You’re rolling your hips trying to get him to fill you deeper, but he’s only giving you two fingers and not even all the way in, just teasing them right inside you while his thumb works magic on your clit.
Although you’d been teasing him about being so sensitive only a few moments before, you can admit that you’re also moaning rather a lot, vocal and sensitive thanks to Doyoung’s fingers. You could probably cum embarrassingly fast if only he would just give you a little bit more.
He starts to pull away, breaking the kiss to lift himself up. You grip the collar of his shirt, trying to drag him back down, but Doyoung resists.
“Look at you right now, darling.” He runs his appreciative gaze from your face down your body. His attention roves, eventually settling on your heaving chest before flicking back up to your eyes. “I can’t wait to feel you around me.”
You pull your hand from inside his pants. You push it gently against his belly, and Doyoung backs off, a slight look of confusion furrowing his brows. The look vanishes the moment that you slide off the edge of the pool table and sink to your knees.
Doyoung leans over you, resting his hands on the pool table as you drag down his pants and underwear. You pause only long enough to appreciate his cock — a good size and length, perfectly average, deliciously hard and slick for you — before taking him into your mouth.
You understand why Doyoung is a successful singer if the sound of the moans he lets out while you suck his cock is anything to go by. There’s a musical quality to the sounds he makes as you swallow around him, as you pull back to flick your tongue around the sensitive pink tip of his erection, as you tap the tip against your tongue while you look up to meet his heated gaze. You don’t think you could get tired of the moans and desperate cries he can’t hold in — his hips roll forward, unrestrained as his orgasm approaches, the sounds he makes grow more desperate and pathetic, and there’s just something so arousing about hearing how needy he is for you.
Doyoung cums across your tongue with a little help from your hand stroking along his length. You suck at the tip, tongue massaging just beneath the sensitive head, swallowing down every pulse of his sticky cum.
Doyoung watches you with this love-drunk look in his eyes when you stand, as you delicately wipe at the corners of your mouth, as you lick your fingers to make sure you got it all.
You open your mouth, planning to say something about how hot hearing him moan like that was, but before you can get a word out, Doyoung wraps you in his arms and whisks you out of the room. He all but drags you down a short hallway to a bedroom.
“How do I get this dress off of you?” He asks, fingers searching down your back and your sides for a hidden zipper.
You brush his hands away, taking a step back so you can do it yourself.
Doyoung doesn’t take his eyes off of you even as he reaches backwards to fumble for the light switch beside the door. The lights come on, illuminating the room with a warm golden light from two lamps on either side of the bed.
He watches you hungrily as you reach for the straps of your dress, easing them off each shoulder, and then you reach behind you, smoothly sliding down the zip in the back.
Your dress melts off of you, flowing down to pool around your feet, leaving you in just a strapless bra. The bra doesn’t remain on long. You flick open the clasps and it drops away.
Doyoung’s eyes fall to your chest, and part of you longs to cover yourself with some sense of self-consciousness. But most of you fills with warm delight at the absolute look of wonder in his eyes. Again, like with Johnny, you find yourself wanting to show your body to him, to be open and naked with Doyoung. You hope that this time it works out better for you.
“Now your turn,” you say softly, gesturing at the wrinkled button down shirt he’s still wearing.
Ridiculously, teasingly slow, Doyoung unbuttons his shirt. He watches your face while you stare at his hands — and what beautiful hands they are — as he moves them down the line of buttons, revealing inch by inch of his pale skin beneath. And then the shirt falls open and slides off his shoulders, revealing a slim toned chest and stomach, and a faint trail of hair extending from his navel down to the base of his cock, which is stirring again the longer he looks at you.
You slide onto the bed, positioning yourself in the middle, and as you part your legs, Doyoung is drawn in, magnetized by what he sees.
He draws himself over you, his hips settling between your thighs, one hand planted beside you to keep his chest above yours. His other hand moves to your cheek, palm warm against your skin as he traces his thumb along your bottom lip, eyes fixed there as if he’s still picturing your lips around his cock.
“I’m so glad I met you tonight,” Doyoung confesses.
“Me too. I saw you across the bar, and I just knew I had to know you.” You bring your hands down along his chest, nails gliding lightly over his abdomen, and you fit your hands around his cock once again. You lift your head up just enough to place a kiss along his strong jaw. “I knew I had to have you like this, that I need you, Doyoung.”
His cock throbs with need in your hand, filled back out to full hardness under your touch.
“I’ve been dreaming about having you inside of me for hours.” You were slow-dancing with him at the wedding in a crowd of people, imagining your legs around his hips and your arms twisted around his shoulders, his body tight against you and his cock buried deep inside. You’re genuinely surprised you didn’t leave a puddle behind on the dance floor. “So, please, Doyoung, don’t make me wait any longer.”
His hand leaves your cheek, moving quickly down between your legs. His fingers are blessedly warm as he slides them along your sensitive slit, finding you beyond wet, probably dripping onto the hotel bed’s comforter. He enters you with two fingers at the same moment that he lowers his head to your chest and takes one of your nipples between his lips.
“Oh, Doyoung!” You gasp, arching into the heat and pleasure of his touch. Finally, he’s giving you what you want. His fingers are long, pressing deep inside of you, touching you exactly how you like. And his tongue swirls around your nipple, sucking on the tight bud.
Your heart races, moans of his name flowing from your lips.
You forget about touching him, though he keeps rolling his hips forward, driving his cock through the loose ring of your fingers around him. Every part of you is only focused on the way that Doyoung’s fingers feel inside of you, his lips on your tit, his body fitted against yours.
“More!” You beg, needing more than just his fingers. “Doyoung!”
“Shit,” he suddenly swears, pulling his mouth away, lips brushing along the curve of your breast. “You don’t happen to have any condoms in your little purse do you?”
For a moment, your world comes crashing down around you. No, of course you’ve not been carrying around condoms. You’re a single girl who really doesn’t fuck around all that often, and any time you do, the guy’s always got them. But Doyoung probably hadn’t come to the wedding tonight prepared to meet you and invite you back to a hotel room, so why would he have them either?
Fuck.
“Hm, didn’t think this part through,” Doyoung groans, lifting himself off of you. “I could call down to the front desk?”
“Oh my God.” You cover your face with your hands. You definitely don’t want that front desk guy to know for a fact that you’re up here fucking.
Doyoung’s fingers curve distractingly against your breast. “Or – and please, please feel free to tell me to fuck off – I’ve got a clean bill of health. I was tested just a few weeks ago.”
After being with Johnny, you had an STI panel too, just a typical post-hookup checkup for you. It had come back perfectly fine as well. But you’re not on birth control; do you want to risk the pull-out method just so you can have sex tonight?
Again, he’s distracting you with the way that his finger traces circles around your sensitive nipple. You arch into the touch, your pussy throbbing with need.
“Doyoung,” you whine, needy and frustrated with the situation. “I’m not on birth control.”
He groans, his cock twitching against your thigh. “I can pull out.”
“There’s a morning after pill, too,” you add. You’re pretty sure that you’ve talked yourself into doing this. “Think room service serves those on the menu?”
“Doubtful, but I’ll track down a store close by that sells some in the morning,” Doyoung promises.
Perfect.
“Are you fine?” Doyoung asks, pressing his hands against your thighs, sliding his touch to your knees and spreading them apart. “You want this?”
“I want you,” you confirm, holding Doyoung’s gaze. “Can we stop dancing around what I’ve wanted all night, and just—“
Doyoung moves, a guiding hand on his cock as he pushes right into you.
“Fuck,” you break off into a moan, your body immediately snapping to cling to him — arms around his shoulders, ankles crossing behind his back — as Doyoung sinks into you, his chest laying against yours. He brushes a kiss to your lips, and you just make a small, satisfied and somewhat pathetic noise.
It’s not that he’s necessarily gentle with you. It’s almost more like he’s taking the time to adjust to the tight heat of you around him, giving you the chance to adjust to the sudden intrusion.
You share slow, languid kisses, content to just feel the weight of him on top of you, the heat of his skin, the satisfaction of Doyoung as deep inside of you as you can take.
And then he starts moving, rolling his hips with smooth and well-timed motions.
It’s been so long since you’ve fucked someone bare, nothing between his cock and your sensitive walls. The feeling now drives you a little bit crazy — you break the kiss to drop your head back against the sheets, a broken moan falling from your lips as Doyoung lowers his mouth to your throat then moving even lower to your nipple he’d neglected earlier.
“So tight around me, darling,” Doyoung murmurs. “You feel so amazing.”
You rake your nails down over his shoulders and arms, digging in as Doyoung lifts away from your chest, remaining in contact only where your hips meet with each thrust. He looks down to where your bodies are connected, to the sight of his cock disappearing inside your sweet heat.
“You’re so pretty,” Doyoung praises, his hand skimming the side of your breast. “You’re so beautiful for me right now.”
You flush with heat at the praise, at the way he’s looking at and touching you, at the way that he picks up the pace he drives into you. And you realize that you want more, need more.
With your legs still wrapped around Doyoung and your heels locked behind him, you have quite a lot of control over the situation, and you use that to your advantage. You catch Doyoung off guard when you twist your hips and overbalance him onto his back so you’re now on top.
He looks up at you, wide-eyed.
“Can I be on top?” You ask.
Doyoung nods, looking at you with awe. “You can do whatever you want.”
He watches you closely, his gaze following your every move as you shift above him to get more comfortable. You don’t miss how his eyes keep returning to your chest, how one of his hands rests above his head but the other has wandered to rest on your hip though it keeps inching higher. He watches the way you gather your hair and use a hairband from your wrist to twist it in a quick bun.
You lower yourself over him, once again feeling the press of your bodies together, your nipples brush his as you lean in to kiss him.
It’s a messy, wet kiss, like the one earlier had been. Mostly tongue and moaning into each other's mouths. Doyoung’s moans only increase when you slip a hand down between your legs, reaching behind you for the hard length of his erection. He’s so wet, both from being inside you (which you’re positively dripping with arousal) and from his own arousal from his tip. Your hand slides along his length. His hips rock up off the bed into your touch.
You lower your hips, grinding your slit along his cock, pressing it down between your pussy and his belly. Teasing while you kiss him.
He doesn’t protest, too busy sucking your tongue to complain when you sit over his cock and just grind your clit against the head. He just lies there and moans, swearing under his breath, and complimenting you when you break the kiss to look down at him.
Doyoung is also so pretty laid out beneath you like this. His chest is flushed, his nipples a dusky rose color and pebbled with arousal. His lips are swollen and glossy with saliva, and the look in his eyes is so dark and hungry and dazed with lust that it makes you feel a little wild and predatory, like you just want to lose yourself in wild passion with him and forget everything else in the world.
Doyoung groans. His hands fly to your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrusts his hips up off the bed, driving his cock through the wet heat between your legs.
You sit up straight and look down your body to the sight of Doyoung’s pretty pink tip peeking out between your pussy lips with each roll of your hips. Wetness blurts from Doyoung’s slit onto his belly. His abdomen flexes as he keeps grinding up to meet your movements, and he lets out one particularly whiny moan that sets your soul on fire.
You grow wetter at the sound, so filled with desperation that you lean forward again, reach back, and this time as you roll your hips back, you feel Doyoung push inside your waiting entrance.
Something takes you over as you ride Doyoung. A hunger and that wild passion you’d first felt only a few moments before.
You don’t care that you’re probably moaning like you’re starring in an adult film. You don’t care that your knees and thighs are probably gonna ache like a bitch tomorrow. Right now all you care about is riding Doyoung hard and fast, feeling the tight grip of his hands on your hips, the punch of his cock deep inside your belly, the pinch of his fingers around your nipples followed by the soothing heat of his mouth as he sits up and wraps himself around you.
It’s so desperate and hot, sweat building between your bodies and in the creases behind your knees, heat growing in your belly and your chest, tingling in your fingers and toes.
Your hair falls loose from the quick bun, tumbling loose around your face, tickling Doyoung’s cheeks as he connects his mouth to your throat again.
The strength in your thighs gives out, and you sit fully on Doyoung, just grinding, your abdomen bumping his with every ceaseless roll of your hips, your clit gaining friction in this position too.
Doyoung grabs handfuls of your ass, pulling you against him, moving you along his cock. His lips and teeth mark up your throat, breathy moans of “come on,” and “god, so good” and “Cum for me. Cum, darling. Need to feel you cumming around me. Be a good girl for me.”
Your orgasm bursts through you. You cry out, head thrown back as you fuck yourself almost uncontrollably on his cock, hips rocking with the intensity of your climax.
Doyoung immediately follows, spilling his hot release deep inside you. His mouth finds yours again, muffling the sounds of his pleasure with your lips. Your bodies are pressed as close as they can possibly be, impossible to feel where you end and he begins as he finishes and you feel the white heat that connects you deep in your belly.
So much for trying to pull out. But you don’t care. Not right now. Not now while your head is buzzing, body tingling and hot, so many feelings and emotions coursing through you.
You both hold each other tight, leaning on each other, pressed together, catching your breath between slow kisses.
That was great sex.
Fantastic sex.
How is it that you’ve had such amazing sex with two different guys in such a short span of time? Not that every other guy was less good at sex, but damn both Johnny and Doyoung blew you away, left you feeling beyond satisfied in post-coital bliss.
After a while, Doyoung withdraws, reclining in the bed, and you follow. You slump against his chest and then carefully begin to remove yourself from him.
Doyoung’s fingers dig into your hip, not letting you go far. “You’re staying tonight, right?”
“As long as you want me to.” You reach down as you pull off of Doyoung’s softening length, and you feel the uncomfortable loss of him, the mildly disgusting feel of the mess between your thighs as you leave the bed. “I’m going to shower off.”
He makes a sound of protest as you walk away towards the bathroom.
“What?” You laugh, turning in the doorway of the massive en-suite bathroom to look at him. Doyoung bites his lip, gaze raking up and down your frame, momentarily distracting you with how good he looks too, all stretched out on top of the sheets. “Did you want to join me?”
“Yes,” he answers with no hesitation. “But I can give you a few moments alone first, if you like.”
You would like that. You need to pee and would rather get started washing first before he joins you. “Just a few minutes would be nice,” you tell him, “But, honestly, I’m a little offended you didn’t offer to sweep me off my feet and carry me in. Someone once told me that they thought it was rude to make a girl who just had a mind-blowing orgasm walk into her own bath.”
You laugh at the memory of that moment with Johnny, pushing down the surge of less than great feelings that surround what had transpired not long later.
Doyoung cocks his head to the side, studying you with an interesting look.
“I’m joking, Doyoung. I don’t want you to have to carry me anywhere.” You look him over once again, letting your gaze linger on his stunning marblesque physique — as gorgeous as a statue from Ancient Rome. “But you can definitely join me in a couple minutes.”
You don’t bother closing the bathroom door behind you. You start the shower, letting steam billow to fog up the mirrors and the window that overlooks the city. You’ve peed and even brushed your teeth with a complimentary toothbrush, and just finished a quick rinse in the shower when you turn and see Doyoung has joined you in the bathroom.
He freezes momentarily when you spot him, but after a second he quickly finishes crossing the distance between you and him, joining you in the steamy shower.
He just showers, hissing a bit at how warm you’ve got the water, but he washes his hair and scrubs his body down. Doyoung doesn’t make any move to touch you or initiate anything new, but he does watch you. Not that you can blame him since you’re closely watching him too.
You admire the way the water sluices over his shoulders and down his back, over the small of his back and his tight little ass, his strong thighs and calves. And when he turns to face you, you can’t seem to peel your eyes away from his hands spreading suds over his chest and his toned stomach and his hips and that damn shadow of hair around the base of his cock, which is glorious in and of itself.
You finish washing first, so you step out and find a complimentary bathrobe. It’s soft and warm, and you slip it right on. A few moments later you’re standing before the mirror, when Doyoung appears behind you, donning only his towel around his hips.
“I fucked up your throat,” he says tenderly, brushing his fingers over the bruises he left with his mouth. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I get a bit carried away when I know that I can. I like leaving my mark, maybe because I can’t ever risk being marked up, yknow, with my career people don’t typically like to see hickeys or visible scratch marks. Nothing to remind fans that I’m an adult man, fully capable of having intimate relationships.”
“That’s got to be rough,” you commiserate. “Are you not allowed to date publically?”
Doyoung turns away from you then, walking over to where the second robe hangs. He drops his towel, standing gloriously nude for but a moment before he slides the bathrobe on. He looks over his shoulder at you. “I don’t do public relationships, no. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not interested. I just have to appear unattached to my fans.”
The pair of you leave the bathroom, and instead of returning to bed, you decide to take advantage of some of the suite’s amenities. There’s the minibar, the pool table in the billiards room which you play with for a little while before Doyoung swears he gets a splinter from one of the pool cues. Finally you settle in the plush, deep sofa in front of the little movie theatre set-up.
Doyoung dims the lights, you bring over a mini bottle of wine and find a selection of flavors of microwaveable popcorn. You sink into the sofa together, bundled up in your robes with the bottle of wine and a bowl of popcorn, and you choose a movie together. It’s a romantic comedy that has you both laughing throughout about the situations the two romantic leads keep finding themselves in. You watch a Ghibli movie, though you spend most of the time making out with hands wandering beneath the robes. Then one more movie, Doyoung’s choice of romcom. You share popcorn and pass the small bottle of wine back and forth, you chatter through the end credits, and by the time that you’re toting Doyoung back to bed at quarter past three in the morning with a slight buzz going on from the wine, you think that you really really really like him.
Doyoung’s hands wander along your waist as he follows you to bed. Somehow you lose the robe from the bedroom door to the edge of the bed, and when you slide beneath the silky sheets, you’re naked and chilly, though Doyoung quickly remedies that. His body fits against yours, hot and close.
“Stay,” he says against your bare shoulder, the word sounding a little sloshed.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you answer, rolling back against him.
Doyoung hums softly, curling his arm a little tighter around you. “I know, but I just… I want you to stay. I like you. So just stay.”
You cover his hand on your belly with yours, leaving your fingers through Doyoung’s. “I’m staying, Doyoung. Just go to sleep.”
Doyoung is mumbling nonsense in his sleep when you wake up in the morning. His face is smushed into his pillow, his arms stretched out towards you, although at some point in the night you rolled apart from each other. You pull the sheets a little tighter around yourself, shivering in the cool morning light coming in through the uncovered windows.
In the unfiltered white sunlight, you can see Doyoung’s face as relaxed as can be in sleep — until he mumbles something and scrunches up his nose — looking angelic with his white-blond hair. And you scoot a little closer, noticing for the first time that he has a light spattering of freckles across his cheeks and his nose.
You reach out your hand, fingers intending to trace delicate lines between Doyoung’s freckles.
You pause.
You leave the bed and move on silent feet to the bathroom, brush your teeth, rinse with a little bottle of mouthwash, check your hair and wipe away any sleep from your eyes. You hurry back to bed, slip back beneath the sheets, and settle close to Doyoung once again. His face is still, his pretty lips parted just slightly, and when this time you lift your fingers to his cheek, you make light contact.
Doyoung twitches in his sleep. Once and then again.
His eyelashes flutter, he breathes in deeply, rolling onto his back. His hand flies up to catch yours, and he drags your tangled hands down to his bare chest.
“G’morning,” Doyoung mumbles, not daring to open his eyes. “You stayed.”
“I stayed.” You scoot closer, brush a kiss over his shoulder. “Although the morning is growing late. We’ve probably already missed breakfast. Check out time is quickly approaching.”
“Shit,” he groans.
At last he blinks his eyes open, squinting in the bright daylight. He sees you, and his eyes flutter around, unable to focus on just one part of you. You get it. You also find it difficult to breathe, difficult to find just one part of him that will hold your focus more than any other part of him. You just want to see all of him.
“Come to breakfast? Or brunch, I guess.” Doyoung lifts your joined hands up to his lips, pressing kisses against the back of your hand. “I owe you a morning after pill also.”
After getting up, Doyoung does another quick rinse off in the shower while you redress in your wedding guest dress from last night and try to do a little makeup with some of what you’ve got in your small purse. You feel a bit ridiculous as you leave your amazing suite, as you move through the hotel lobby in your nice clothes from yesterday, doing a walk of shame although you’re not really feeling so ashamed.
Doyoung just looks like he could be out and about on business, but your dress is a little too fancy to be anything but yesterday’s clothes.
“It’s fine,” Doyoung reassures you with a laugh as he rejoins you outside of a nearby drugstore. “You look beautiful, so who cares what everyone else is thinking.”
He passes over the little plastic shopping bag containing the package of the morning after pill and a bottle of water. He leans against the wall beside you, smiling a bit as he watches you tear open the package and swallow the Plan B, downing half the bottle of water with it. Doyoung watches you like he’s utterly charmed by you.
You go to brunch at a semi-fancy place. Doyoung gets an Uber, holds your hand the whole ride over to the brunch spot, chattering with you and with the driver. He gentlemanly opens the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. Maybe it’s not just Doyoung being completely charmed by you; you’re also quite caught up in his spell.
Brunch is nice and simple. Mimosas and exquisite food. Doyoung pays the bill, not listening to a single protest you make except to say, “You’ll get it next time.” And when you still try to argue, he shuts you down with, “I personally find it rude to make someone you had a fantastic time with last night pay for the brunch you all but dragged them along to.”
You roll your eyes. “You didn’t drag me along. I was more than willing to come eat.”
Your stomach had growled audibly several times as you rode over here, something Doyoung had teased you about until you heard his stomach also complaining of hunger.
Doyoung purses his lips slightly. “Regardless. I’m paying this morning. You can pay next time we go out.”
You lean in, resting your chin on your hand. “So there’s going to be a next time?”
His eyes flash up to yours. “Of course. I like you a lot. I had a great time last night even without the sex factored in. If I hadn’t enjoyed our time together so much at the wedding reception, well, like I said there, I don’t do that much. I don’t typically meet someone and then ask them the same night to sleep with me. But with you… You make me feel complicated things, darling. I — I wanted you from the moment you came up to me last night, wanted the night to never end, wanted to keep getting to know you, and bring you around to—“
The waitress returns then for the check, pulling Doyoung out of his heartfelt speech that has you feeling warm and fuzzy.
You loop your arm through Doyoung’s as you depart the restaurant, and while you wait outside for the Uber Doyoung ordered, you rest your head on his shoulder.
“You make me feel complex things too,” you admit after a few moments. “I don’t even want to begin describing them to you for fear that I’ll scare you off.”
Doyoung huffs out a light laugh.
“I’m serious.” You squeeze your hand around his arm. “I’m going to sound insane possibly when I say this, but there’s something about this year that just makes me think I’m meant to fall in love this year.”
You’d felt strongly about Johnny that night, too. Maybe it was just your emotions running high after great sex both that night and last night, but you felt a lot of the same things then as you do now. Like that you don’t want to leave, that you want to see him again, that you want to have him in bed again, and you can see yourself falling for him — those are all things you’d felt before.
Doyoung lifts your free hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips along your knuckles in a way that makes your heart flutter. “That doesn’t sound crazy to me.”
“No?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I think it feels pretty accurate.”
You’re still smiling about that when the Uber pulls up to the curb.
It’s all you can think about even hours later when you’re back home alone in your apartment.
Doyoung really likes you too. He wants to see you again. He doesn’t think you sound insane for saying that you’re meant to fall in love with someone this year, and you hope that you’re both thinking that that someone is each other.
a/n: chapter 2! I think this probably isn't entirely what y'all were expecting since she's kinda moving on from Johnny and you don't have any answers yet about that whole situation, but answers are coming! Chapter 3 should be out soon!
Also! if you read my author's note last time, you saw that the inspo for last chapter was extremely loosely based on a regular customer I have. Well this chapter when I was writing it, I was thinking of my cousin's upcoming wedding that (at the time I completed writing this chapter) wasn't for another like 3 months. Anyway. My actual cousin's wedding comes and literally while I'm in the church at the end of the wedding ceremony, I started getting hit on! Not by someone that I had any interest in at all (for reasons such as 1. we're related through marriage but not at all by blood, but it was still very weird to me, 2. from the beginning I just got weird vibes from him, and 3. later found out that he has like a bad history) but a few days later when I came back to edit a later part of this fic, I started thinking about that and just bust out laughing because I created this scenario when I've never actually like met anyone that had any interest in me at a wedding, but this exact situation came about 😂🤣 he then also got my number (I shouldn't have given it to him) and tried calling and texting me the next day, and when I left his call unanswered and the text unread, he texted me again a week later so I blocked him lol (the guy also lives like hours and hours away, was only here for the wedding, but talked about considering moving to my town which also just struck me as super, super weird)
synopsis -> what do you get your boyfriend for his birthday when he already has everything? simple. free use of your body.
words: 7.5k
warnings: smut! but also super fluffy guys i was smiling while writing this. lots of sex. on the bed! on the kitchen counter! in the shower! in a van! oral (f receiving). cockwarming.
an: happy 26th birthday to the love of my life, the best boy in the entire universe, mark lee!!! i hope he’s having lots of nasty sex in real life…my first gift to all of you today <3
—
your boyfriend was gentle by nature. soft-spoken. warm-hearted. the type to tuck your hair behind your ear after kissing you breathless. the type to rub circles on your back while you cried at sad movies. the type to ask, “are you sure, baby?” even if you were already grinding on his lap.
mark never took. he always asked. always offered. always worshipped.
so as soon as the clock struck midnight, you handed him his birthday card with the words: free use. all day. no limits. i’m all yours.
mark blinked, rubbing the back of his neck in that shy way of his, half-asleep, hair a little messy. then he looked up from the card, a little dazed, a lot shocked, “you’re kidding.”
you shook your head, a tiny smirk playing on your lips, “happy birthday, baby,” you said softly.
he laughed, nervous, boyish, “babe. you know i…i can’t treat you like that.”
you stepped closer towards him, your (his) oversized t-shirt falling over your shoulder, teasing like it was part of the script, “you don’t have to be rough. just…take what you want. don’t hold back.”
he swallowed hard, trying not to look at your exposed shoulders, “i just…i don’t know my own strength…i don’t want to hurt you.”
“you won’t. i trust you,” you say making your way over to straddle him, fingers softly gliding across his collarbone.
he looked like he was fighting a battle inside. his thumb brushed the edge of the card again, the other settling on your lower back, “you’re seriously saying….i can do whatever i want?”
“all day,” you whispered, leaning closer, brushing your lips against his, “anytime. anywhere. no rules.”
his eyes dropped to your mouth, “you’re killing me.”
“then kill me back,” you whispered, taking his hand and dragging it under your shirt, placing it on your breast, “i’m yours. however you want.”
something shifted in his eyes, something slow and dangerous, like someone had opened a locked door inside him. he stared at you for a long moment, his grip tightening around your breast, earning a soft moan from you, then his voice lowered, “take off the shirt.”
you obeyed. his breath hitched as you pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere on the carpeted floors, baring yourself completely in the dim bedroom light, nipples perking as soon as the cool air hit your bare chest.
“you’re sure?”
you nodded, “yes, mark.”
silence. then, in one, quick motion, he flipped you over. your back hit the sheets, lying flat, legs slightly parted. his eyes locked between your thighs and his jaw clenched.
“you really mean it?”
you nodded, whispering, “take what’s yours, birthday boy.”
mark peeled his shirt off, revealing the lean muscle you knew so well, arm flexing slightly as he dropped his sweats just enough to free his hardening cock. then his gaze focused back on you with something darker, “look at you,” he murmured, brushing your hair back, “lying here like a pretty little present.”
he kissed you then. deep and possessive. then his hand was between your legs, fingers dragging through your folds, already wet and leaking for him.
“you’re filthy, baby,” he groaned with awe, with hunger, “you really do want this. letting me use you like a toy.”
the words stole the air from your lungs. without a warning, he slid a finger inside, then a second, you moaned out his name, hips bucking up, but he used his free hand to press your stomach down.
“i’ve been holding back with you,” he said quietly, voice low with restrained fire, “always so careful. always gentle. you know how hard that is?”
you whimpered, legs twitching. he pulled his fingers out, the sudden lack of contact making you whine. he brought them to his lips, sucking your arousal clean while holding your gaze.
then he pressed the tip of of his rock hard cock against your entrance, slow, teasing, eyes locked on yours, “i am sweet, baby,” he murmured, “but don’t forget—i’m still a man. and i’ve got a lot of things i’ve been wanting to do to you.”
he bottomed out in one deep thrust. the stretch was unbearable in the best way. he was all the way inside you in a second, cock pressed so deep you could hardly breathe. mark stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, braced above you with both arms planted on either side of your head. his face was a warzone of hesitation and hunger. eyes flickering between guilt and something darker.
“fuck,” he whispered, “you feel so good.” his hips twitched. then he moved, just once, a slow drag out and a firm push back in, that made your mouth fall open around a silent gasp. he did it again. then again. a deep, tight rhythm. controlled. intense. measured like he was testing himself, seeing what it would take to break.
then you looked at him. eyes wide, lips swollen, hands fisting the sheets as your breath hitched in time with every thrust. that’s when it happened. that switch inside him completely flipped. just like that. he saw how desperate you were, how pliant, how much you wanted this. not just the sweet boyfriend. not just the gentle lover. you wanted the version of him he kept locked away.
he groaned like something had been torn loose from his chest. and suddenly, he was gripping your hips, dragging you even closer to him, your back arching from the force.
“yeah?” he growled, voice deeper now, darker, grinding with a brutal thrust this time, “this what you wanted, baby?” you couldn’t answer. only moan out his name like it was the only word you knew.
he leaned over you, one hand grabbing your jaw, forcing your mouth open, “words, baby. use them. you wanted to give yourself to me? say it.”
“i-i do, mark, i—ahh!—”
he fucked you deeper. harder. his mouth crashed into yours in a bruising kiss like he owned you. and when he pulled back, you were panting, dazed, wrecked.
he smirked, “thought i’d be too sweet to do this?,” he muttered, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand. you moaned under him body squirming, unable to move.
“thought i couldn’t fuck you like this? hold you down? make you sob on my cock?,” his hips slammed into yours, fast and punishing now. the sound of skin on skin echoing throughout your shared bedroom, obscene and wet and desperate.
you whimpered, so close, body arched beneath him. mark was watching you, eyes locked on your fluttering lashes, your bitten lip, your tits bouncing with every thrust.
“god, look at you,” he breathed, “so fucking pretty like this.”
his free hand slipped down, rubbing your clit in fast, tight circles and you shattered. your whole body seized, legs locking around him, eyes rolling back. you sobbed his name as the wave crashed over you so hard you nearly passed out.
“shit—shit—you’re so fucking tight like this,” he groaned. he barely held it together a few more thrusts before he cursed under his breath and buried himself deep, hips jerking as he came inside you with a low, filthy growl.
you both froze, trembling. he collapsed slowly on top of you, breath hot against your neck, arms locked around your body. minutes passed. only the sound of your panting could be heard.
“....i think i liked that too much,” he murmured, still catching his breath.
you giggled weakly, completely limp beneath him, “you think?”
mark kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, then lower. he didn’t bother with aftercare. just pulled you into his chest, legs sticky with his release as sleep pulled you both under.
7:15 AM
you woke up to sunlight creeping through the curtains, golden and quiet. the room still smelled like sex and skin and sweat. you stirred under the covers, stretching lazily, ready to start the day, but the second you moved, mark shifted slightly, the slow drag of his fingers over your hip making goosebumps rise.
then, low and husky, still thick with sleep, his voice rumbled in your ear, “where do you think you’re going?”
you froze, not in fear, but in anticipation. you felt the smile on his lips before he even kissed your shoulder. you turned your head, eyes meeting his, and what you saw wasn’t the hesitant mark from last night.
this mark was completely aware of the power you’d handed over. and he wasn’t done with you.
“still my birthday,” he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow. his hand slid down your back, fingertips ghosting over your ass, “which means…” you turned onto your back slowly, heart racing, “you’re still mine to use.”
his hair is messy, voice soft, but he was looking at you like you were his prey. he reached under the blanket, fingers slipping between your thighs, pressing into your still-swollen folds. you gasped immediately.
“still so fucking sensitive,” he whispered, eyes darkening, “did i do that?”
you nodded.
his gaze flicked to your lips. “good.”
then he leaned in, kissed you tenderly, and whispered, “get on top.”
“i wanna watch you ride me,” he murmured, sliding onto his back. you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to but because your body was still sore and he knew it. that’s why he smiled. that smug, irresistible, mark lee smile.
“what’s wrong baby?,” he said, resting his hands behind his head like a king, “taking back your birthday gift? already?”
you rolled your eyes before crawling over him, straddling his hips. his cock was already semi-hard, thick and hot against your inner thigh.
mark’s hands came to rest on your waist, squeezing gently. his thumb brushed your ribs, soothing and grounding. you reached down and wrapped your hand around him, slowly stroking him to full hardness.
he groaned, low and guttural, eyes glued to the motion, “yeah, just like that,” he murmured, “warm me up, baby.”
once he was fully hard, you lifted your hips, lined him up, and slowly sank down. the stretch burned. your hands gripped his chest as your walls tried to adjust, your jaw dropping in shaky gasp.
“take it,” he whispered, voice firm, “let me see you take all of it.”
you whimpered as you slowly took all of him in, thighs trembling with every added inch. he was so deep, hitting that sore spot from the night before. he kept you still, letting you feel every inch of him.
“fuck, baby,” he breathed, “you feel even tighter in the morning.”
you tried to move, just a little, and he let you, just enough to roll your hips. his hands guided you, controlling your pace, “not too fast,” he warned, “i want you to feel every stroke.”
you moaned as he filled you over and over again, the slow grind of your hips meeting his sending shocks up your spine.
“that’s it,” mark murmured, “you’re doing so good for me. so fucking good.”
then he sat up, chest pressed to yours, arms wrapping around your waist as he thrust up into you hard and you cried out, clutching onto him. he groaned against your neck, voice thick and desperate, “you make me lose my fucking mind,” he whispered, “you know that?”
you nodded, gasping, “mark—please—”
“you gonna come for me?”
“yes–yes, i–fuck–yes—”
“you’ve got thirty seconds,” he said, “you better fucking come.” he held you tighter, hand slipping between your bodies to rub on your clit. your orgasm hit immediately. you screamed his name, falling apart in his arms, body pulsing around him like a vice.
mark moaned, fucking you through it, his rhythm breaking, “shit–baby–fuck–i’m coming–” he pulled you down onto him fully, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you again.
you both stayed there. tangled. trembled. sweaty and full and wrecked. after a moment, he leaned back, brushing your damp hair from your face.
“i think this is the best gift i’ve ever gotten.”
9:30AM
your muscles ached deliciously as you padded into the kitchen, barefoot, wearing nothing but mark’s shirt, oversized, warm from his body, hanging off your shoulder and swaying with every step. your thighs still stuck a little when you moved — slick, sore, full of his cum.
and still…you wanted to take care of him.
so you rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing the eggs, pancake mix, and butter. you started heating the pan, humming to yourself, moving slowly.
you didn’t hear him walk in. didn’t feel him until his arms wrapped around your waist, his chest pressing against your back, warm and bare.
you gasped softly, startled, but he just buried his nose into your neck and groaned, “you’re making breakfast?,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, “looking like this?”
you smiled, relaxing into him. he pulled back just enough to see you, eyes roaming slowly over his oversized shirt, the curve of your bare thighs, the way the hem barely covered your ass.
“nope,” his voice was firm as he muttered to himself, hands already sliding under the fabric, “no. no way. you don’t walk around like this and expect me not to lose my mind.”
“mark–”
“jump on the counter.”
your eyes widened.
“i–wait, baby, the eggs—”
“counter. now.”
the tone in his voice made your stomach flip, low, commanding, no hesitation. you obeyed instantly, turning around and hoisting yourself up onto the counter. the marble was cool against your skin as your legs dangled off the edge.
mark stepped between them, “open up for me.”
you spread your legs. his eyes dropped and darkened. your pussy was still shining with arousal. he leaned in, kissing your knee, then your thigh, then higher, and higher, never breaking eye contact. you released a sigh when his breath hit your core.
“thought i’d let you cook,” he murmured, hot against your skin, “but you’re in here dripping, wearing my shirt, humming like you didn’t just take my cock two hours ago?” he licked you once, slow and deep.
you gasped, “mark—”
he gripped your thighs and buried his face between them, tongue lapping hungrily, licking up his own release before focusing on you, “you taste like me,” he groaned, “fuck, that’s hot.”
he moaned into your cunt, eating like a man possessed, his tongue swirling around your clit before sliding back down to fuck you with it. you collapsed back onto your elbows, head thrown back, breath coming out in broken gasps.
“y-you’re gonna make me come again–”
“good,” he growled, “come all over my fucking face” he didn’t stop, tongue fast and messy, alternating pressure, sucking your clit between his lips until your thigs shook violently around his head. you came with a cry, body arching off the counter, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
mark didn’t let you rest. the second your body started twitching from the overstimulation, he stood, mouth slick, cock already hard and leaking against his abs. his hands made it’s way to your waist, helping you jump off the counter before he spun you around, bending you forward, chest flat to the cold marble stone, ass up.
you gasped as you felt the tip of his cock drag through your folds, “you shouldn’t have teased me like that,” he whispered, pushing in. you moan, hands scrambling for purchase on his hips as he bottomed out.
“you knew what you were doing,” he said, starting to move, “my shirt. bare legs. cooking like a perfect little wife.” his hips snapped forward.
“you don’t need to feed me,” he groaned, “you’re already all i fucking want to eat.” he set a brutal pace, hands gripping your hips, cock pounding into your soaked cunt from behind.
“mark—baby—fuck—”
“you hear that?” he gasped, “that wet little sound every time i fuck into you?”
you couldn’t speak. could only moan. your body convulsed with every word. he reached under, fingers circling your clit with expert pressure. he knew exactly how to touch you. exactly how to ruin you in seconds.
“let go. give it to me.” you exploded with a scream, body wrecked with aftershocks, juices flooding down your thighs. mark groaned loudly and came seconds later, hips jerking as he emptied inside you for the second time that morning.
you slumped over against the counter, wrecked. mark leaned over your back, kissing your shoulder, then he whispered, “okay. now we can make pancakes.”
mark’s cum dripped slowly down your thighs. you felt used. claimed. so thoroughly ruined you could hardly lift your head. and yet, behind you, mark was humming.
you binked hazily when you felt a warm towel press between your thighs. he crouched down, tender now, carefully cleaning the mess he’d made. the shift in him was stark — from filthy to loving, dominant to gentle, like a switch flipped back to your mark.
10:45AM
you were washing the dishes now when mark’s arms wrapped around your waist again, exhaling into your neck, warm and soft, “i really need to shower before i go,” he mumbled lazily, lips grazing your shoulder. he had a schedule at 11:30AM. his manager was already on the way to pick him up.
“then go,” you giggled, “i’ll finish up here on my own.”
but he didn’t move away. he just tightened his grip around your waist. and without another word, no warning, no question, he shut the water off and lifted you straight off the ground. you almost dropped the plate in your hand.
“mark?!?!” you let out a surprised squeal as he hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. you smacked his back half-heartedly, laughing breathlessly, “your mom gave us those plates!”
he swatted your ass, hard enough to sting, “you think i care?” he didn’t. not really not when he was already carrying you straight into the bathroom like a man on a mission.
the water was running by the time your back hit the wall of the shower. you were pinned there, mark’s hands gripping your thighs, holding you up against the wall. your breath hitched as the warm water sprayed your shoulders, his cock pressed between your legs, already hard.
he kissed you desperately. his tongue pushed into your mouth like he needed more of you before the time slipped through his fingers. his grip on your thighs tightened. water poured over both of you as steam rose around your bodies, making the world feel hot and dizzy.
he didn’t ask. didn’t wait. he just took.
mark shifted his hips and thrust up into you in one swift, brutal stroke. your head slammed gently back against the tile, a moan tearing from your throat as he bottomed out inside you, filling you completely.
“fuck,” he hissed, forehead pressed to yours, “you’re still so fucking tight baby.”
“you didn’t even warn me,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders, legs locking tighter around his waist.
he grunted, lifting you all the way out before slamming you back down, forcing another cry from your lips.
“didn’t need to,” he growled, “still my birthday,” he panted, his pace picking up, rough, relentless, fast like he was trying to beat the hands of time.
each thrust pounded you against the slick tile wall, the slap of his hips echoing in the shower stall. your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he slammed into you again and again in punishing thrusts. the steam made everything hotter.
mark’s mouth found your neck, sucking bruises into your skin while his hands gripped your ass, using you like a toy, fucking you into the wall over and over again.
“i’ve always wanted to try this,” he groaned. he kissed you again, swallowing your moans, thrusts going erratic now, desperate.
your body started to lock up. you cried out, clinging to him as your vision went white, walls sucking him in incredibly tight. mark cursed under his breath and drove into you once, twice, three more times before spilling inside you with a low broken moan.
he didn’t pull out. didn’t let you down. he just held you there, trembling, forehead resting against yours, water cascading down your bodies as you both panted against each other.
then he kissed you again, slow, deep and finally let you down on shaking legs.
you blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, hair soaked and clinging to your face, “you’re gonna miss call time.”
he looked at you, eyes widening, “shit. i am.”
you burst out laughing as he stumbled out of the shower, dripping wet, yanking a towel around his waist.
“go, go!,” you shouted after him, grabbing a second towel and throwing it at his head. he barely caught it mid- jog, nearly slipping on the tiles.
after a chaotic ten minutes of rushed dressing, frantic cologne spritzing and muttering curses about his phone blowing up, mark was finally ready. hoodie zipped. shorts on. bag over his shoulders.
you stood by the front door, arms crossed, watching him with the softest smile. he looked back once before grabbing the doorknob, eyes landing on you — you’re in one of his shirts again, skin glowing, lips kiss-bitten, collarbone marked up from where his mouth had been not long ago, making it very, very hard for him to leave.
he walked over, just for a second, just to kiss you again. this one slow. gentle. soft. his thumb brushed your cheek, his lips lingering against yours, “thank you,” he whispered, voice warm and filled with love.
you nodded, whispering, “of course. have the best birthday, baby.”
he looked like he wanted to stay. like his body was halfway out the door but his heart was still standing there in front of you. then — his phone rang for the umpteenth time. his manager’s name popping up again.
“shit, shit, shit,” mark muttered, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.
“okay. i love you. i’ll text you when i get there. don’t miss me too much, wait for me naked!”
you rolled your eyes, laughing as he opened the door and sprinted out to the elevators.
“i always miss you too much!” you shouted after him, watching as he tore barefoot down the condo hallway, shoes in hand, hoodie flying, yelling something about forgetting his socks. he still made it to the car on time. barely. but he did it with wet hair, sore legs and the biggest fucking smile on his face.
1:27PM
somewhere on set, surrounded by lights, mics, cameras and twenty something grown men, mark stood in a branded NCT2025 shirt and cargo pants, watching jeno film his solo segment with perfect professionalism.
but mark was dying. his jaw clenched. his leg bounced. his eyes drifted around the room between his phone and the sound guy trying to fix a rogue mic wire under doyoung’s shirt. some of the boys looked focus. patient. some looked bored.
he’s sure he looked like a man who had tasted heaven and was now being punished for it. he didn’t even realize he was sighing out loud until chenle elbowed him gently and whispered, “dude. you good?”
mark blinked. then muttered under his breath, “this is such a fucking waste of a birthday gift.”
jisung raised a brow beside him, “what birthday gift?”
mark didn’t answer, just unlocked his phone and opened your messages.
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: can we pause time on that birthday gift?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: like stop the clock?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️ : i feel like im losing hours
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: i could be buried inside you right now
he kept on texting.
markie 🐯🩵🕸️ : baby, where are you?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: im so serious
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: they’re making me rehearse lines like bro i don’t care about the script
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: i wanna fuck you against every corner of our house
he sighed. waiting for you to read his messages. the camera crew was repositioning. sion was getting powdered. haechan was whining about how hungry he was. but all mark could think about was your moans.
then your reply came in.
baby 🌷💗: birthdays don’t work like that, markie
baby 🌷💗: no pauses. no time outs.
mark had to bite back a groan. his hand flew up to cover his face as his ears turned red. he typed back fast.
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: don’t you think it’s a little unfair baby?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: i miss your pussy more than i miss sleep
baby 🌷💗: sent a voice note
he glanced around, paranoid, then pressed play quietly, holding the phone to his ear. your voice poured in. sweet. sultry. the audio was low, but the words still wrecked him.
“mmm, you miss this pussy, baby? maybe you should’ve skipped work and stayed inside me.”
mark choked.
“mark!,” yuta called out from across the set, “they’re calling you to camera two!”
“y-yeah, yeah!,” mark stammered, already tucking his phone into his pocket, adjusting his pants like a man trying not to commit a crime as he walked toward the camera, mumbling to himself, “god, i’m never having a birthday again. not unless i get to spend all 24 hours inside her.”
behind the camera, ten whispered to johnny, “he’s spiraling.”
johnny just shook his head, amused. and mark stepped into frame with the dazed look of a man who had been kissed, sucked, fucked, wrecked and then dropped off at work like it was any other day. he was counting the minutes until he could go back home and ruin you all over again.
6:30PM
mark was on the verge of collapse. he’d danced the same chorus 28 times. shot around 8 solo takes, 7 group takes (for each group) and pretended to smile when someone brought out a birthday cake as his members ridiculously sang him a happy birthday.
everyone else was still filming. still vibing. still stretching. meanwhile, mark was sitting next to one of the tents, sulking like a teenager who got grounded. his phone buzzed again. this time, it was his manager.
manager hyung: hey can you grab the prop bag in the van? back left.
mark blinked at the screen.
mark: why me 😭😭
mark: im literally in the middle of my suffering
but no reply. he groaned out loud, already stomping off set, still so disciplined. he reached the van, grumbling, half ready to fight someone, already imagining himself getting yelled at for grabbing the wrong bag — then he opened the door. and froze.
there you were, sitting all the way in the back, legs crossed in a tiny skirt, your shirt had a tiny little bow on it. his most perfect birthday gift.
his heart stopped. his scowl crumbled in real time.
“what are you…” he exhaled, stunned, “what are you doing here?”
you tilted your head, all innocent mischief, “well, i’m not completely evil, baby.”
he blinked. “i thought about what you said earlier,” you went on, trailing a finger up your thigh, slowly, “and you’re right. it is a little unfair.”
mark’s eyes widened, “wait—”
you smiled, biting your lip, “your manager said you’ve got fifteen minutes,” you leaned forward, “think that’s enough?”
mark’s brain short circuited. he didn’t waste a second. the sliding door slammed shut. you were spun before you could even tease him again, his hands already on your hips, with a grip so tight you were sure there would be bruises tomorrow.
he pushed you down on all fours. you gasped, bracing your palms on the leather seats as he yanked your skirt up and tugged your panties to the side, not even bothering to remove it.
“fuck—” he hissed, dropping to his knees behind you, immediately diving in with his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds.
“mark—shit—”
he growled, pushing his cargo pants down, “we’re you planning this all day?”
you moaned out a breathless yes, pushing your ass towards his bulge. that was all it took. he freed his cock, already hard, already twitching and lined himself up behind you.
“fifteen minutes?” he muttered, gripping your waist, “i’ll make it count.”
then he thrust in, the sudden fullness so shocking you whimpered out his name. mark grunted, slamming in to the hilt and didn’t pause. his hips snapped into yours fast, hard, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow.
“been losing my mind all fucking day,” he gasped, “watching you in my head—remembering how hot you looked in the shower—how you shook on the counter—”
your arms trembled as you tried to hold yourself up from his relentless force.
“i swear to god,” he growled, “if this van falls over, i won’t even stop.”
his cock pistoned into you, deep and brutal, hitting that spot that made you cry out with every thrust. your thighs trembled as the obscene sounds of wet skin, breathless moans, mark’s filthy grunts filled the space. both of you didn’t even care if anyone walked by and heard.
one of his hands came up your chest, hoisting you up towards him. the new angle making you see stars, “you gonna come for me, baby?” he panted against your ear, one hand slipping down your body to rub your clit through your soaked panties, fast and rough, his cock never slowing down, “gonna cream all over my cock like the good girl you are?”
you nodded frantically, sobbing his name as the pressure in your gut snapped like a rubber band. your orgasm hit you loud and messy, your whole body shaking, head falling back into the curve of his neck as you melted in his hold, pussy still clinging on to him.
“shit—baby—fuck—,” he choked, then he slammed into you one last time, cock twitched as he came deep inside, spilling everything he had with a strangled moan into your pulsing heat.
the van went quiet. mark pulled out, breathing hard, gently tugging your underwear back in place and letting it collect your shared juices as he sat you in between his legs.
“you okay?,” he whispered, kissing your temple, a hand softly rubbing your stomach.
you nodded still catching your breath.
“that was the best fifteen minutes of my life,” he said breathlessly.
you turned to look at him with a little smirk, “think that’s enough to get you through the rest of the night?”
mark let out a low groan, rolling his eyes like he was actually in pain, “barely,” he muttered, “you better be ready and waiting for me at home,” he cupped your jaw, turning you to face him.
“i’m planning to use every last fucking second,” he whispered against your lips. then he smirked, pulling away, carefully fixing your hair and adjusting your skirt, “now i’m gonna go before i get hard again and say fuck it to the rest of filming.”
you laughed as he slipped out the van doors, saying one more thing before the door shut, “i’ll be in our bed. naked.”
mark groaned. loudly.
he had just stepped back onto set, hoodie rumpled, hair tousled, his smile lazy and satisfied when renjun narrowed his eyes at him, “you get the prop bag?”
mark blinked. then froze. “oh shit,” he mumbled, eyes widening, “i forgot.”
jungwoo snorted immediately, “how? it’s the only reason you left set!”
mark was already spinning on his heel, jogging backward with a sheepish grin, “sorry! i’ll get it, i got…uh…distracted!”
“by what?!,” renjun called after him.
“uhmm…the sky!,” mark shouted, already halfway to the parking lot.
you were just a few steps from your car, parked a little further down from the van, fiddling with your keys, when you heard hurried footsteps behind you. you turned, expecting maybe a staff member. instead, you find your boyfriend jogging toward you with an adorably panicked expression.
“forgot the bag!” mark called out breathless.
you laughed, “seriously?”
he nodded, catching up to you, still panting a little, “i had tunnel vision. all i saw was you. the bag might’ve been there. or a unicorn. i wouldn’t have noticed.”
you rolled your eyes with a fond smile, “you’re a disaster.”
mark stepped closer, lowering his voice as he glanced around the lot, “but i really only came back cause i realized something.”
“what?”
“i forgot to do this,” he whispered, and before you could react, he cupped your face and kissed you again — soft this time, sweet and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world instead of exactly zero minutes left before someone texted him in all caps.
his hand slid behind your neck, the other curling around your waist. your fingers gripped his shirt like you couldn’t help yourself.
when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and grinned, “okay,” he exhaled, “now, i can go back to being held hostage.”
you giggled, brushing his damp hair off his forehead, and wiping your lipstick off the corner of his lips, “don’t forget the actual bag this time.”
he turned to jog back toward the van, walking backward for a second just to wink at you, “love you! go eat dinner! use my card!,” then he turned — and immediately smacked into a light pole.
you gasped, “oh my god! mark–!”
“I’M FINE!,” he shouted over his shoulder, rubbing his elbow, “see you at home!”
10:45 PM
after hours and hours of nonstop filming, choreography, lines, group scenes, solo shots, costume changes, interviews, retakes, the director finally yelled the magic words:
“alright, that’s a wrap!”
the entire nct lineup groaned in collective relief, bodies dropping to the blankets, the grass, water bottles. mark didn’t even react at first. he just blinked like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.
“…we’re done?” he whispered to no one in particular.
“we’re done,” johnny clapped a hand on his shoulder. “now go home to your girlfriend and celebrate properly.”
mark let out a weak, half-sarcastic laugh, rubbing at his aching back. “bro, i can’t even feel my legs.”
he wasn’t thinking about the birthday gift anymore. not the free use, not the teasing texts, not the filthy things he still wanted to do to you.
all he could think about now was how badly he needed to collapse.
11:00 PM
mark quietly unlocked the front door to your shared condo and slipped inside. he didn’t expect much, maybe some leftover dinner, the soft glow of the hallway light you always leave on for him, you already asleep in bed.
instead, the first thing he noticed was the smell. lavender. warm. inviting. then the soft flicker of candles down the hall. music playing faintly from the bathroom.
mark dropped his bag, “babe?” he called out softly.
“bathroom!” your voice chimed, sweet and soft. he padded forward, peeling off his hoodie, exhaustion sinking into every muscle. when he reached the bathroom, he stopped in the doorway and smiled.
you were sitting in the tub, already submerged in warm, foamy water, candles lining the counter, your hair piled into a messy bun, a glass of red wine for you and a can of beer for him resting on the ledge nearby. his towel was already laid out, fluffy and warm. the light was dim, golden, the air thick with steam.
“welcome home, birthday boy,” you said, resting your chin on the edge of the tub, “you looked like death in those last few behind-the-scenes clips your manager sent me. thought you could use this.”
mark didn’t speak at first. just stared. then…his shoulders dropped. his whole body softened.
“you’re perfect,” he murmured, stepping forward to kiss your forehead before pulling his shirt over his head, “like actually. scary perfect.”
you smiled, scooting forward to make room. he stripped off the rest of his clothes and slid in behind you with a sigh so deep it echoed off the walls. his arms came around your waist, and he pulled you back against his chest, letting his head fall onto yours.
the hot water, the scent of you, the way your fingers were already gently running along his arm, it all hit him at once.
“god,” he breathed, “this is even better than sex right now.”
you laughed quietly. “i knew you’d say that.”
he nuzzled into your neck, kissing it softly. and in that moment, tangled in warm water, candles flickering, mark felt it. not the lust. not the high from the gift. but the kind of love that made his body ache in an entirely different way.
“thanks for waiting up,” he whispered.
“always,” you replied.
the water sloshed gently around you both, the air warm and slow like honey. mark’s arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, lips brushing lazy kisses along your shoulder as he melted into you, soft, spent, and utterly at peace.
but then…his fingers started drifting. first, just tracing idle circles on your stomach. then down, dipping lower, skimming the inside of your thigh. you smiled to yourself.
“mmm,” he hummed, voice low, raspy from overuse and exhaustion, “why do you always feel so good against me?”
“you’re literally doing nothing,” you teased, turning your head slightly to glance at him.
“i know,” he groaned dramatically. “that’s the problem. i want to do everything but my body’s not cooperating.”
you giggled, turning fully in his lap, straddling him gently. his hands slid automatically to your hips, eyes flicking down and when he saw the way your bare chest glistened under the golden candlelight, he whimpered softly.
“i hate this,” he mumbled, “i’m horny and useless.”
“no, you’re not,” you whispered, reaching down between your bodies and wrapping your hand around him. mark hissed through his teeth, hips twitching slightly as his head tipped back against the edge of the tub. his cock throbbed in your grip, already halfway hard just from being close to you, from your touch alone.
“you’re still warm,” you murmured, pumping him slowly under the water, “still so big and thick like this…”
his eyes fluttered shut, “fuck, baby… don’t tease.”
“i’m not,” you said sweetly, rising just enough to guide his length to your entrance.
mark’s eyes snapped open, “wait—babe—i don’t think i can—”
“you don’t have to do anything,” you promised, sinking down slowly, letting his cock stretch you open inch by inch until he was fully inside you. he gasped. hands clenching at your waist like he couldn’t decide whether to hold on or pull you closer. you settled against him, chest pressed to his, arms curling around his neck.
“just stay like this,” you whispered. “let me keep you warm.” mark’s whole body shuddered. his face buried into your neck as a low, helpless moan escaped his lips.
“baby… you’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, voice wrecked, “you feel so fucking good.”
you held him tighter, your walls pulsing softly around him, not moving, just letting him rest inside you, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.
“i love you,” he mumbled, voice barely audible against your skin. “even when i’m too tired to move. you still make me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”
you kissed him sweetly, “i love you too,” you whispered, “you don’t have to do anything. you’ve already done enough.”
so you stayed like that for a while, cockwarming in the quiet bath, two bodies wrapped together in candlelight and warmth, breaths syncing as mark’s tired heartbeat finally began to slow.
but then… you shifted. just a little. a soft roll of your hips. the motion wasn’t intentional, just a lazy adjustment. but it was enough for your walls to squeeze around him, tight and hot and slick. enough for mark to let out a low groan, his fingers digging slightly into your hips.
you stilled instantly. “sorry,” you murmured, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “didn’t mean to—”
his voice cut in, deeper now. rougher. “do it again.”
you blinked, surprised, “i thought you were—”
“just… once more,” he whispered, already sitting up straighter, one hand sliding up your spine, the other cupping your breast as his mouth brushed over your collarbone.
then he leaned in and wrapped his lips around your nipple. you gasped, body jolting as heat rushed straight between your legs.
“mark—”
he groaned against your skin, tongue flicking lazily over the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth, warm and wet and slow. his cock twitched inside you again, growing harder by the second.
“i was trying to behave,” he murmured, switching to your other breast, dragging his tongue in a slow circle, “but you feel too fucking good. so soft. so warm.”
your hands tangled in his hair as he kissed, sucked, and licked your chest like he’d never tasted you before. every graze of his teeth, every swirl of his tongue made your walls flutter around him.
“mark…” you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips just barely, grinding against him without lifting, “you’re getting so hard.”
he didn’t answer. not with words. instead, he moaned into your skin and gently bit down on your nipple, just enough to make you cry out, before licking over it again with a soft, wet kiss.
then he pulled back, eyes dark, jaw clenched, cock fully hard inside you now, “i was tired,” he said, voice wrecked, “now all i can think about is making you fall apart on me again.”
he didn’t say a word as he stood, the water dripping from his body in rivulets that traced the lines of his chest, his abs, his thighs. you were still straddling him when he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you easily, his cock still buried inside you, your arms flying around his neck with a surprised gasp.
“shhh,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “don’t make me waste time.”
because when he glanced at the bathroom clock on his way out, it hit him.
11:40 PM.
twenty minutes left. twenty minutes left of the best birthday gift he’d ever received. and he wasn’t about to let a second go to waste.
still dripping wet, he carried you through the condo, not caring about the trail of water behind him. you clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, wet chest pressed to his, your breathing already shaky.
the bedroom was dark but familiar. the sheets were cool when he laid you down. your hair was damp. your skin dewy and flushed. your eyes wide.
mark hovered above you, dripping onto the mattress, strands of his wet hair sticking to his forehead. his cock twitched as he slipped from you for just a moment, enough to position himself again, slow and steady, thick and pulsing as he eased back inside your aching heat.
you gasped, arms reaching for him instinctively. he hissed through his teeth, savoring the feeling, the wet sound of your bodies meeting again, the way your walls hugged him like you were made for this. for him.
“last round baby,” he murmured, “give me one more.”
you nodded, biting your lip. and then he began to move. slow. deep. rhythmic. dominant in its control. mark held your hips, grounding you to the mattress with every deliberate thrust. his forehead pressed to yours. his eyes never leaving your face.
his mouth found your neck, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. another slow, dragging thrust that made your toes curl. you were moaning, your body rising to meet his with every movement. your legs hooked over his waist. he was so deep. so good. so steady. he fucked you slow and sure.
“you gonna come with me?” he whispered against your mouth.
you nodded, eyes glassy.
“then look at me.”
you did. just as he thrust deep again and held it, grinding his hips against yours as his fingers came down and worked slow, heavy circles on your swollen clit. the pleasure spiraled sharp and sweet, building until you could barely breathe.
“i love you,” he said.
and that broke you. you came with a sob, clenching around him, your whole body arching off the bed. he moaned your name, breath shattering, hips faltering as he pushed once more and came inside you with a low, aching groan. his release was hot, flooding you, filling you up until it leaked out between your thighs.
he stayed there for a long moment. still buried inside you. breathing hard. skin to skin. wet and warm and trembling. then, gently, he leaned down and kissed you. not rushed. not desperate.
just full of love.
11:59 PM
mark pulled the covers up over both your bare bodies, tucking you in close against his chest. his skin was still warm, the faint scent of your shared bath clinging to both of you. his arms wrapped around you tightly, protectively, like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you.
he kissed the top of your head, then leaned back just enough to brush your hair from your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek.
“thanks for the best birthday gift,” he whispered, voice soft and sleepy.
you giggled quietly, eyelids fluttering as you looked up at him, “you cashed in every second, huh?”
he let out a breathless laugh, the kind that made his chest shake, “every. fucking. one.”
you smiled, snuggling closer, tucking your head under his chin.
“i love you,” you whispered, so quietly it almost got lost in the silence.
but mark heard it. he tightened his hold around you, kissed your forehead, “i love you, too…so much.”
and when the clock rolled over to 12:00 AM, sleep pulled both of you under, hearts full. no more time left on the clock. but all the time in the world left for you and him.
summary: after settling into domestic life, you start to miss your old ways and mark is all too happy to give you a taste.
warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content
notes: 7k words; really spicy with a happy ending
psa: reader and mark grew up in the same foster home, and are not actual siblings.
There was nothing Mark loved more than going home to you at the end of a long day. As he turned his old car onto the familiar street, warmth spread from his chest and into his bones. All the stress and pain of the day began to fade. He knew you would be waiting for him and the sooner he was in your arms where he belonged, the better.
You stood before the stove, the fragrant scent of gumbo filling your nose as you stirred the pot. By now, the entire house smelled of spices and savory flavors, making the boys’ stomachs growl and churn.
A small hand suddenly pawed at your chest, followed by a cute voice whining, “Hungry, Mama.”
“I know, baby,” you told your son, kissing his temple. Sam balanced perfectly on your hip, peering into the pot with keen interest. He loved watching you cook and you loved cooking for your family. Growing up, there were many nights the boys went hungry because they had given you what little food they had. You would never forget that and you would never stop repaying their kindness with hearty meals.
“Smells crazy good, Mama,” said Jaemin, sneaking into the kitchen again with a big mischievous smile on his face. He wanted to steal another taste of the gumbo and Sam was all too happy to help his uncle do it.
You tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before waving it in Jaemin’s direction with a warning, “One of these days, my spoon will connect with your head.”
“Or Haechan’s ass,” Jaemin retorted, scurrying out of the kitchen.
“Language,” you called after him, but it was too late. Sam was already laughing and mumbling excitedly about bad words.
The front door opened a moment later and your son instantly knew who had come home. He began kicking his legs and bouncing in your arms, shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!”
You grinned from ear-to-ear as you set him down, turning your attention back to the gumbo and listening to your favorite sounds in the living room. Of Mark hoisting your son into the air until Sam squealed with delight. Of Mark covering his baby boy’s face in kisses until the house filled with joyous laughter.
Mark asked Sam about his day, his toys, his favorite cartoons, and if he’d helped you with chores or cooking. Sam was very eager to tell him how well he took care of you. It almost brought you to tears every time without fail; the happiness flowing out of your son. He didn’t know fear or struggle, and that made your heart swell.
When Mark finally turned the corner of the kitchen without little Sam in tow, you greeted him cheerfully, “Hey, good-looking. How was your day?”
“I’m hungry,” Mark said with a curtness that surprised you.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Give me, like, five more…”
Mark was on you in the time it took to blink. He gathered you in his arms, brought you flush against him, and slotted his lips to yours. Your eyes widened at first, but you melted into him and kissed back eagerly. Mark eventually broke from your perfect lips and smirked down at the dazed look on your face.
“Minutes,” you finished weakly, swaying where you stood. Your tone shifted. “Mark, your son is still awake.”
“Fine. I’ll settle for food,” Mark said, his voice level, but his eyes were scalding. He leaned in and stole one little chaste kiss. “For now.”
You flushed with heat. He was in one of those moods where he was starving and only your body could satisfy him.
That’s how you ended up with his baby in the first place.
To distract himself, Mark moved briskly into the living room and scooped Sam back up into his arms to play with him. Leaving you to squirm and nibble your lip in the kitchen, because you were wondering how the hell you were supposed to get through dinner after Mark just kissed you the way he did.
“Uncle Jaemin is a great babysitter,” you said with a smile, everyone sitting at the dining table as they devoured the meal you’d made. At times, you wished you had more privacy, living in a house with so many boys, but you knew you were lucky to have such a strong support system.
“I want one,” Jaemin said cutely, ruffling Sam’s dark hair.
“A baby… in this economy?” Haechan exclaimed, making you laugh.
“I’ll stick with practicing," Jeno quipped, earning a sharp smack to his arm from Jaemin.
Your eyes flew to Mark after that comment and you weren’t surprised to find your baby daddy already eyeing you, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. Yeah, you were in the mood to practice with him too.
As if the two of you weren’t already experts.
The boys inhaled their meals and dinner finished up quickly. As usual, they made you stay in your chair while they cleaned up the kitchen. Out of gratitude for always filling their bellies, they never let you clean a single thing.
You rocked back and forth with Sam dozing off in your arms. You rhythmically smoothed down his hair, helping him settle. He would get a last surge of energy, fussing to get down and speed through the house, but even he couldn’t defeat a full belly. His breathing leveled off and he fell sound asleep with his head over your heart.
Meanwhile, you watched the boys tidy up the kitchen, now at a much quieter volume as to not wake Sam. You exchanged soft smiles with Jaemin who looked at Sam and made a face like he’d been hit with cuteness aggression and quickly stifled it down.
You held back a giggle as best you could and held your baby boy a bit tighter. You were lucky to have built this life for him, but you didn’t do it alone.
After growing up in the same foster house for the kids deemed the worst by the system, Mark, Jeno, Haechan and Jaemin were the closest thing to a family you would ever have. One-by-one, you were kicked out the second you turned eighteen, but you’d been planning for that for years.
Mark and Jeno were the first to go, and they’d been working and saving for as long as you could remember. They found the cheapest house they could and when you were the next to get tossed out the door, you had a soft place to land thanks to them.
Good thing too, because only a few days earlier you’d learned you were pregnant with Mark’s baby.
Over the course of your pregnancy, Jaemin and Haechan came home. Between the five of you, you passed beyond just survival and settled into comfortable. And then you were given a gift you hadn’t expected.
Haechan painted the walls of Sam’s nursery. Jeno installed soft, plush carpet on the old wood floors. Mark built the crib and the rocking chair beside it. Jaemin made it his mission to decorate the room with stuffed animals and toys and children’s books.
When they surprised you with the finished room, you sat on the floor and wept while rubbing your swollen belly, so relieved and grateful your baby would have the childhood none of you ever did.
Not a day went by that you didn’t feel overwhelmed with love for your family. It may have looked different from what was considered normal or traditional, but it was real.
You stood in the doorway, watching Mark tuck Sam into his little bed, and smiled contentedly. Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan passed by and bid you goodnight, thanking you again for dinner. Slipping away, you went to the bedroom you shared with Mark and your heartbeat sped up, knowing how the rest of the night would go.
“Baby’s asleep,” said Mark as he entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
“Good.” You were channel surfing and struggling to settle on something, because you knew whatever it was you wouldn’t get a chance to watch any of it.
Mark clambered onto the mattress beside you and made himself comfortable, asking, “Are you tired?”
You flushed, your pulse picking up even more speed. If he could just put his hands on you, you wouldn’t be losing your mind already. “No, I’m ready for you,” you replied quickly, cursing yourself for sounding so eager. You molded to Mark’s side, drawn to his warmth and smiled when he looped an arm around you.
“Ready for what?”
Your heart dropped. “Oh… I don’t know. I just thought…”
Mark snickered and kissed your cheek. “I’m fucking with you.”
“Of course you are.”
Mark took his sweet time getting your clothes off. First your shirt, peppering your neck with gentle kisses. Then, he went back to watching TV like he’d done nothing. Next went your pants, while he sucked and nibbled the base of your shoulder. And again, back to the TV, as if the weather report was suddenly the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
Fucking tease, you wanted to complain, but you were living for it.
Once you were naked, Mark started undressing himself. For a while, he was down to just his boxers as he roamed his hands over your body and slipped his tongue in your mouth. You couldn’t complain when he was kissing you so passionately. He kneaded your breasts and played with your nipples until you couldn’t help but press your thighs together and whine.
When he tossed his boxers onto the floor, you thought it was go time.
Instead, Mark spooned you from behind and pulled the blanket over your bodies, hooking his arm around your waist and molding himself to you. You felt his hard cock pressed against your ass and wiggled your hips. Mark chuckled in your ear and cupped your breasts in his hands.
“Mark, you’re killing me,” you groaned impatiently, arching into his body.
“Not yet I’m not.”
You reached back and grabbed at him, grinding into him for some friction. The ache between your thighs was beginning to fester into something unbearable.
Mark brushed his hand down your stomach and cupped your sex. “You want me here?”
“Yes.”
“Want my dick or my mouth?”
Your breath hitched in your throat. The mere mention of his cock had you clenching on nothing while he ran his fingers up and down your folds. His other hand tugged at your nipples, one after the other, making you tense like a coil about to snap. Reaching behind you, you grabbed his length and said, “I want your cock. Fuck me. Please.”
Mark chuckled darkly against your skin. Good, you were as needy as he was now. He pressed one final kiss to your neck and sat up, steering you onto your back. You watched him get comfortable between your thighs, expecting him to fuck you, but you should have known better. Mark sidled further down, popped your legs over his shoulders and buried his face in your cunt.
“Oh… fuck,” you stammered out, eyes winching closed.
Mark sank his fingers into your thick thighs and glanced up to see pleasure contort your pretty face. He didn’t waste any time latching onto your clit and sucking, and slipped two fingers slowly into your entrance to stroke inside you at a languid pace.
The next few minutes felt like hours as Mark brought you to one orgasm after another. For you, two was more than enough and to your embarrassment, you were begging for his dick. Your walls clenched and pulsed on his fingers, still sinking in and out of you in no hurry. The more you tried to steer his face away from your cunt, the more he ate you out like a man starved.
Fresh tears spilled from your eyes. You were on the edge again and you knew this one was going to wreck you. Your fingers tangled in Mark’s hair, desperately trying to slow him down. He reached for your hands, lacing his fingers through yours intimately, but didn’t take his mouth from your pussy for a moment’s reprieve.
“Oh god,” you cried out, your voice growing more frantic. “Mark,” you chanted, wrestling against his hold to no avail. “I can’t. I can’t!”
All your pleas went ignored. If anything, you heard Mark snicker against your folds. He was enjoying himself way too much to let up for a second. Your body was his. Your pleasure was his. Every sound you made belonged to him. You were the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, the only one that had ever seen him vulnerable.
And you’d given him a beautiful baby. Mark didn’t even want to think about that. It always made the love he felt for you surge into something even more powerful than his lust.
“Stop fighting it,” Mark hissed from between your legs. While you squirmed, he moved with you, his grip on you unforgiving as he tongued your swollen clit.
Your body jolted involuntarily like you’d been hit by lightning. You sat up on your elbows and fisted the sheets, eyes rolling, and your head fell back and your body bowed as you came again. The mangled moan that ripped out of your throat was music to Mark’s ears.
“Mark!” You shook and twitched, and batted at your lover desperately. He kept sucking, getting off to how hard you came and how torturous the overstimulation was to you. He lapped up the slick that gushed from your sex, using it to keep pumping his fingers into your tightening hole.
This was heaven and he had no plans of leaving.
You gasped for air, chest heaving. Goddamn him. “Please, Mark,” you sobbed, collapsing back limply on the mattress, your legs still shaking on his shoulders.
Mark parted from your sweet cunt with a smack of his wet lips, turning his head to press reassuring kisses to your thigh while his strong hands kneaded your hips. “Breathe, baby,” he cooed, his eyes hooded. “Fuck, I almost came too.”
You panted heavily, a pained pathetic whimper on every exhale. Your core was throbbing, the slightest brush against your folds had you trembling. Every inch of you was in a heightened state and that hazy sensation was taking over your mind. “Do whatever you want with me,” you said feebly, your voice a testament to just how malleable you’d become.
Mark let out a pleased noise and crawled over you, kissing his way up your stomach and lingering on your nipples. He stopped only long enough to say, “Spread.”
You parted your legs wide. Your body was his to command. Especially in your fucked out state. He could coax anything out of you at the moment and he knew it. Your pulse sharply took residence between your thighs. Even after all these years together, you still longed for him like it was the first time.
Mark cradled you gently in his arms as he steered his cock into your entrance. Your knees instinctively bent on his hips, preparing for the stretch. You were so aroused and wet he slid in like silk, but his size still took adjusting to. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion and gripped him tight as he rocked himself in and out, a little deeper each time.
All the while, his lips were on your lips, both of you moaning softly and swallowing each other’s sounds. You filled with more than just his body joining yours; you were so full of the love you had for him, you thought you would burst.
“Mark,” you purred, hands smoothing up his waist. His skin was so hot to the touch you thought you were holding the sun. There were stars in your eyes as you stared up at him. How could you love anyone as much as you loved Mark? It was impossible. He was your everything.
“Shh,” Mark shushed you gently. His eyes were on where your bodies connected, watching himself disappear inside until he was flush against your folds. Once he’d buried himself in you, he moaned at the heat of your body enveloping him. “God, you feel so fucking good…”
You held him close as he crashed his lips on yours, whimpering when he drew back and thrust in. The second he was deep inside, he lilted back and did it again, perfectly stroking your sweet spot. He had your body down to a science now. It made your head spin how easily he could ruin you, bleeding pleasure and passion out of you. You dug your nails into his back and moved in sync with him, lips parted and eyes winching closed.
“Don’t come,” Mark suddenly growled.
You didn’t know what you tried to say to that, but it didn’t matter. Your reply came out a jumble of words. Please? Sorry? Why?
Mark kept stroking into your core, his hold on your body unforgiving. “You’re thinking about coming.”
You shook your head hurriedly but whispered, “Can I please come?”
His voice made you shudder. “No. Don’t.”
Your hands abandoned his back to fist in the sheets, needing an outlet for your frustration.
Mark’s eyes hardened on you. “Put your hands back on me.”
You did as told, gripping his waist. You searched his heavy gaze, wondering what he wanted so you could give it to him without a second thought.
This side of him still surprised you sometimes. Mark could be the biggest gentleman, but in bed he was a monster, your monster. He needed to possess and devour you, every single time he buried himself inside you. There was no in between. You were the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins, and sex was an emotional, mental and spiritual connection, not just physical.
Mark kept fucking you, stealing a kiss here and there to distract you from how badly you wanted to finish on his cock. Though he was telling you not to come, he was rolling his hips, giving you those long hard strokes that made your toes curl. He was doing exactly what he knew would push you over the edge while telling you that you weren’t allowed to have it.
Feeling you clench and slowly lift your hips to match his movements, Mark hissed your name in half-hearted scolding, but his warning was harsh, “If you come before I tell you, I swear to God…”
You lost yourself in his eyes and found purchase in his arms, clinging to him for dear life. Holding your breath, you channeled your willpower into thinking about him - only him - and absolutely not about the orgasm he was driving you to and how it was already shredding at your seams.
“Good girl,” Mark praised, tangling a hand in your hair and hiding his face in your neck. He smacked his hips roughly into yours, making the mattress creak.
You cried out as his thrusts came harder and Mark ate up every sound you made. “I love you,” was all you could manage and you were ready to say it a million times.
Those would probably be your dying words one day.
“I love you more,” Mark said, tightening his hold around you like he was trapping you to him forever. “I love you so much, baby. It’s all I’m made of.”
He always said the most beautiful things to you when he had you in bed. It was the one place the two of you were ever truly alone, free to bare your bodies and souls to one another.
“Please come in me,” you told him, your voice unsteady with overstimulation. You tangled your legs through his and bounced your hips, making your walls squeeze him. You wanted to finish him so badly. You wanted to watch his eyes roll back and listen to his pretty moans fill the room.
Mark groaned deep in his chest, pressing bruises into your hips. He picked up the pace, his breaths hot and heavy on your neck. “When you come, I’m fucked,” he confessed, his words staggering out. “I just wanted to feel you a little longer.”
Then, I’ll hold on forever, you thought, but you didn’t have the strength to say it. “Keep going,” you told him. “As long as you want.”
Mark thrust hard and deep, jarring you on the bed. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room and his flesh was wet with sweat beneath your hands. Mark’s eyes lolled back and his pace turned brutal when he said, “Let go. Make me come.”
You finished so hard your vision went dark at the edges. You could barely hear your moans over the ringing in your ears and you tightened on Mark as he gave one final thrust and emptied his load inside you. He groaned and swore and shook, pulling you closer to him like you were the only thing keeping him together.
The two of you slumped into the mattress, exhausted and satisfied. You smiled a little smugly at how badly Mark was still shaking on top of you and you asked him coyly, “You okay?”
Mark huffed out a breath and rasped, “Holy fucking shit.”
“Yeah.” Your eyes batted heavily as you faded away, even with him still inside you going soft.
Mark kissed your cheek and slipped out of you, yanking the blanket over you both. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you,” you heard him say before everything went dark.
When the sun came up, you were sound asleep with your head on Mark’s chest. You could sleep through anything with the steady thump of his heartbeat and rhythmic rise and fall of his breaths.
The door slowly opened, but you didn’t stir. Mark’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the familiar creak of the floorboards and he lifted his head, putting a finger over his lips. Sam stopped still, having been just another second or two from launching himself onto the bed to wake you, and mirrored his father with a finger over his lips, grinning at the idea of being in on a secret just the two of them.
Your lover crawled out of bed ever so carefully, pulling the blankets up to cover you and keep you warm. Pressing a swift kiss to your temple, Mark scooped up his son and carried him out of the room.
It was another hour or two before you finally woke. Your body was spent and sore in the best ways and you stretched your arms over your head, smiling in the pleasant warmth of the sun filtering in through the curtains. You noticed you were alone and ran a hand through your messy hair, realizing Mark would have taken care of Sam so you could catch up on much-needed rest.
After a shower, you staggered into the kitchen and filled with delight at the sight of Mark cooking with Sam clinging to him.
“Hey, Mama,” Mark greeted cutely, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “We’re making fried eggs.”
“Oh?” You couldn’t help but grin, glancing at the mess in the pan.
Mark looked down to see that the yolks had broken and quickly stirred the eggs with the spatula. “Actually, we’re making scrambled eggs today.”
You giggled before folding into his arms and burying your face in his chest. Sam promptly leaned into you, kissing your brow sweetly and holding onto your head.
“Sleep well?” Mark asked, rubbing your back.
“Really good.” Then you brought your lips to his ears so he alone would hear, “But I’m so sore.”
“Sorry not sorry.”
You chuckled and stole a kiss, which Mark promptly ran away with, covering your face in kisses while he squeezed you in a hug along with Sam. Your baby boy watched on with glee, his sweet happy laughter filling the kitchen. You loved that Sam saw you and Mark be openly affectionate with each other. As his parents, you and Mark were his examples of how to love and be loved, and you both took that very seriously.
The lazy Saturday passed by without incident. You spent most of the morning curled up on the couch with your head on Mark’s lap. He stroked your hair while Sam used both of your bodies like a playground to climb on while cartoons played in the background. Haechan and Jeno were out on a job, and Jaemin returned from the store after a while with groceries for the week.
You joined him in the kitchen to help put away the groceries, leaving Mark to entertain Sam. The sound of chaos quickly grew in the living room, making you and Jaemin laugh.
After lunch, you put Sam down for his nap and you had barely left his room when Mark snatched you up and began dragging you down the hall to the bedroom, kissing your neck as you tried to keep your giggles quiet.
Mark fell into bed with you, but his touches never turned salacious. The two of you snuggled and talked, and the time flew by. These days were your favorites; just being with Mark and Sam, making up for all the cruelty you’d had in your life, replacing it with joy.
You and Mark could talk about anything and everything. No topic was off-limits and he knew all your secrets.
“I miss it sometimes,” you started, biting your lip.
Mark never let his attention fall away from you. “What?”
“How we were,” you caught yourself and started rambling, “Not that I regret Sam. You know he is my whole world and I wouldn’t trade him for anything. If I could go back, I’d do nothing differently.”
Mark touched your cheek, brushing some of your hair behind your ear, and calmed you, “I know, baby. I know.”
“I just… sometimes I miss how wild we used to be, you know? We were invincible and fearless.”
It was true. As teenagers, you and Mark were reckless as hell. Where you went, he followed, even if you’d led him straight into oblivion. Any kind of trouble you got into, Mark was right there next to you. Not to mention, the two of you could fuck like animals almost anywhere.
Mark arched a brow. “Aren’t we still?”
You shook your head. “We have a kid now. I’ve never been more aware of how not-invincible I am.”
Mark smiled at you like you were the cutest thing he’d ever seen and teased, “You’ve never been afraid of anything in your whole life, babe. Even if you are scared, you conquer it. You don’t let a damn thing defeat you.”
“I miss that about myself,” you said in a small voice. Realization dawned on you then and you blinked. “Maybe I miss me. Maybe I’ve lost myself in just being Mama that I don’t remember who I am. Maybe that girl is gone now.”
The expression on Mark’s face changed. It wasn’t necessarily sad, but full of sympathy.
You didn’t want to admit it, but you thrived in chaos. It was how you were bred and born. You and Mark were hardwired the same way, so you knew he understood.
“You got pregnant really young,” Mark started softly. “We were just kids. I’m happy we’ve made the best of it. You’re such a damn good Mom.”
You smiled so hard your cheeks ached and you closed the distance to kiss him warmly. “Thank you. And you’re the best Dad a kid could have. I could have never done this without you and I love that you’ve always stood by me.”
Mark tightened his arm around you until you were chest-to-chest, your noses brushing. “I’m only alive because of you,” Mark said, whispering your name with reverence. “I’ll never let you forget who you are.”
You tucked your head beneath his chin and closed your eyes, letting the rest of the quiet afternoon envelop you.
Once Sam was awake, Jeno and Haechan had come home, and your son wasted no time in making them his new entertainment. Jeno put Sam in a laundry basket and swung him around like he was on a rollercoaster before Haechan stole him and pretended to be an airplane, racing through the house with Sam on his shoulders.
Mark snuck away with Jaemin, but that was nothing new. The boys made money in less than legal ways and to keep your hands clean, they never let you be privy to any of it.
When they reemerged later, Jaemin glanced at you sheepishly and winked, making your brows stitch with suspicion. Mark found you not long after with nothing but trouble written on his face and grabbed your hand, leading you upstairs.
“Should I be worried?” you asked playfully when Mark pulled you with him into your closet.
He held you by the hips and said, “Wear something sexy. You have thirty minutes, then we’re leaving.”
“Mark, we have a baby. I can’t just leave…”
“The boys are watching him for the night. You and I have plans.”
Your heart did a little flip of excitement. You were reminded of all the nights you and Mark found ways to sneak out together. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”
Mark took your face in his hands and retorted, “Nice try, slick. It’s a surprise. Dress like you’re trying to seduce me. See you in thirty minutes.”
“If I wanted to seduce you, babe, I’d just get naked,” you shot back with an arrogant grin.
Mark halted in place, as if he hadn’t just seen your body less than twenty-four hours ago. He gawked momentarily, then recovered and said, “Super effective, but no, we haven’t gotten arrested yet and we’re not starting tonight.”
You snorted out a laugh and shooed him away, shutting the closet door behind him.
When you descended the stairs, Jeno let out a long whistle. You bashfully brushed back your hair. It had been years since you wore the red dress. It hugged your body snugly. You were fuller in the hips and breasts now, for obvious reasons. But you still rocked the living shit out of it.
Mark turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, like his brain short-circuited. He watched you saunter up to him and his cheeks turned red. Shamelessly, he blurted, “Damn, Mama. I said seduce me, not get me rock hard just from looking at you.”
You grinned and bit your lip. “Good to know this dress still works on you.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he huffed, drawing you to him by your waist and kissing you.
When you parted, you wiped your lipstick off his mouth with your thumb, heat rushing through you at the unbridled lust running wild in his eyes, and turned around when you heard the stampede of little feet.
“Mommy, you look beautiful!” Sam exclaimed, flashing you a big toothless grin.
“Thank you, baby,” you said sweetly, crouching down and hugging him tightly. “Promise you’ll be good for your uncles.”
“I promise,” Sam said seriously, then looked to his father behind you. “You promise to be good for Mommy.”
Mark grinned. “Oh, I promise.”
You flushed even more at the lilt in his voice and wondered what the night held in store.
The bass of the nightclub vibrated through your body. Mark was molded to your back, his hands roaming your waist. You moved with him to the beat, letting it all fill you until there was only you and Mark and nothing else in the world.
You danced with him until there was no air left in your lungs, until every muscle ached. You could feel the hours ticking by. Everything was overstimulating: the overly loud music, the horde of bodies, hundreds of drunken conversations blending, the scent of alcohol, sweat, perfume and cologne. You were thriving in it. Because when your senses were assaulted and overwhelmed, your mind finally hit its limit and stilled.
The two of you were stone cold sober, but riding a high you could only find in each other. For a night, you were a teenager again, sneaking into clubs with Mark. All the memories rushed through your veins like an electrical current.
Mark’s hands grew more and more persistent. In the thick of the crowd, no one noticed him pawing your breasts or slipping in the slit of your dress to palm your sex. Your lashes fluttered as he kissed your neck. You sucked in a breath as he bruised your sensitive skin beneath your ear, still raw from last night’s fuck, marking you yet again for all to see.
You rocked back against him, rubbing your ass on his hard cock, the clothes between your bodies only adding to the friction. You couldn’t help but imagine him bending you over the bar and filling you up. “I really do lose my mind when I’m with you,” you told him with a little laugh.
“You think I don’t?” Mark questioned, his cock painfully hard in his jeans. “If you only knew what I would do for you, my love, you’d be scared to death.”
“You can’t scare me, baby,” you countered, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “Nothing can make me stop loving you.”
“Fuck,” Mark groaned, his hand wrapping around your throat as you kept moving to the music. “I need to feel you come.”
You nodded in agreement and said, “Bathroom.”
The gender neutral bathrooms in the club were exactly as you remembered. Like the rest of the club, the walls were jet black with fluorescent paint splashed all over the walls. The music still filled every inch. Silence was not welcome here.
You passed a pair of women making out and groping each other as Mark brought you to the sinks and hoisted you onto the counter, throwing your legs around his waist just as he smashed his lips on yours. Your fingers flew to his hair, gripping handfuls and shoving your tongue into his mouth.
One of the stalls creaked at the same tempo as a woman’s moans, her partner grunting with his movements. More sounds of passion and sex blended with the music until you thought at any moment your heart might give out from too much stimulation.
Mark smoothed his hands up your thighs, bunching the red dress around your hips and snapped the black thong you wore with ease, tucking the torn pieces into his back pocket. When he broke from your mouth to trail kisses down your chest as he headed for your cunt, you brought him back up to you and shook your head.
“No, Mark. Not this time. I need you inside.”
Mark pried your hands from his hair and stood upright, something vicious filling his eyes. He scanned your face, making you wilt, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before mumbling, “Are you telling me what to do?”
“I’m asking,” you said breathlessly.
“It didn’t sound like a question.”
Patience was wearing thin. Your blood was burning like fire through your veins. Despite how sore you’d been, your sex was aching for him again and he seemed content to draw it out. Your eyes flashed and you gripped a handful of his shirt, hissing, “Fuck me like you mean it.”
Mark bristled. He never failed to rise to your challenges. He knew you were feeling confident and that made you want to prod at him. You wanted the fire back, the heat from youth that was still buried under responsibilities and the stability you’d made for each other.
And Mark had already proven he’d give you anything you wanted.
In a flash, he yanked you off the counter and spun you around, bending you over the surface and fisting your hair.
You were shocked by how fast and rough he moved, still getting your bearings when he began unfastening his belt and pants. Another couple started going at it in one of the stalls and their noises were already drowning out your little whimpers.
“Mark…,” you started, clasping the edge of the counter. You wriggled, testing his hold when you felt his cock push between your folds.
Mark said your name in warning. “Stop fucking squirming. I got you right where I want you.”
When Mark bottomed out in one hard thrust, you howled his name for all to hear. The hand in your hair pulled roughly, lifting your head up and making you meet your reflection in the paint splattered mirror before you.
“Look at you,” Mark whispered, drawing back and thrusting into your tight cunt. “You’re so beautiful when you’re getting fucked.”
You whimpered out his name again. The words wouldn’t come. Maybe his name was all you knew for now. Mark smacked his hips against your ass at a brutal pace until you started colliding into the counter, your hands the only thing keeping you up. Still, you bucked against him to get every inch of his hard cock and Mark reeled a hand back and slapped your ass, the sound echoing like a crack in the bathroom.
“You begged for that dick. I wanted to fool around, but no, you wanted dick. Now you got it. You’re gonna take it.”
Your lips parted as you sucked in a breath. Orgasm crashed into you like waves on a shore. Your body tightened and pulsed, and Mark buried himself inside you to ride it out, never letting up his hard strokes in your pussy as you came around him.
“M-Mark,” you stammered, but you bit your tongue. You were about to ask for mercy and you knew that would only rile him up more. He kept fucking you through the high, his hands touching and kneading every inch of you he could reach.
“Keep coming, baby.” Mark tangled his hand in your hair again, steering you up, licking his lips at the way your back arched. He was getting annoyed with the music cranked up so high. It made it harder for him to hear the cries on your every breath and the wet slap of your bodies meeting.
A mess of words tumbled from your lips and Mark abandoned your hair to get both his hands around your neck, squeezing just enough to get your undivided attention. You stared up at the painted ceiling and opened your mouth to speak.
“Shut the fuck up,” your lover chided in a raspy growl.
You did as told, because the razor sharp edge in his voice almost made you come again on the spot. You worshiped this side of him; the vicious lover that took his pleasure from your body and gave you more in return. You let him consume you.
Mark didn’t let up as he pounded into you, tipping his head back to swear and moan, because fuck, you were heaven on earth to him. You could bring out the animal in him and you took everything he had to give.
Your hands slid across the counter, desperate for an anchor. His cock was so hard and deep in the pit of your stomach. His pace was perfect, never giving you a chance to recover before the next stroke was already coming in. You wanted to chant his name for mercy, but also beg him to never stop.
“Come again and take all this load out of me,” Mark whispered in your ear.
There was no way you could keep quiet anymore and you didn’t want to. You unraveled in his arms, moaning into your second orgasm, bouncing your body against his to get every bit of ecstasy, his and yours.
Mark clasped your hips, drove in deep, and finished as your walls kneaded his cock, milking all the seed out of him until he swore he would be empty for days.
You dropped onto the counter, breathing heavily. Mark stayed inside, also trying to catch his breath from the mind-blowing high you’d just given him, but released the punishing grip he had on your hips. He propped himself over you and said, “We just keep getting better at this.”
“We really haven’t grown up at all, have we?” you said tiredly with a smile.
Mark steered your head to look at the mirror and you looked at him behind you. Truly, you still saw those two hot-headed and reckless teenagers, out of their minds in love. “Who says we have to grow up?” Mark countered with a grin.
they were the kids no one wanted; the absolute worst, but now they run the town and all it takes is one night to complete change your life.
note: these are stand-alone oneshots set in the same universe that can be read separately. this fic was supposed to be darker, but ended up being super domestic.
disclaimer: the members are just my muses. I don’t know any of them personally and would never say that they would actually act or behave in the ways portrayed in this story.
psa: very smutty! you have been warned. don't like it, don't read it!
wolfsbane. (M)
long drives and pretty lies, you’re looking for purpose and no one understands you like Jeno does.
genre: first love! jeno
{ coming August 9 }
nightshade. (M)
stolen kisses and deep secrets, you’re looking for danger and no one pushes your limits like Mark does.
genre: baby daddy! mark
{ coming August 16 }
larkspur. (M)
crying eyes and slow dances, you’re looking for passion and no one holds you the way Jaemin does.
genre: fiance! jaemin
{ coming August 23 }
hemlock. (M)
bitter fights and rough touches, you’re looking for trouble and no one makes you crazier than Haechan does.
genre: husband! haechan
{ coming August 30 }
SUMMARY: As you move into the building, your mysterious neighbor’s music becomes a quiet—and secret—comfort to your heart, enough for you to send them an anonymous letter. When you unexpectedly meet Mark, your connection soon growing between late-night conversations and shared meals, you find yourself falling in ways you hadn’t expected. Curiously enough, as your worlds start to overlap, you realize that there’s more to Mark and your mysterious neighbor than you’ve ever imagined.
GENRE: Romance, fluff, non-idol au, strangers to lovers, songwriter!Mark
WORD COUNT: 9k
WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes
Moonlight welcomes you home as you finish yet another long day of seemingly endless lectures, the gleam slipping through the curtains of your living room as you slip off your shoes, dropping the heavy book bag by the door.
The apartment is quiet, as you’re coming home a little later than usual, and with a chaotic day behind you, all you need is a hot shower, a warm meal and the softness of your bed.
As you’re stripping your top off, halfway through the bathroom, you hear it—the soft, slow notes from a piano drifting through the walls of your neighbor’s apartment and into yours. The mysterious, upstairs neighbor, as you like to call them now.
It’s not the first time that the music makes its way into your place. Even though you’re yet to meet whoever resides right above you, with an impressive array of instruments at that, you’re always delighted to hear them play, especially during days like today where you’re exhausted both mentally and physically.
Today, you can recognize the melody, but can’t quite put your finger on which song it is.
Making a beeline for your bedroom instead, you sink into your bed, half-dressed as you let the sound take over your mind. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, your brain subconsciously filling the gaps as you start to hum the melody along.
Your mysterious neighbor and their music had slowly become a source of unexpected comfort to you.
Some days, you hear the delicate strumming of a guitar. Other days, the lightness of wandering piano notes. On special days though, you listen to the bold, intense riffs of an electric guitar instead. Every day, you welcome it, each time feeling a lullaby meant only for one night.
With the music still playing in the background, you follow through your routine in an almost dreamlike state. The mysterious neighbor plays long enough to last through your shower, unknowingly kind enough to give you the joy of having dinner with your own private live performance too.
As it stops, the silence almost feels awkward.
You can’t help but innocently imagine your neighbor, just a few steps away as they tuck in the instrument for the night, completely unaware of their unknown faithful audience.
The day is already drawing out to be a chaotic one.
As you dash out of your apartment in a rush, just barely hanging onto your bag and the coffee thermos in your hands, you mentally kick yourself for ignoring the alarm an extra time, fooling yourself that it was safe enough just for today.
You’re already unusually late, and to make matters worse, you’d dropped half of your notes as you were fumbling to lock your apartment and the elevator’s seemingly taking a lifetime to arrive at your floor.
A sigh escapes from your lips at the familiar chime of its opening doors.
You can’t help the clumsy commotion as you finally step into the cubicle, head down as you try to organize the mess of crumpled papers inside your bag, completely oblivious to the current company watching you with curious eyes.
It’s only when you literally bump into them that you finally look up, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you start, stepping back with an apologetic glance. “I swear I didn’t see you here.”
The guy offers you a quick, friendly smile, shoving his hands into his jacket’s pockets as he backs away, giving you more space.
With a hint of a chuckle laced to his voice, he shakes his head. “No worries.”
Attentively, you glance at him with a discrete side-eye—quickly recognizing him as a fellow neighbor from a few late night lobby encounters, usually when you’re coming back from school after TA days. He looks a little different today, hair shorter and a few shades darker, though the laidback, somewhat shy vibe around him stays the same.
Since you’re still rather new to the building and haven’t met a lot of people your age yet, you can’t beat your curiosity whenever he’s around. It doesn’t help that he’s also undeniably cute, with a quiet sort of charm that only adds to his character.
As the elevator’s doors finally close, you clumsily attempt to adjust your bag again, just for your thermos to clatter against the floor as you fumble around the attached keyrings.
It rolls around for a second before your neighbor swiftly reaches down to grab it, soon handing it over to you with a small smile. “I’m guessing this is an essential for busy mornings, right?”
You laugh, feeling a little flustered as your cheeks warm up. “You’ve got no idea. Sorry again, I swear I’m more composed than this.”
“I know,” he says, offering a nod as his smile grows bashfully. “I’ve never seen you around this hour, so I’m assuming you’re probably late.”
You pause, caught off guard by his words.
Given that you’ve only exchanged brief glances and polite smiles here and there whenever you met, it’s a surprise to know he’s observant enough to have noticed your routine at all. It makes you wonder if he’s noticed other things too, as you have with him.
“Very late,” you finally respond, offering a rather chagrined smile. “Not a very smart decision to ignore your alarms for a few more minutes of sleep, I guess.”
Visibly very entertained with your chaos, your neighbor shrugs as a chuckle escapes from his lips. “We’ve all been there, don’t stress too much about it.”
The elevator stops before you can reply, both of you stepping out into the lobby once the doors open. There’s a brief pause between you before he clears his throat, looking somehow both hesitant and effortlessly poised as he opens the building’s door for you to walk through first.
“Hey, good luck today,” he says, shooting you a sheepish wink as he nods. “It’s gonna be a better day from now on, trust me.”
Taken aback by the rather endearing attitude, you laugh, nodding back at him in delight. “I trust you.”
As you start the walk toward the station, you find yourself briefly glancing back over your shoulder, just in time to catch him watching you for a second before he turns around and heads off.
With the aroma of your burning candles spreading through the living room, your Friday evening falls to a quiet, hardly earned, peaceful break from work and school.
After a week of quizzes, readings, papers and presentations, it’s the first time in a while that you don’t have to think about the next assignment on your to-do list or papers waiting to be graded.
Under the dim lights of your apartment, you’re comfortably curled up on the couch with a cozy blanket, savoring the brief weekend pause.
Almost as if they knew exactly what you needed to add to your little atmosphere, sensing just the perfect time, you hear the faint harmony of the mysterious neighbor’s piano keys through the walls. Tonight, the notes are slower, gentle, almost as warm as the candles’ flames.
Completely taken by the music once again, you only break out of your reverie as you spot your journal on the dining table. Suddenly inspired, you decide that it’s only fair that your neighbor knows how much you appreciated their music—even if you have no idea who they actually are, apart from the fact that they’re right over you.
Without a second thought, with a pen and paper in hands, you let your heart write.
Dear neighbor,
Even though I’m not sure who you are or if we’ve met, I wanted to thank you through this letter. I’ve heard you play for a while now, and I can’t tell you how much comfort and happiness your music brings me. It truly brightens my day, takes a weight off my shoulders at night, pulls me away from my hectic days and gives me a moment to just breathe and appreciate the beautiful things in life.
I don’t know if you’re playing for anyone, or if it’s just for yourself, but I hope you know that I’m always amazed by it and how much it matters. You make the building feel a little warmer, my apartment feel a little more like home. Please, keep playing to your heart’s desires.
Gratefully,
Your neighbor
It’s already past midnight as Mark settles at the quiet studio, only a handful of people left in the building after a long day of brainstorming meetings for the next label releases.
Staring at the blank pages of his beat-up notebook, Mark starts to feel the fatigue catch up to his body, brain most definitely clocked out for the day as he can’t seem to think of anything but the annoying ache on his neck.
As he taps his pen against the crumpled paper, a small, folded letter rests neatly tucked between its worn pages—one that he might or might not have read at least a dozen times since finding it under his door a few weeks ago. Needlessly to say, Mark was nothing but surprised by the letter, moved by the thoughtful, kind words written by his neighbor.
Every time he reads it, a rather satisfying warmth takes over his chest, as if the person who’d written it knew something deeply personal about him without even knowing who he was, or even his name.
Too absorbed in his thoughts, Mark startles as Haechan and Johnny burst into the studio, both laughing until the youngest notes his friend’s guarded face.
“You look suspicious,” Haechan starts, eyes playfully scanning the studio in distrust. “I hope you aren’t doing anything nasty around here. We use this studio too, you know.”
Mark rolls his eyes, closing the notebook with a sigh. “You really need to learn how to shut up sometimes, Haechan.”
Quietly taking in the scene, Johnny leans over Mark, curiously eyeing the piece of paper sticking out of his notebook, distinctly decorated with a red star sticker at the top. “What’s that?”
The two youngest follow Johnny’s finger, pointing at the notebook on Mark’s lap.
As Mark’s stomach drops, he quickly attempts to tuck the letter back inside, distracting his friends from catching a glimpse of it. “It’s nothing, just something I was scribbling on.”
“No way,” Haechan starts, turning to Johnny with the widest grin on his face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Is that a love letter?”
“No,” Mark awkwardly cuts off, feeling his cheeks heat up under his best-friends’ scrutiny. “Who even sends love letters nowadays?”
Johnny scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You would.”
“He fucking would,” Haechan repeats, eyes wide as if he’s having an epiphany. “Holy shit, you’re so corny, Mark.”
“I mean, Mark wasn’t the one making up excuses to stalk his mom’s employee every day, you know,” Johnny taunts, laughing when Haechan mocks an offended glance at his older friend.
Not able to resist their curiosity, knowing that he was eventually going to bend anyway, Mark sighs. “It’s a letter from my neighbor. Sometimes I play some music at home, whenever I’m stuck with something from here,” he explains quietly. “I guess they’ve been listening to it? I don’t know who they are but they left a letter to me a few days ago.”
Johnny and Haechan exchange a look, the latter letting out an incredulous laugh. “Your life is ridiculous. You got a love letter from your neighbor?”
“It’s not a love letter,” Mark argues, rolling his eyes. “It’s more of an… appreciation letter.”
Johnny nods, a knowing look taking over his face. “Can we read it? It’s fine if you don’t want us to, though.”
“It’s not fine.” Haechan frowns, a dramatic note to his voice. “What do you mean Mark got a love letter from his neighbor and we can’t read it?”
Mark does hesitate for a moment but ultimately hands the letter over to Johnny, watching his friend open the paper with careful fingers.
It’s funny to hear someone else read it. There’s a mix of embarrassment and a strange sense of satisfaction in his chest as Mark listens to Johnny’s voice say the words he’s read so many times by now, enough to have memorized it.
The letter sounds different—now that’s disconnected from him and no longer kept a secret, it definitely feels more real, more genuine.
“You make the building feel a little warmer, my apartment feel a little more like home,” Johnny finally reads, noticeably taken aback by it. “Please, keep playing to your heart’s desires.”
Haechan breaks the silence as Johnny finishes, looking as impressed as his older friend. “Damn. That was…”
“Actually really nice,” Johnny completes, a little more serious than Mark expects. “Do you have any idea who they are?”
Mark shakes his head, taking the letter back from Johnny’s hand and tucking it back inside his notebook. “No idea. I’m not sure if I want to know either.”
Haechan raises an eyebrow, grinning knowingly. “Are you really fine with never finding out who they are?”
For now, there’s something about the mystery that keeps it just for him. For now, Mark thinks that knowing might change the feeling, make it somehow less special. Besides, if the future wants him to know, then he’ll probably know.
As his fingers tap the notebook, almost as if sealing the secret inside of it, Mark nods.
“Maybe it’s better that way.”
A few hours into the evening, the small venue is already buzzing with energy, voices blending with the smooth, laidback background music of the cozy bar.
Mark’s not a stranger to the place, having attended a few open mics before with Johnny as a sidequest from his actual job. Today is a special day though—given Jaehyun’s giving a surprise secret performance of his new EP, it’s only fair of Mark to show his friend some support, especially after having worked on some of his songs together.
Besides, as a genuine music lover he does enjoy the atmosphere, the rawness of live music never failing to lift his mood even when he’s tired and overworked.
At the back of the bar, Mark waits for Johnny with a pint of beer in hand, his eyes trailing through the place as he watches a few artists cycling through with their instruments here and there.
Out of all things that could possibly happen tonight, Mark most definitely isn’t expecting to spot you there of all places.
Just a few feet away, you step by the bar with your friends, chatting and laughing as you approach the counter to place an order. He holds his breath for a moment, waiting for you to notice him as you briefly glance around. Convincing himself to play it cool, Mark swiftly turns his attention back to the bartender.
Just as his hand closes around his drink, he feels a presence stepping up beside him, a hand tentatively touching his arm.
“Hey neighbor,” you greet him, eyes bright in recognition as a smile tugs on your lips. “Seems like we’re running into each other everywhere lately, huh?”
Mark smiles back, feeling both glad and a bit nervous that you ultimately decided to approach him. “Seems like it, yeah. Though I’m a little surprised to see you here, to be honest.”
“Why?” You laugh, surprised. “I know it didn’t seem like it that day, but I am a normal person, you know.”
“Shit, no, I don’t mean it that way,” Mark objects right away, wide-eyed as he fumbles with the glass of beer in his hands. “It’s just that I’ve been here a lot so I kinda know the crowd, I guess?”
You hum, moving to lean over the counter right beside him with a frown between your eyebrows. “I don’t think we’ve ever introduced ourselves properly, have we?”
As you give him your name, reaching out a hand to him with an amused smile on your lips, he can’t help awkwardly taking the handshake. When the hold lingers for a second longer than expected, Mark realizes he’s holding your gaze for just as much.
Playing it off with a cough, he pulls back to clumsily gesture toward the stage. “So, do you know anyone… you know, performing tonight?”
“Not really. My friends found this place, I just thought it’d be cool to check it out,” you explain, curious eyes glancing around. “What about you? If you’ve been here before, I bet you know someone.”
“Yeah, my friend Jaehyun is actually doing a few songs tonight.” Mark rubs the back of his neck with a timid smile. “Just thought it would be cool to support him.”
“That’s nice of you,” you say, face softening with a small smile. “I’ll check out him too, then.”
He almost wishes you don’t.
Though Jaehyun’s got this long distance on-and-off thing with a girl he met during one of his concerts, the man is not only mad talented but also has insane looks, a combo that Mark’s seen girls fall for countless times by now.
Either way, he just smiles back with an appreciative nod. “He’s crazy good, you’ll definitely love his music.”
A call from your friends cuts the conversation short and as you glance over your shoulder, they’re waving you over with a handful of drinks.
You seem to hesitate a little, looking back at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I probably should get back to my friends.”
Hoping he doesn’t look too disappointed, Mark shakes his head. “It’s all good, it was nice seeing you around anyway,” he starts, pausing for a second before casually reaching out for his phone. “I was thinking if I could get your number? It’s fine if you don’t—”
You gently take the phone off his hands, visibly holding back a smile as you start typing. As he catches a glimpse of the screen, Mark chuckles at the door emoji added next to your name.
Before you disappear into the crowd with your friends, you give him one last glance over your shoulder, eyes locking onto his own as your smile widens.
“I’ll see you, Mark.”
The following days, Mark spends way too much time debating himself whether to text you. As a well-kept secret in his mind, he’s also been obsessively replaying your interaction ever since that night, a little taken aback by his own sudden interest in you.
It’s not like he hasn’t ever let his eyes wander whenever you coincidentally met around the building, but up until that night you were only that—just one of his neighbors, a pretty girl he happened to run into every once in a while.
Now, curiosity is getting the best of him and Mark can’t help reading too much into the situation.
Home earlier than usual, he sits at the couch with his guitar on his lap, though now long forgotten in his reverie. As he stares at your name in the contact list, Mark reminds himself that you gave him your number after all.
So he hopes that means something, especially when finally hitting send on the message he’d backspaced one too many times.
5:11PM
Hey neighbor
Just found this new place with crazy good food and music in the neighborhood
Any chance you’re free tonight?
5:15PM
Hi Mark!
I’m so sorry
I’d love to but I’m stuck at uni until late today
Rain check?
Though the anticipation in his chest crumbles to disappointment, Mark plays it off. You hadn’t exactly said no, so he settles to make the interaction as casual as possible, just about to type a quick reassurance when another text pops up.
5:17PM
Actually
If you’re free, I could use some company here
I’ll buy you dinner if you save me from work for a few minutes
No more than an hour later, Mark’s walking through the campus with two brown paper bags in hand, hoping that a classic combo is a safe enough bet for you to like it. Nearing the library, he spots you waving at him by the building’s steps with a growing smile on your face.
“Hey Mark,” you greet, walking over with curious eyes at the bags in his hands. “I thought dinner was on me?”
“It seemed like you needed a break,” Mark points, giving an awkward chuckle. “It’s not fancy or anything so don’t worry about it.”
The sun’s just about to set as you walk him to a nearby bench, in a spot secluded enough that there’s only a couple of students around, mostly rushing past without a single glance.
Accepting the bag from his hands as you sit down, your eyes light up at the sight of the huge burger and fries. “Mark, I could kiss you right now,” you start, taking a single fry as you grin at him. “This is exactly what I needed.”
He chuckles, trying to mask the impact of your words despite the warmth spreading through his neck. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I hoped the basics were a safe choice.”
“This looks way better than I was planning,” you confess in between your bites. “You seriously saved me from going insane.”
“Hey, I don’t think I’ve asked what you study.” Mark frowns, trying to remember if he’s ever noticed something that could’ve hinted at it.
“I’m doing a masters in political science,” you answer, chuckling timidly as his face shifts to an impressed look. “I’m also doubling as a teaching assistant for undergrad, hence why I’m still here grading assignments and going crazy.”
“That’s amazing,” he replies, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. “How do you like it? It sounds like hard work.”
Rolling your eyes, you lean back on the bench with a groan, momentarily forgetting about the food. “It definitely seemed easier when I was applying but I do love it. I’m also really good at it, even if my thesis runs me to the ground sometimes.”
“I bet you are.” Mark nods, voice laced with a playful touch. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but you seem like the type who’s got it all under control.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m glad you already forgot about the last time we met back home,” you say, glancing over at him with curious eyes. “What about you? What do you do, Mark?”
Suddenly feeling a flicker of self-consciousness in the back of his brain, Mark hesitates for a second. Even though his job sounds fancy to most ears, people usually recognizing him as a writer of sorts, it almost sounds comical when compared to what you do. Strangely enough, despite his genuine love for music, it’s not the first time Mark feels small over it.
As he rubs the back of his neck, the answer sounds as ordinary as possible. “It’s kinda all over the place, actually. Mostly creative stuff, I guess.”
You raise an eyebrow, visibly intrigued by the vague response. “It sounds like you’re a secret agent but can’t actually tell me the truth. Am I right?”
Mark smiles sheepishly, relieved at your easy acceptance. “To be honest, I feel like I’d be terrible at that,” he says with a grimace. “I think I’m decent at my actual job, though.”
You hum softly, seemingly still interested despite his awkwardness. “Well, you can tell me all about it later.”
As you effortlessly move the conversation by mentioning the open mic, not leaving your love for Jaehyun’s songs out, the evening soon settles upon you. There’s a whole lot Mark knows about you now—from your favorite songs to your favorite students, the places you dream traveling to, even childhood stories.
When you finally walk back to the library, it’s late enough that the campus is completely quiet. As Mark stands a few steps down from you at the same stairs again, a strange sense of comfort warms his chest.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to wait for you?” he asks for a second time, watching you with a hint of concern.
You sigh, shaking your head with an amused glance towards him. “I told you it’s fine. My friend’s already waiting for me at her place, anyway.”
Mark nods, reluctantly agreeing. “Text me so I know you’re safe?”
You smile softly, nodding back. “I promise.”
Moving closer, you lean over him from the few steps up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering for a second too short. Mark swears that his skin is on fire, the spot tingling even after you pull back. There’s a quiet pause before you turn around, giving him a final wave before disappearing into the building.
Pleasantly surprised with how comforting and fun the last-minute meeting with Mark was, the details of the night silently stuck with you for the next few days.
Though it seemed like a simple gesture then, you’d completely turned your brain off from the stress of your routine for a few hours, instead staying immersed in your own growing intrigue about him. There was something undeniably sweet and endearing about your neighbor, leaving you craving for more time to know him better.
Admitting to yourself that maybe you do want to see Mark again, you also want to repay his gentle favor.
When you text him an impromptu dinner invite at your place, secretly anticipating his answer with nervous eyes glued to the screen, you’re most definitely not expecting a knock at your door just a few minutes later.
Despite the casual stance, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, Mark looks slightly out of breath as he stands outside your place. “Uh—hey, neighbor.”
“Do you live next door?” you joke, stepping aside to let him into your apartment. “You surprised me. I was waiting for you to reply to my text first.”
“You caught me.” Mark shrugs, slipping his shoes off with a bashful smile. “Did I come too early? I can come back later if you want.”
Leading him inside, you gesture towards your small table, already set with the ridiculous amount of pizza you accidentally ended up baking to stress relief. “You’re actually just in time. Think you can handle the consequences of my poor measuring skills?”
He bursts into a laugh, taking in the scene with wide eyes. “Wow, this is… it feels like an italian restaurant in here.”
“I feel like you’re making fun of me but I’ll let it slide because you’re a first timer around here,” you tease, pushing him towards a seat at the table. “Sit down, I’ll help you.”
Both settled in, as the food’s plated by you under Mark’s protests, the conversation naturally flows.
“So, I was thinking,” you start carefully, watching out for his reaction. “You said you’re into creative stuff, right? Does that include writing?”
Mark looks slightly surprised for a second, then opens a smile. “Kind of. I have this habit of writing down random thoughts, stuff that I see outside whenever I go out, you know?”
“Like journaling?” you ask, pausing between a few bites with your interest piqued.
“You could call it that.” He nods, thoughtfully running a hand through his hair. “Most of the time it turns to a few loose bits of stories. Like, scenes that play in my head.”
“I think I’ve figured out your job,” you say, giving him a playful side-eye at the visible tension on his face. “I’m pretty sure that you’re some best-seller ghost writer. Maybe a pen name writer or something.”
“I guess I can’t tell you then,” he teases, a contrast to his shy smile. “What about you? Aren’t you writing a thesis? That’s some serious writing if you ask me.”
Despite the excitement, you can’t help an exhausted groan at the thought of your own writing. “It seems easier than looks that’s for sure,” you reply with a nod. “Like I said, I love it and I’m actually nailing it… but I do have a breakdown over it every two weeks or something.”
Taking your answer as a cue, Mark unexpectedly tosses a few questions here and there, leaving you a little stunned at how effortlessly he seemed to ponder over your study. With him attentively hanging onto your every word, you almost catch yourself giving him a long-winded lecture about the subject.
“Let’s stop talking about this or I’ll never shut up,” you whine, noticing the food’s nearly done. “We’re talking about me too much.”
Mark chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You know I don’t mind,” he says, eyes wandering around your small place for a moment until stopping at your bookshelf. “I’m a little curious about what you’ve got there. Would you mind if I check it out?”
“Not at all,” you answer, gesturing for him to step closer for a better look. “It’s a chaotic collection, though. There’s pretty much a bit of everything in there.”
As he stands in front of your mess of a bookshelf, Mark runs his fingers through a few spines, attentively eyeing the titles. “I don’t really know a whole lot about books but I can spot some classics here.”
You nod, moving closer to stand beside him. “I haven’t read a few of these in a long time.”
Glancing over with a knowing smile, he gives you a playful nudge. “Any recommendations?”
Pausing for a second, you briefly mull over a few options before settling on a shorter one, the book's cover instantly earning a laugh out of Mark as you hand it over to him. Though as he reads the title, his gaze turns pensive and you can’t help a fond smile from growing on your lips.
“You can have this one,” you say quietly, Mark breaking out of a trance as he turns to look at you again. “Tell me what you think of it later.”
Mark offers a soft smile, tapping the cover with his fingers. “I'll trust your judgment,” he murmurs, eyes alight with a playful glint. “Maybe I should let you read some of my stuff, then.”
“Maybe I have already,” you tease, arms crossing over your chest as you stare him right back. “If you’re a writer under a pen name, you could be the author of any of these books as far as I know.”
“I’m not that secretive about my writing, I promise.” He smiles, though a bit guarded. “I just don’t really like sharing all of it.”
The conversation lingers between you for a moment, your mind completely taken by Mark’s duality. As you try to figure him out, the lines that seem to draw his persona get more and more blurry.
Though there’s something effortlessly cool and laidback about him, Mark’s still shy and a little reserved. He’s guarded, but also somehow open to talk about anything and everything. In a way, it feels like a nice balance, but you can’t help but wonder if there’s any missing pieces to him that you can’t see now.
The sudden ring of his phone stops you from taking up on the offer of reading whatever he wanted you to.
Mark keeps looking at you apologetically as a Johnny talks to him, visibly frustrated with the conversation despite the usual easygoing tone lacing his voice.
When the call wraps up, he tucks the phone into his hoodie again with a sigh. “I'm really sorry,” he starts, sounding nothing but sincere. “Apparently something happened at work and I’m the only one who can fix it.”
Rolling your eyes, you smile dismissively. “It’s fine, Mark. I hope everything’s okay, though.”
Once at your doorway, Mark hesitates for a second, gaze softening as he turns around to step closer to you. “I’ll make it up to you, alright?” He smiles, offering a firm nod. “We’ll talk later.”
With your face suddenly on fire, you dazedly return the smile, unsure of what to reply. “Alright.”
In the silence of your apartment later that night, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, something had shifted between you.
The aftermath of your last encounter is anything but ideal.
With both of you caught up in your own deadlines and work-fueled late nights, even the chances of casually running into each other around the building seemed to be far-fetched over the coming days.
While you were wrapped up in a blur of revised drafts and emails from your advisor, unbeknownst to you, Mark himself was occupied with the very same matter that interrupted your shared dinner, struggling with last-minute changes for an artist’s upcoming project.
Though there was little time between you, the tenderness of Mark’s promise still lingered with you, expectation building in your heart at the thought of seeing him again.
It’s still early in the morning as you wait for the elevator at your floor, relieved that another hectic week is finally over. As you silently plan to ignore your to-do list for the weekend to catch up with the last episodes of a show you’ve been procrastinating on, the doors open to reveal Mark already inside.
Leaning against the wall with wired earphones around his neck, he instantly straightens up upon seeing you, a sheepish smile curling on his lips. “Hey, neighbor.”
Offering a smile back, you step by his side with a gentle glance. “Hi, Mark.”
As you stand there for a moment, there’s an edge of hesitation that both seem to notice, then choosing to speak at the same time.
“Sorry I haven’t—”
“I’m sorry for not—”
Both of you pause again, sharing a surprised laugh for a second before Mark motions for you to go first.
“I just want to say sorry for not keeping in touch these days,” you confess, sighing apologetically. “I think you know already, but things got crazy with my deadlines and I completely lost the timing to reach you back after dinner.”
“It’s okay.” He shakes his head, offering a warm-hearted chuckle. “I’m really sorry too, I know I promised to make it up to you but things just… kind of piled up. I kept meaning to text you, but something always came up.”
You nod in understanding, giving a meek shrug as your hands tighten around the strap of your bag. “It’s okay with me too.”
“So… what time are your classes ending these days?” Mark asks offhandedly, clearing his throat as he looks ahead. “Like, today?”
“Today?” you ask, confused despite your amusement. “Around six, I think?”
With a nod, his answer sounds so quiet that you almost miss it. “That’s good,” he mumbles, almost as if to himself before he glances at you again, smiling lightly. “Good luck with your classes today, then.”
The elevator chimes softly as it reaches the lobby, again drawing the conversation to an end before you can answer. As you step out, Mark keeps a small distance behind you, a subtle hesitation in his step once you’re both outside ready to part ways.
You exchange quick goodbyes, each turning toward your own direction.
As he’s a few steps down the street, you call out for his name, voice carrying a teasing edge. “I’ll see you later, neighbor.”
Much to your delight, you do see Mark later—at your university, no less, waiting for you outside the humanities building. Though it’s easy to spot him, the button-up and tank-top combo somehow making him stand out, you can’t hide the shock upon recognizing his familiar figure casually standing around, offering a wave as he spots you.
You quickly close the few steps towards him, a confused smile playing on your lips. “Oh my God, it’s really you. I thought I was crazy for a second.”
Mark laughs, cheeks hinting a blush despite his nonchalant nod. “I was just around the area and thought I’d swing by to check if you needed company home.”
“I do,” you say, still surprised. “I hope you didn’t wait for too long.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He smiles, glancing at you with warm eyes. “Ready to go?”
You hum softly. “Yeah.”
Still caught off-guard by his thoughtfulness, you’re most definitely not expecting Mark to quietly offer his hand out towards you. It’s a gentle, open gesture and though he does it very naturally, there’s a hint of apprehension on his face, as if he’s unsure of your reaction.
Without a word, you immediately slip your hand into his, heart thumping in your ears.
As both of you set off to the station, a strangely familiar sense of intimacy sets between you during the walk.
The subway is typically packed, chaos all around you with a mob of wide-eyed tourists and aggravated locals fighting for space, loud voices and chit-chat carrying out all the way through the tight space. At the end of a car, you squeeze into a quieter spot as Mark stands right in front of you, close enough to subtly tower over your figure.
Your eyes discreetly take in his frame, pausing at the glasses hanging on the collar of his tank-top. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in glasses yet,” you say, raising an amused eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me this is just for aesthetics, Mark.”
“I kinda wish it was, actually,” he argues, grimacing. “I mostly wear contacts, though. I keep breaking or losing all my glasses.”
Carefully pulling them out, you reach over and gently place the glasses on his face, regarding him for a second with a grin. “It looks cute, you should wear them more.”
As if he needs something to do with his hands, Mark adjusts the frames on his face, his cheeks heating up in a faint blush. “Oh—yeah, I guess. Thank you?”
The playful glint in your eyes goes unnoticed by him, grin widening at how endearing his flustered reaction is. “You’re welcome,” you say, leaning in just enough to make him look down at you again. “The blush looks cute on you, too.”
“Come on,” Mark chides, huffing a surprised, timid laugh. “Don’t do that to me.”
As your curiosity moves on to the wired earphones still wrapped around his neck, your fingers graze the cord before you take an earbud, slipping into your ear with a pointed look at him. Mark instantly takes the hint, picking the spare one before reaching over for his phone, scrolling through until a smooth beat starts playing.
Absorbed into the music, you don’t even notice Mark taking a step closer to avoid the flow of people around you, one of your hands subconsciously moving to steady him by holding onto his waist.
The songs blend into each other for a few stations as both of you focus on the playlist instead, sneaking playful glances at each other every so often.
“So you’re a bit of a rockstar, huh?” he asks after a while, smiling warmly at the confusion on your face over his sudden remark. “It’s just that you seemed to vibe with the rock stuff more than I expected.”
You raise an eyebrow, smiling back with a hint of challenge in your eyes. “Maybe I just like your taste in music.”
Mark chuckles, running a hand through the back of his neck. “Not gonna lie, that kinda makes me feel good about myself,” he says, earning a genuine laugh from you. “I’ll link you up to my playlist, then.”
“Don’t pay too much attention to me next time,” you chide, feigning a frown despite the playfulness in your eyes.
He shakes his head, voice sounding nothing but sincere as his fingers brush lightly against your cheek, raising your chin up just a tiny bit. “I’ll always pay attention to you.”
Just as his words sink in, the conductor’s cracked voice finally announces your station, leaving you silently grateful for the chance to collect yourself, your burning cheeks thankfully going unnoticed by Mark.
As he takes your hand again, you both move through the small crowd at the platform, the cool night air soon welcoming you outside over the short walk to the building. Though it feels shorter than usual, you still hang onto Mark’s stories with his friends, Johnny and Donghyuck, invested in the mischievous tidbits of their friendship shared on the way.
At the elevator, you stand beside him for a second time in the day.
Except that this time, leaving with a quick kiss to his cheek, you know exactly what Mark means to you.
Mark can’t help but read the letter a little differently now.
As an awkward mix of comfort and uncertainty grows in his heart at every word, not even the refuge of his studio feels enough to ease the tension of his thoughts.
The feeling that you’re the author of the message that he’s been obsessed with for the past couple of months comes with a weight that Mark hasn’t been quite sure how to deal with yet. The kindness laced to the letter already felt way too personal then, but now, it carries a sense of intimacy that feels directly connected to you.
It makes him feel a little silly too, realizing that you’ve entirely known him all along, nonetheless unknowingly witnessing the exact pieces that Mark held close to himself. Still, despite his ongoing conflict, he does marvel at the serendipity of the situation.
Lost in thought, Mark barely notices Johnny sidling over until the oldest takes a seat beside him at the mixing table, raising an eyebrow at the paper in his hands. “Reading the mystery letter again?”
“Sorry,” he chuckles humorlessly, avoiding his friend’s gaze. “I know I’ve been too hung up on this thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for,” Johnny huffs, offering an odd look to his friend despite the playfulness of his words. “You got a letter from a mysterious neighbor. So what?”
Mark pauses, clicking his tongue as he finally looks up at Johnny. “Actually… it might not be that mysterious anymore, I guess.”
Johnny’s eyes widen in genuine surprise, interest suddenly piqued. “Are you telling me you found out who wrote your love letter?”
“Remember the girl you saw me talking to at Jaehyun’s open mic?” Mark asks, fingers nervously fiddling with the letter as Johnny nods. “We’ve been kinda hanging out lately and she’s… you know, also my neighbor.”
His friend blinks, visibly impressed by the unexpected twist. “Damn, Haechan is right.” Johnny snorts, a knowing grin soon taking over. “Your life is fucking ridiculous, Mark.”
“I’m not really sure it’s her, though,” he counters, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean, I think it could be. The way she talks to me sort of reminds me of how the letter is written. It’s just… I don’t know.”
“Then ask her,” Johnny offers, as if he’s stating the obvious. “What’s the worst that could happen? You’re already talking to each other anyway.”
“Yeah, but what if it’s just me wishful thinking?” Mark shrugs, a sigh escaping his mouth. “I don’t want to confuse her with my shit. I actually like her a lot, Johnny.”
As brotherly as ever, the oldest lets out a quiet chuckle, regarding his friend with attentive eyes. “You’re overthinking it, Mark,” Johnny chides softly. “If it’s her, great for you, but if it’s not, then it’s just a story you can tell.”
At the reassuring words, Mark turns the idea around in his head. Deep down, he knows that his hesitation says more about him than you—after all, finding out the truth means that he’s vulnerable, parts of him that even he can’t understand yet exposed. Mark also knows that you haven’t given him anything worth doubting your sincerity.
It’s actually quite the opposite, given he hasn’t felt so oddly understood and seen in a long time, despite how good he is at his job and how well he’s perceived by the people around him.
Considering Johnny’s input in the brief moment, Mark eventually nods. “I’ll think about it, promise.”
“If she got to know you as well as we do, I know she likes you just as much,” Johnny finishes, giving an encouraging pat to his shoulder. “Just make sure to get out of your head a little, alright?”
Taking one last look at the letter before tucking it away, nerves pleasantly buzzing in his chest, Mark decidedly acquiesces.
What’s the worst that could happen anyway?
The music starts almost shyly at first, chords soon carrying through the walls softly and unassuming.
You pause mid-motion, fingers hovering over the keyboard of your laptop as your brain instantly loses the next few lines of your assignment. It finally dawns on you that your mysterious neighbor has returned—at the same time as you realize that you hadn’t noticed their absence at all, for a while now.
As always, you can’t help but love the unknown melody though it strangely stirs something bittersweet in your heart, somewhat apologetic over not feeling their disappearance enough.
It makes you think of the letter.
Did your neighbor read it? What did they think of it? Did it mean anything to them?
It’s a given that your thoughts also wander to Mark, the significance of your growing relationship definitely not lost as you slowly recognize how his presence has filled so much of your mind lately, so much of your days.
It almost feels like the song’s tenderness is engraved onto your brain once it fades away, over as suddenly as it started. As the weight of the silence settles in, you feel stupidly torn between the comfort you’d found and the one you’d forgotten.
Mark 7:23PM
Hey rockstar
I’m home
Kinda want to hear your thoughts on this
Care to have a listen?
It’s an unusually quiet Saturday evening for you.
At the buzz of your phone, Mark’s name lighting up the screen for a brief second, you take a pause from your book. Though seeing his name doesn’t surprise you, given you’ve been texting back and forth all day, your curiosity immediately takes over as you read through the cryptic messages followed by a download link.
7:24PM
You’re home?
I hope you aren’t scamming me 😛
Since Mark had to suddenly cancel the plans you’d made earlier in the week due to work, you’re eager to see him, especially now as the university’s break nears by a couple of days. Before you can text him to come over though, another message comes through.
Mark 7:25PM
Please listen to it baby
As your heart leaps at the reply, you’re quick to follow his request.
Then, Mark’s suddenly singing to you.
The guitar chords are unmistakable to your ears. It’s the very same melody played by your mysterious neighbor a few nights ago, except the sound’s definitely richer now, crystal clear with no walls in the way to hold back its softness. His voice feels incredibly tender, warm and light like a hug, almost as if he’s poured his soul into it.
A shiver runs through your body as realization finally hits you—all this time, Mark has been your mysterious neighbor, the very one you’d sent a secret letter to, your unknown comfort presence.
You’re not even properly thinking when rushing upstairs, urgently knocking on the door of the apartment right above yours.
As it swings open, one look at him is enough for you to throw your arms around Mark’s neck, catching him by surprise by pressing your lips against his. It takes a second for him to react, his own arms soon wrapped around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. As he blindly steps back inside, Mark kicks the door closed before deepening the kiss, both hands at the back of your head.
You’re not sure how long it lasts but when you pull away, both of you light-headed and breathless, it still doesn’t feel long enough.
With flushed cheeks, Mark sighs in a mix of wonder and disbelief. “Wow, this is… wow,” he manages, chest still heaving. “What’s going on?”
The dazed look on his face earns a laugh from you, especially as it pairs with his messy hair and disheveled clothes. Completely endeared by his reaction, you lean closer again, brushing a quick, feather-light kiss against Mark’s lips before he can even react.
“You’re my mysterious neighbor,” you start, voice soft with admiration as your hands cup his cheeks. “You’re the one who’s been playing music all this time.”
He gives you a small smile, subtly leaning into your hold. “You’re the one who wrote the letter.”
“This is crazy, Mark,” you say, huffing at the absurdity of the situation in both disbelief and amazement. “I can’t believe you’re the person I’ve been obsessed with since I moved in.”
His brows raise slightly, a teasing glint replacing the warmth in his eyes. “You’ve been obsessed with me?”
“You have no idea how much I loved listening to you.” You smile unabashedly, fingertips gently brushing at his cheeks. “I was always so happy whenever I came home and you’d just start playing out of nowhere. It felt like you knew exactly when I needed your music, you know.”
As his face softens, Mark watches you for a second. “Did you really mean it?” he asks, voice quieter. “The letter you sent me… did you mean all of that?”
Meeting his gaze, you nod without hesitation. “I wouldn’t have written it if I didn’t.”
As he wraps his arms around you in the warmest, heartfelt hug, Mark pulls back just enough so his lips are meeting yours again, the slow kiss melting your body against his own.
Though pulling yourself away from Mark feels like a challenge, as you breathlessly step back from his hold, your eyes are immediately taking in every detail around.
Sometimes, you’d foolishly envision your mysterious neighbor’s apartment, wondering how different it could be from your own. So it feels surreal standing there now and realizing that everything feels very, very Mark. It’s almost like the place pieces together parts of him that you hadn’t quite figured out yet.
An entire wall of vinyls and CDs, a few collectible toys here and there on the shelves, instruments all around his living room—all of it explains so much about him.
Walking over to check his collection much like he did with your books, you shoot him a curious glance. “So you’re a musician?”
“You could say that.” Mark frowns, pausing for a second before he sighs. “I mean, I work with music but I’m actually just a songwriter for a record label.”
Your eyes light up, a gasp escaping from your lips. “So I was right when I said you were a writer,” you reply, satisfaction taking over your face. “Did you write the song you sent me?”
He nods, feeling surprisingly at ease despite having spent half of the day restless over the recording. “Yeah, it was me,” Mark answers, chuckling at your enthusiasm. “You didn’t tell me what you’d think of it yet.”
“Are you kidding? The fact you’re my mysterious neighbor wasn’t the only thing that made me attack you just now,” you joke as he bursts into a laugh. “I do wonder who it was about, though.”
Mark raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. “You think I’m going to tell you that easily?”
With a knowing grin, you silently turn back to scanning the rows of albums in his shelves again. As he steps behind you, Mark specifically reaches out for a CD, your eyes curiously scanning the cover.
“It’s only fair giving you a recommendation too, right?” he muses, smiling gently. “A rock classic for a rockstar seems fitting enough.”
The subtle implication laced to his words make your smile widen, album still in your hands as you glance at him over your shoulder. “Would you sing it for me if I asked?”
Mark hesitates, though seemingly more out of confusion than anything else. “Like… right now?”
As you turn around to face him, there’s a hint of reassurance on your face. “You don’t really have to, but I’d love to hear it with no walls between us this time.”
There’s a touch of confidence to the way Mark leads you to his couch, a hand on the small of your back until he settles beside you with a guitar on his lap. It’s probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen him, dark hair sitting above his eyes and glasses perched on his nose, the little moles on his face calling you for a kiss.
The silence between you is soon filled by the guitar, Mark strumming the familiar melody with an ease that you can’t help amaze at. The softness of his voice embraces you again, anticipation growing with every word between your shared glances.
With the last chord drawing the song to a close, you’re the one pulling the guitar away before leaning over, kissing Mark again as he welcomes you closer.
“So, you and me,” he starts, nose brushing against yours as you hum, smiling against his mouth. “Are we really doing this? For real now?”
Your heart has never felt so full and assured, no hesitation to your answer.
“We’re doing this.”
The crowd’s applause slowly settles as Mark leaves the stage.
There’s a mix of adrenaline and contentment simmering in his chest, heart still racing as he clutches his guitar closer, taking one last look at the familiar atmosphere—for the first time, not as a mere spectator, but as a performer.
As your voice breaks through his high, Mark turns around just in time to put the guitar away before you leap into his arms, kissing him so deeply as if you haven’t seen him for weeks.
A wide smile takes over your face once pulling away, excitement practically spilling over from your eyes. “Oh my God, you were so good!”
He grins, instinctively reaching for your waist to hold you close. “You think so?”
“I know so,” you gush, expression softening for a second. “I’m so proud of you, baby. It was really incredible, you killed it.”
“I don’t think I could’ve done it without you,” he confesses gently, a contrast to his firm gaze. “If you hadn’t insisted so much… I think I’d still be stuck in my head about it, you know.”
“You were the one up there performing, not me,” you argue, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “It was all you, your music and your talent.”
Mark shakes his head, a chuckle escaping from his mouth as he closes his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm embrace. “You’re crazy,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for not letting me give up on this.”
As you pull back from his hold to meet his eyes, a playful smile curls on your lips. “I take my thanks in the form of take-out.”
He just laughs, nodding softly. “Let’s go home, then.”
Just like that, under a galaxy of stars in the sky and the warmth of a summer evening, Mark lets you guide him back home.
All Member Masterlist || a cup of coffee Chapter Index
summary: You're working in a coffee shop, and you've got a crush on one of the regulars. This Valentine's Day, you discover that the crush isn't as one-sided as you believed, and now you've got a very, very hot date with the one and only Johnny Suh
length: 10,350 words
tags: love at first sight, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex, blowjobs, penetration, multiple orgasms, dom!Johnny, consent is sexy
When you quit your 9 to 5 office job to instead follow your passion for coffee, you never thought it would be quite so rewarding. The coffee shop specialized in imported coffee beans from all over the world, so therefore the customers were typically people who had a more elevated taste for coffee. They drink it black, they drink it daily, and they will let you know if they think you fucked it up.
That being said, you enjoyed being surrounded by coffee all day every day. You enjoyed the opportunity to try out new coffees that you likely never would have (particularly at the price point that the shop charged for just a cup of coffee — not even the specialty lattes that you also provided). You didn’t particularly enjoy most of the customers as a lot of them were stuck up coffee snobs, but there were a few regulars that you liked quite a bit.
There was a little old wealthy lady that would come in first thing every morning to try a new beverage — a latte, a new type of imported bean, or one of the imported tea flavors — and a pastry. She was a true sweetheart, free with her money which meant that she frequently would slip you a cash tip and whisper for you to put that in your pocket.
There was an older gentleman that came in at least once a week, playful and kind, and would give shit to the customers who were rude.
And then one of your personal favorites was a man possibly a few years older than you.
Johnny.
Johnny came in every morning. Typically, he was in right around 8:30, and some mornings he would just get his drink and leave. Then there were mornings he would get a drink and a pastry, set up at a table, and sit there for hours.
Johnny was very handsome. Handsome enough that you and most of your coworkers would whisper about his attractiveness from behind the counter, which was a rare enough thing for all of you to agree on. He was tall to the point of it being unfair and almost excessive. He had a warm smile and kind brown eyes framed by his too perfect black hair parted usually somewhere near the middle of his head. And his jawline — oh, God, his jawline was the source of many conversations in the back of the store — sharp and occasionally stubbled, though typically he was clean shaven. He was a smooth sort of rugged, a little untidy but in a completely charming and fashionable way.
He was desirable, for sure.
One of your coworkers had tried flirting with him once, offered up her number, just for Johnny to turn her down. Downhearted, she’d told all of you that he was a lost cause, and you’d all believed it for a while since she’s a very pretty, cute girl and he’d not even hesitated to tell her no. How could any of the rest of you stand a chance?
But a few weeks after that, you began noticing when you were the one helping him at the register, Johnny was flirting with you. And you flirted back.
Brushing fingers, eye contact, sweet smiles, conversation. He’d offer up compliments on your hair, your smile, your makeup, your jewelry, your clothes, the design you’d drawn on the promo sign propped out front of the store.
Frequently, Johnny would ask for your recommendation for drinks and pastries. Typically, he drank coffee every morning, drifting usually towards a black Ethiopian coffee blend that had notes of berries and citrus, though on occasion Johnny could be a bit more adventurous with his morning selection — trying out a new tea or lemonade, a blended drink, the strange spiced concoction the cafe’s owner had on the menu for a week, and the even less popular veggie-based beverage.
Johnny is the highlight of your day, if you’re being honest. Seeing Johnny walk through the door, particularly when he’s got his bag on his shoulder to indicate that he’s staying, just makes your day a little brighter.
On this particular morning, the wind is whipping the edges of people’s coats around them as they pass by the shop. Some people blow through the door almost seemingly by accident, causing the bell over the door to ring into a frenzy, and loose napkins and lids go flying across the shop, decorations tear at the pins and tape you and your coworkers this morning have hung up everywhere. It’s Valentine’s Day, actually, but the weather outside is anything but romantic. Cold and blustery, spitting icy rain occasionally. It doesn’t really encourage romantic feelings, so after opening the store earlier, you began hanging up some festive decor — paper hearts and some red ribbon that was leftover from Christmas decorations.
It’s about quarter to nine when Johnny finally blows through the door, later than his normal.
You’re halfway down the bar, making a drink for a different customer, but you look up and make eye contact with Johnny as he steps up to the register. Your coworker happily slides into place, eager to take Johnny’s order, but he looks at you again, cracks a smile, and asks, “Do you have a recommendation for me today?”
“Lia, do you mind finishing this up for me?” You ask your coworker, gesturing at the drink you’d been in the middle of preparing. She huffs a little, but moves away from the register, trading places with you.
Johnny looks impossibly more handsome today. His hair was clearly styled this morning, but now has that naturally windblown look. His tan coat fits his long frame and broad shoulders well. His cheeks and nose are slightly pink from the brisk air.
He definitely needs a warm drink.
“We have a limited Valentine’s menu today,” you tell him, gesturing at the sign you’d drawn up first thing this morning. It sits just inside and to the left of the door, all decorated in pinks and reds and white flowing script listing the holiday-themed beverages available: Orange Crush, Honey Bunny, The Sweetheart, Cupid’s Kiss, Breakfast in Bed Blend, Love Potion, French Silk, and Red Velvet.
Most of those drinks are just new festive names for drinks that are typically on your menu, but Orange Crush is an all new latte flavor. Johnny’s typical beverage of choice is either an iced Americano or regular coffee, but since his favorite coffee blend has citrusy notes, you think he could possibly like an Orange Crush latte, and that’s exactly what you tell him.
“An Orange Crush?” Johnny peers over at the board, weighing his options. “Trying to get me to try something new this morning?”
The Orange Crush is two shots of espresso, an orange-vanilla simple syrup, the customer’s milk of choice, then a heap of whipped cream or cold foam, topped with a little bit of orange zest.
“Maybe, but if you’re not feeling too adventurous this morning, you could always go with…” You backpedal, trying to land on a more simple flavor, even though you’re personally most excited about the Orange Crush. “The French Silk, that one’s always pretty popular, you know.” Just a silky smooth, rich flavor with some chocolatey notes.
Johnny shakes his head as he turns back to you. “No, I’ll do the latte. I’ll take a regular-sized Orange Crush.”
“Alright, one Crush coming up.” You enter the order on the register screen, and when you look up at Johnny again, he’s smiling and watching you. “And your rewards number?”
Johnny raises his eyebrows slightly. “As if you don’t know it already? You’ve got most of the regulars numbers memorized.”
Damn, you do know it, but he doesn’t have to call you out for that. Your face feels a little warm as you glance up at him for a moment before looking back down at your screen to type in Johnny’s phone number.
“You know,” Johnny says as he taps his card to pay. “If you’ve got the number memorized, you could just use it sometime. Like, call me, text me. If you need someone to go to dinner with or grab a coffee or just,” he pauses, and lifts his gaze to yours, the moment buzzing electrically between you as he finishes the thought with, “Hang out sometime.”
Holy shit.
Johnny’s lips quirk up, pleased with himself and with your flustered reaction. You practically dissolve into a fiery puddle as Johnny looks you up and down then turns away.
Holy hell.
Johnny just asked you out. Kind of? He put the power in your hands, and you curl your fingers around it and plan to take full advantage of it.
You slide over to the bar to make Johnny’s Orange Crush latte.
It’s Valentine’s Day and your coffee shop crush just invited you to ask him out. Or to ask him to hang out. As you prepare the drink, you can’t help running Johnny’s words over and over again in your mind. When he’s saying “hang out” he definitely means that you can use him as a booty call, right? Telling you that even if you’re not looking for a relationship, he’s down to just have sex, if that’s what you want?
Today is the day of romance, the one day a year where Love is the theme of the day above all else, but as you look over at the table where Johnny has sat down and begun setting up his laptop, you can’t help but have decidedly not purely romantic thoughts. Heat flushes through you, bright and warm, fizzling in your core like an Orange Crush soda.
Feeling bold, you sit the latte on a serving plate, and you grab a few napkins, sliding a quickly scrawled note in between the napkins.
“Here’s your latte, Johnny.” You slide the plate onto his table, and he looks away from his keyboard. “Do you have a lot of work on the schedule today?”
One of your coworkers recognized Johnny on one of his first visits. He’s a celebrity, to a certain degree. He DJs professionally in clubs and at festivals, and he also works in music production. He does virtual meetings from your cafe, sits here with headphones on as he works on cleaning up audios or creating new songs.
Your coworker once convinced you to come with her to a club where he was DJing for the night, and it revolutionized the way that you looked at him. He was already handsome as hell, but watching him up there in his element had made him somehow miraculously even more hot. So sometimes even just sitting here watching him produce music in your cafe had you feeling a little hot and bothered.
“Not a lot on the schedule today.” Johnny answers your question with a shake of his head. “I just needed out of the studio today, somewhere with good company.”
“Mm, that’s good.” You let your fingers tap the napkins on the plate as you push it a little closer to him. His gaze drops toward the movement, and you say, “My break is in 5 minutes, by the way, if you’d like some good company.”
By the time his gaze snaps up to you, you’re already walking away, back behind the countertop, trying to not let your nerves show. You rejoin Lia at the bar where she’s working on a couple drinks at once, and she’s staring at Johnny’s table, a smirk growing as she turns her attention to you.
“What are you up to?” She asks.
Johnny’s running his thumb along the edges of the napkins, fluttering them lightly apart.
“He told me to call him sometime to hang out, Lia.” Your hands shake slightly. “There’s no way I’m not taking advantage of that offer.”
“God,” she groans. “I bet he’s amazing. You’ll have to tell me everything.”
You stifle a laugh, and get to work helping her with the drinks orders that keep coming through. Another coworker flies in the door at exactly nine, throwing himself behind the counter and through the door into the back. As soon as he re-emerges two minutes later, tying his apron into place with apologies, you notify both of them that you’re taking your break now.
They’re busy, but not slammed, so they both tell you to go, waving you off without looking up from the orders they’re working on.
Neither of them notice as you toss your apron into the back, and you round the counter out into the cafe.
Johnny lifts his head gaze catching on yours momentarily. You smile and head straight for the restroom.
You hope he saw your note in the napkins. A quickly scrawled, “Meet me in the restroom?”
God, you’re nervous. Hands trembling as you push through the door into the restroom. Your body is flushed. You’ve never been so bold as to ask this of someone, and if he doesn’t walk in here within the next five minutes, you might just die.
But you don’t have to wait nearly that long.
The door to the bathroom has pretty much only just swung shut behind you when it’s pushed open again.
Johnny comes inside the room, the door swinging shut with a thud, and he presses his back to it. “Is this what I think it is?”
“I’ve only got fifteen minutes,” you tell him, “So if you want to hook up, we’ve got to be quick.”
“Fuck.” Johnny groans before pushing off from the door, and he quickly closes the space between you and him.
His hands are gentle when he reaches for you, but his mouth crashes against yours. Your hands immediately fall to his belt, unfastening it and sliding your hands inside Johnny’s pants.
Johnny cradles your face in his hands, tilting your head back so he can better kiss you, pressing you back against the wall. He moans into the kiss when your palm slides along the length of him, his hips pressing forward into your touch. He’s already pretty hard.
“If we’ve only got fifteen,” Johnny presses the words out between kisses, “Then I’ve got something I’d like to do.”
You’re not sure you’ve ever had a six foot something man drop so quickly to his knees for you.
Johnny looks up at you, hunger and desire alive in his eyes, seeking approval and consent before he goes any further.
You push your fingers into his messy hair. “Please, yes, Johnny.”
He drags your panties and pants down in one quick move. You don’t get the chance to second-guess or feel any embarrassment about how it’s been a little bit since you did any landscaping down there, but Johnny doesn’t seem to care at all. He slides an arm around one of your thighs, dragging it up to his shoulder, and he moans as he gets a sweet taste of you on his tongue.
Never before have you considered hooking up in the public restroom of your job. But as you’re clamping your hand over your mouth and writhing against Johnny’s lips and tongue, you’re so glad you’ve taken this chance.
It feels so wrong to be doing this here, but so fucking good as Johnny’s tongue swipes along your slit, as his lips close around your clit, sucking as he teases a single finger at your entrance. You can feel yourself dripping, wetter for him than you’ve been in a long time, leaking against his lips and chin and down his wrist as he starts to finger you.
Your shoulders press against the wall as you grind against Johnny’s tongue and fingers, trying to get more more more. Even with your hand flat over your mouth in an attempt to hold in your moans, you can still hear the muffled sounds echoing around the restroom. Johnny just smiles against you as your breath hitches around the sound of his name.
“Look at you,” he murmurs as he pulls back from your clit to look up at your face. “You’re so cute right now, baby, trying to keep quiet so we don’t get caught. Does it feel that good? Or is it just because it’s me? You’ve had a crush on me for so long that the moment I make it as obvious as I can that I want you, you have to jump me in the restroom at your workplace? Couldn’t even wait for me to take you out to dinner first?”
His fingers are so slick, sliding in and out of your soaking wet entrance, his thumb swirls teasingly around your clit.
You twist your fingers in Johnny’s hair, trying to pull his mouth back between your legs, but he resists. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he brings his free hand up, and he checks his watch, then sighs.
“Break’s almost over, baby. If you want to cum, you’d better hurry.” Contradictory to his words, Johnny slows the movement of his fingers thrusting inside you. His gaze sharpens, challenging you as you tug on his hair again. “What if you don’t cum? Are you going to stand behind that counter soaking wet and sexually frustrated for the rest of your shift? Stare at me while I finish my work for the day and wish you could come over and sit on my lap, have me fill you up and make you cum?”
You whine, rolling your hips down against his fingers, desperate for orgasm.
“Maybe you’ll be so desperate that you’ll beg me to take you out tonight. Do you want that, baby? A Valentine’s dinner date before I bring you home, give you everything you’ve been dreaming of?”
God, he’s so cocky about it all. So confident about how desperately you want him. He’s not wrong. Each word he speaks brings you a little bit closer to the edge, especially when he pairs it with a well-aimed thrust of his fingers and his thumb gliding against your clit.
“One minute left,” Johnny warns you. “What’s it gonna be?”
“Make me cum now,” you promise, breathlessly, “And take me out to dinner later, and I’ll return the favor as many times as you like tonight.”
Johnny grins. “Deal.”
His mouth returns against you, tongue and lips and his blessed fingers work in efficient tandem to bring you headfirst falling into your orgasm within seconds. You grab handfuls of Johnny’s hair, your leg over his shoulder squeezes tight, and your hips grind uncontrollably against his ministrations, your wetness smeared against his lips and chin, dripping down his wrist.
You can barely stand on your own two feet when Johnny pulls back. Your knees wobble. Each brush of your thighs together makes you want to moan and drag Johnny back in. You haven’t nearly had your fill of him, but your time is up.
Johnny kindly helps you slide your panties back up, though you manage your pants just fine by yourself. And then he rises to his feet again, leans in to kiss you, and all you can taste is yourself on his tongue, his lips sticky against yours.
“I’ve gotta go,” you mumble after a long minute of losing yourself in kissing him.
Johnny reluctantly takes a step back. “I know.”
You peel yourself away from the wall, check your reflection in the mirror — and other than your bright eyes and a slight glow to your face, you don’t look at all like you just got eaten out in a public restroom. Johnny stands beside you, a smug expression on his face as he watches you wash your hands and then run your fingers lightly over your hair just to make sure you didn’t fuck up the back of it or anything.
“Have fun at work,” he says, pressing one last quick kiss to your cheek as you pass by on your way out.
Your coworkers don’t look at you twice when you clock back in from your break. They’re still working away at some orders, and you slide into the back to take another few seconds to cool off after that encounter. You stand in front of the refrigerator, letting the cold air wash over your heated skin, and prepare yourself mentally for going back out there.
You’re going to spend the rest of your shift trying not to stare at Johnny, trying not to be horny and aroused for the next few hours while he works and you work, and it’s going to be fucking difficult.
But he’s taking you out to dinner tonight, taking you home afterwards, and you plan to make good on the promise you made to him in the restroom — giving him a Valentine’s Day gift of making him cum hard enough to see stars.
Approximately ten hours later, Johnny picks you up from your apartment.
It’s gotten impossibly colder and windier and is now snowing in addition to all of that, but as you open the door and step out into the brutal weather, you can’t bring yourself to care.
Johnny’s waiting for you, his hand outstretched and warm, and he’s big and broad enough to somewhat act as a buffer against the wind as you walk to and from the Uber he’d ordered to take you to the restaurant.
It’s a decent restaurant, a nice bistro with a busy bar and a fantastic dessert menu.
Johnny can’t take his eyes off of you the whole meal. You eat, drink, make easy conversation like this isn’t your first date with him, and when dessert comes, Johnny looks like he wants nothing more than to lean across the table and taste the chocolate cake straight from your lips. Instead he waits until dessert is gone, until after he’s paid for the meal (no amount of your insisting that you pay your half could convince him to let you split the bill), until after you’ve drained the last of your glass of wine, and then as he’s helping you into your coat (like a proper goddamn gentleman), he kisses you.
You hear couples at some of the other tables around you coo and gasp with delight, and you feel warm and bubbly as Johnny pulls back, as he slides his hand around yours again, and he leads you out of the restaurant.
You’re not in love because that’s a ridiculous thing to think when you’re a full grown adult and you’ve only been on most of one date with this man.
But you definitely really like Johnny.
You think you do a good job keeping yourself reined in on the Uber ride back to Johnny’s place. You don’t quite manage to keep your hands to yourself in the backseat, but you do hold back from climbing into Johnny’s lap to make out. You limit yourself to just keeping a hand on Johnny’s thigh, perhaps a bit more rubbing and squeezing than is entirely necessary, but by the time the Uber driver drops you off in front of Johnny’s apartment building, you’ve got your date all riled up.
“Thank you. Have a good night!” Johnny says to the driver as he helps you out of the car. The door is barely shut behind you before the driver is peeling off from the curb.
Johnny drags you against him, one arm tight around your waist, your chests rise and fall together.
Snow is still falling in large fluffy puffs that collect in Johnny’s hair and dust his shoulders. As he lowers his head to kiss you, you can’t help but laugh a little and raise your hand to brush some of the snow away.
“You want to come upstairs, right?” Johnny asks. “I guess I just kind of assumed when we left the restaurant, but if you don’t want to….”
“I want to. I made a promise earlier.” You press yourself a little closer to him. “I intend to keep my word. You made me cum earlier, so now it’s your turn, as many times as you like.”
Johnny moans and closes the distance between your lips, sweeping you off your feet with his hot kiss, melting away the last centimeters between you. You cling to each other on the snowy sidewalk, only parting a few moments later when a passing car’s headlights wash over you.
Your fingers brush Johnny's flushed cheek. The tip of his nose is adorably pink also.
"Can we go inside?" You ask, lifting on your toes to kiss him briefly. "Where it's warm?"
Johnny's apartment is nice, fancier than yours with a very clean and modern look. Your apartment has the look of one that's well-lived in, and Johnny's is just so clean.
"Did you expect a mess?" He laughs when you repeat for the third time since entering the space that it's clean. "I do have a cleaner, though. She was just in earlier today, but it is actually usually a bit messier."
You walk around a little, just wanting to look at the art he's got hanging on the walls -- some kinda darker abstract work, all of them signed by the same artist TEN. He's got a shelf of his musical achievements such as awards, recognitions, the albums he's produced on.
You take note of the photographs scattered along the wall beside his fireplace. Some are clearly photographs he's taken, some that he's in, and some you think are probably ones from professional photographers that he's purchased, similar to the paintings on the other walls. Those professional shots are in nicer frames, some of them with little placards attached, saying things like "Photograph by Jaemin Na" or "Photo credit: Qian Kun" and other names.
"You're quite the art collector," you say as you examine the photos. "Where do you find all of these?"
"Friends of mine." Johnny's voice is a little distant, and when you turn to look for him, you see him moving around in his kitchen, only partially visible through a wine display rack. "Over the years, I've met a lot of different types of artists through the industry. I like to collect things from the people I meet."
You turn back to the artwork, and you spot a framed photo of Johnny.
In this one, he's got his head thrown back with laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His arm is around another man's shoulders, and that man is looking at Johnny with an enormous toothy grin. It brings a smile to your face too.
There are a few more photos that feature Johnny, several of just his friends, some of him and his friends with beautiful scenery in the background — on a sunlit ski slope, lounging on a beach, standing on a mountain with a gorgeous vista spreading out behind them — and a couple of the photos have him with the man that must be his best friend. There’s a particular one where they’re making faces at each other that keeps drawing your attention, bringing a smile to your lips.
"Wine?" Johnny asks from directly behind you. He wraps around you, the heat of his body pressing up against yours as he holds a wine glass in front of you. His lips brush the top of your head.
You're not going to say no to that.
Johnny settles on his sofa, legs spreading with an invitation that you readily accept. You sink down into the space between his thighs, leaning back against his chest, accepting the glass of wine from him.
He turns the fireplace on with a click of a remote control. Quiet music begins playing from somewhere. It's romantic and a little bit of a cliche, but you don't mind too much. You sip the wine, relaxing back against Johnny while he plays with your hair and hums along to the music.
There's a little bit of conversation, but as both of you drain your wine glasses, your mind strays from the conversation more and more, orbiting back to that promise you'd made in the restroom earlier.
Johnny's in the middle of saying something that you truly can't wrap your head around at the moment, and you sit aside your wine glass and twist around, perched on your knees between the V of his thighs. You cut off his words with your lips, your fingers sliding into his soft hair, your other hand resting against his chest.
You both know what you're here for, and while conversation with Johnny is great and all that, you really, really, really want to get fucked by him tonight. You've been thinking about it all day and dreaming about it for even longer.
If your actions take him by surprise, Johnny doesn't show it.
He takes it all in stride, taking control of the kiss, his hands reaching for you. One of his big hands settles on the back of your thigh, skimming up beneath the hem of the short little dress you'd worn to dinner. His other hand is on your hip, fingers curving down against the swell of your ass, urging you to move closer.
You let out a contented sigh as you shift over him, spreading your knees a little as you sink down on his lap.
Johnny's hand pushes up beneath your dress, bunching up the fabric until you can feel the relatively cool air of the apartment on your bare ass. Johnny makes a low sound that rumbles from his chest as you gently scrape your nails against his scalp, tugging lightly at his hair twisted around your fingers.
He's hard, you can feel it as you roll your hips forward. God, he wants you as much as you want him, and that headrush is enough to flood your belly with heat.
You slide your hand down his chest, smoothly popping the buttons of his white button-down. It was already unbuttoned just the perfect amount, which had served as an ample distraction several times throughout dinner -- exposed collarbones were a ridiculous weakness of yours. Though, with your touch now, the two halves of the shirt quickly fall open, revealing more of his collarbones, his toned chest, and (as romance novel-ly as it sounds) rippling abs.
The cocky smirk that takes over Johnny's face as you break the kiss to drink in the sight of his bared chest is infuriating. He's so goddamn hot, and he knows it, which is frustrating.
Even more frustrating is the way that he just sits there and watches you as your fingers settle on the edge of his waistband. He looks so relaxed, not making a single move as he waits for you to undress him. Not that he needs to do anything else right now to make you wet; you're like a fucking faucet down there, soaking wet and he's barely even touched you, though that hand still sits against your bare skin beneath the dress, his palm warm against your ass, though he's not doing anything more than just holding it.
You bite your lip as you fiddle with the fabric around the button fastening his pants. You lift your gaze slowly.
The look in Johnny's eyes is electric, exhilarating. He burns with approval and desire, anticipation.
"Go on, baby," he says. He bounces his leg, jostling you in his lap. "You promised me as many orgasms as I want tonight, right?"
You slide the button through the opening, revealing a very tiny fraction of Johnny's skin, but it still makes your head spin. His fingers twitch against your ass, giving the smallest squeeze, and that's all the motivation you need to slide backwards off Johnny's lap, knees hitting the shag rug, and you brace your hands against his thighs.
He doesn't move, holding so perfectly still as you lean in and lower your face towards the front of his pants.
You wonder if he can feel your breath through the layers separating you from his cock. If he can feel the heat of you, if it makes his cock ache with need as you let your lips hover just centimeters above the very obvious bulge. You can see the throb of need, the involuntary jerk of his cock as you lift your face just enough to brush your lips just beneath Johnny's navel.
"Fuck," he breathes out.
A burst of satisfaction races through you. It's the first time you've heard a tremble to his voice.
You lower your mouth again, lips ghosting against the fabric over his cock.
Johnny all but growls your name, his hand flies to your hair. He doesn't press, doesn't pull. He just rests his hand lightly there against your head as a reminder.
Again, there's a burst of pleasure low in your belly as Johnny sucks in a breath, as his fingers jerk against your head as you nose against his belly before you close your teeth around the zipper of his pants and pull.
You dig your fingers in against his thighs, aching to just reach up and pull his pants down, to get the suspenseful moment over and bare him all the way for you to see. But you like the feeling of teasing him, and you're not so sure how long Johnny's going to let you play this game.
His arousal is even more obvious by the time you've got the zipper all the way down, his pants falling open to expose the obvious press of his cock against his red boxer-briefs. A slightly damp spot sits just over the head.
You can smell him then -- the musk, the arousal, the heady hot scent of his need.
Johnny's eyes are heavily lidded, lowered down to your lips as you lift your gaze to his face.
"Do you want my mouth?" You ask. "Or should I start with my hands?" For emphasis, and to make the question possibly a little more difficult for him to answer, you brush another kiss to the bare skin beneath his navel, and you skim your hands across his thighs, nails whispering over the fabric of his pants.
"Use me, Johnny," you whisper as his eyes flash to yours. “Whatever you want.”
That seems to be the very invitation that he's been waiting for.
His hand on the back of your head takes hold of your hair as his free hand flies to the waistband of his pants. Johnny shifts forward, sliding to the edge of the sofa, his hand pulling down the elastic band of his underwear, and with the pressure on the back of your head, he guides you forward.
This is something you've been waiting for, something you'd daydreamed about while sitting in the cafe watching him work. There was one slow work day that you'd stood behind the cash register, sucking a Blow Pop while gazing longingly at him, imagining yourself kneeling beneath the table with your mouth full of his cock.
And now your dream is finally coming true.
Johnny's cock is big, but you barely have time to appreciate it as you open your mouth wide and thank God that you were gifted with a nearly non-existent gag reflex.
He swears above your head as you take him almost all the way in on the first go.
Your nose is buried against Johnny's belly, his cock heavy on your tongue, stretching your throat, and you couldn't possibly be happier. His hands both hold your head, fingers lacing together in your hair, and he drags your mouth back off his cock. You moan, sucking around his length, trying to push back down, to take him deeper.
"God, are you that hungry for it, baby?" Johnny moans, and he lets you sink your lips back around him. "You're taking it so well, so good. I bet you'd just kneel there and let me fuck your pretty mouth, wouldn't you?"
You would.
In fact, that's definitely what you want. You squeeze your hands against his thighs, moaning around his cock as you press even closer to him until your lips are stretched tight around the base of his cock, your nose squished into his belly.
You can't breathe like this, and it's perfect.
"You want that?" Johnny asks, and you feel him move even closer to the edge of the sofa, his cock sinking an impossible fraction deeper into your throat. "Want me to use your pretty mouth? It's only fair, isn't it? The way you rode my face in the restroom at your job earlier means it's only fair that I should ride yours."
His fingers lace through your hair again, and he drags you back all the way off his cock despite your moaned protests. You gasp for air, eyes pinching and watering slightly.
Johnny drags a thumb along your bottom lip. "Say it for me, baby. Tell me that you want it."
"I already told you to use me." Your voice has a little rasp to it.
His thumb pushes up over your bottom lip, the pad of it dipping inside against your tongue. Instinctively, you close your lips around it.
"I want to hear you say it now, though," Johnny says, "Tell me that you want it. Tell me how you've imagined this playing out."
You drag your teeth lightly around his thumb as Johnny pulls it out. He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath. There's an intensity to his gaze that makes your thighs quiver, wetness collecting between your legs.
"Please, Johnny." You try your best to keep your voice from sounding like a whimper, but you're not entirely sure that you succeed. "I want you to use me, fuck my throat and cum on my tongue. Choke me on your cock until I can't breathe, until I can't take it anymore."
He crushes his mouth against yours, a fiery kiss there and gone before you get the chance to savor it.
And then his tongue is replaced by his cock. His thighs and knees brace against you, his fingers linked and cradling the back of your head. His cock sinks deeper until the head of his cock is prodding the back of your throat -- your nearly non-existent gag reflex makes itself known, triggered by the suddenness of Johnny’s thrust, but you don't try to pull off, instead breathing through it.
Johnny doesn't take it easy on you, and for that you're grateful. You kneel there before him, eyes closed to savor the sensations as he starts moving. He holds your head steady as he positively fucks your face. Johnny's hips rock forward, burying his cock all the way to the back of your throat, pulling back until the head of his cock rests on your lips, precum smeared all along your tongue, and then he thrusts back in, brutal with the pace, sometimes sinking all the way in and holding there as he feels your throat pulsing around him, cutting off your air until your eyes water, and then he falls back to let you gasp for air before he's taking your breath away again.
You're in heaven like this, drifting to a happy place where you're just his to use, a place where you're dumb to all but the taste and weight of Johnny's cock on your tongue, the kiss of his skin against your cheeks as his hips crash forward, the mind-numbing glide of his cock and the sound of his shuddering breaths as he edges closer and closer to his orgasm.
You almost hate his climax, the idea of losing this contact that you're so cock-dumb for.
But then Johnny fists your hair, dragging your mouth back so just the blushing tip of his cock sits against your lips.
Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips and brushing the sensitive head. You look up at Johnny's face, part your lips just a little.
He groans, "Fuck, baby, you're such a good girl."
The praise does it for you, and you swear you might just cum untouched if he praises you again, but before you can think much more about that, your mind goes blank as Johnny's orgasm hits.
He rocks forward against your lips, cockhead sliding against your spit slick lips, popping in between the sweet circle of your lips, sliding back out, slipping against your cheek, back over your lips. Johnny's thrusts are short bursts, humping the soft, slick heat of your lips, and finally there it is.
Cum blurts from the tip, dripping over your lips and chin. One thrust sends a stray cumshot over the bridge of your nose, another streaks across your cheekbone. You close your eyes and feel a sticky web of it span between your eyelashes and your eyebrow.
Your mouth falls open, and Johnny slides right back in, spending the last of his cum over the back of your tongue, down your eager throat. You swallow around him, moaning happily.
You almost can't believe your luck right now.
This morning, you'd gone to work thinking it was just any other day. Just another Valentine's Day that you were single, just planning to spend tonight curled up on your sofa with some takeout and a romcom.
But now you're so lucky that you're kneeling in front of Johnny's sofa, his cock buried down your throat, his cum painting your face. You're not even naked yet, still kneeling here fully dressed, pussy so wet right now that you truly wouldn't be surprised to see a puddle beneath you.
You gasp when Johnny pulls back.
You expect him to fall back against the sofa, to bask in the aftermath of his orgasm for a moment or two.
But he doesn't.
Johnny immediately sweeps you off the floor, up into his arms as if you're nothing more than a feather. He carries you down a hallway to the left side of the living room, passing a couple doors before he's shouldering into his bedroom, depositing you on the bed.
He's over you, and you're dragging him in, needing him closer. Your mouths meet in a mess of moans, spit, and his cum, though neither of you seem to care all that much.
Johnny's hands wander, touching every part of your exposed skin before he's tugging at your dress, and you wiggle, squirming, trying to help him rid you of your dress. You barely feel the pull of the zipper, the slide of the fabric as Johnny tugs the dress down, as he lifts your hips with one hand, and then you're naked beneath him all before you can really catch your breath.
Neither of you pause for a moment, too caught up in the lust and hunger, too swept up in the raw need for each other to spend time lingering and looking at each other.
Johnny shifts you more into the middle of his bed, and he joins you then, pushing your knees up, fitting himself between them.
"God, you're soaking wet, baby. Did you like that? Me using your pretty mouth, painting you with my cum?" Johnny's lips pass along your inner thigh, wracking your body with a shiver. "You're wetter now than you were this morning. You're gonna make a mess of my bed, aren't you?"
That's pretty likely, you think. Especially when he lowers his head, his lips immediately closing around your clit.
Your eyes roll. Your hand flies to his hair.
Johnny grabs your hand, moving it to the sheets beside your hip, pinning your wrist there. You get the unspoken message: Don't touch.
And when you rock your hips against his face with a breathy whine, Johnny drapes his heavy arm across your lower abdomen, pinning your hips to the bed as he voraciously sates his lust on eating you out.
You cum faster than you think you ever have before. Your free hand flies to your mouth, and you try to cover your moans, but it's useless, the sounds slipping through your fingers as you bask in the liquifying magnificence of Johnny's tongue.
He doesn't stop there.
His fingers fill you in the absence of his tongue, and you feel the shift of his weight above you, but you're still reeling, leagues away in pure bliss as Johnny's mouth starts trailing kisses up from your hips, past your navel, up your belly and your sternum. Johnny takes one of your nipples in between his lips, teeth catch on the sensitive bud, sending fire racing through your veins.
Your hand is still draped uselessly over your mouth, muffling nothing, certainly not the half-unintelligible sounds of Johnny's name. You can feel him smirking against your breast, feel his smile as he kisses from your breast to your collarbones.
His palm grinds against your clit, fingers curling against the spongy spot inside you, and a second orgasm floods through you, sweeping you away like a riptide, carrying you far away from the safe shoreline of your sanity.
You're trembling beneath Johnny.
The hand he'd had pinned to the bed -- you're not sure when he released it -- flies to his hip. Your nails bite into his skin, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. His mouth fixes against your collarbone, a nip of his teeth and the gentle soothing heat of his tongue. His lips leave a path of fire up your throat, along your jaw. His tongue dances along what you're fairly certain was a sticky streak of his cum, and then his lips find yours again.
You can't even try to catch your breath, wave after wave of endless pleasure pumping through you in time with the movements of Johnny's fingers.
He's growing hard again, grinding against your thigh while his fingers make quick work of taking you to a third climax.
You whine, a wordless cry that originates from somewhere deep inside you. Johnny's rolling motions falter as your hand at his hip digs in again. You can feel how incredibly wet you are, your pussy dripping with your orgasm this time, leaking around his fingers as they slow their movements inside you.
Yeah, you've definitely made a mess of his sheets, as he predicted just a few minutes ago.
"Oh my God," he murmurs in awe, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Did you just squirt for me? Does it feel that good, what I'm doing to you, baby?"
You turn your head to the side, making a whimpery, "Yes, Johnny," that you think is audible.
He kisses the corner of your mouth again. His fully hard cock twitches against your thigh.
"Do you think you can take more?" He asks.
Johnny's fingers slide away from inside you, leaving you feeling far too empty. He grinds in slow, small circles against your thigh.
"Baby?" He offers up softly after a handful of seconds of silence pass. His fingers, slick with your cum, brush your cheek. "Are you here with me?"
You hum, blinking tiredly, letting your eyes roll to meet his above you. "'M here. I thought I was supposed to give you however many orgasms you wanted tonight? But you've only had one, and just gave me three."
Johnny chuckles a little. "Maybe all the orgasms I want are yours. Did you consider that? I want to see how many times I can see you cum, to get you all soft and sweet for me." He dips in, kissing you gently. "You're so good for me, sweetheart. Think you can take one more?"
Again, you hum your consent.
"I want to hear you say it."
Somehow, even in your blissed-out state of mind, you find it incredibly hot and a huge green-flag that Johnny keeps checking with you for consent even after you all but begged him earlier to use you.
"I want more, Johnny. I need to feel you inside me." You hope that's what he's got in mind. You don't want another orgasm tonight on his tongue or fingers, though they were delightful. You want to feel him inside you, to have that satisfaction of his cock inside you as you cum for him, to feel him fall apart inside you.
You let out a small cry when Johnny withdraws.
You're left there in his bed, cold and alone, staring up at the shadowed ceiling.
Before you can muster the strength to lift your head to look for him, Johnny returns, sliding back between your thighs and settling over you as if he'd never left.
"Sorry, but I had to grab a condom." He sinks in to kiss you again, fingers brushing your cheek.
"Johnny," you moan, a plea for him to give you everything.
Your knees bracket his hips. Your hands both settle against his waist.
Johnny lowers his head, you feel the brush of his hand against your inner thigh, and then the pressure of his tip against your entrance as he guides himself into you.
"Give it to me," you beg.
"Desperate for it, aren't you?" Johnny teases, holding right there above you, not pushing in despite the way your hands pull at him, your heels hooking around his thighs. "I guess I should've known you'd be a desperate little thing, hm? You did jump me in your workplace, so cock hungry you couldn't wait a few hours to get off your shift. You couldn't stop touching me in the Uber either, careless about the driver seeing."
You whine, attempting to rock your hips, to get Johnny to sink inside you.
He tsks at you, dropping his hips to pin yours to the bed. "How long have you wanted this? Do you think I haven't noticed the way you've been watching me all this time at the cafe? So many drink options on the menu, but you're just so thirsty for me, baby? Do you think I never heard the way you and your coworkers whispered back there about me, fantasizing to each other about how big I am, how any of you would take any opportunity to have me?"
God, did he actually hear that? Or is he just making a lucky guess?
You whine, squirming beneath him. Johnny's cock rubs along your slit, the tip snubbing your clit.
"Do you feel lucky that you're the one here with me? Are you going to run back to work tomorrow or the next day and brag to your friends about how good you are for me? How many times I've made you cum, brag to them that it's all because you're a good girl, that you've worked hard to deserve my cock?"
He's framing himself as a prize, and honestly, he's right. Johnny is a prize. A first place, gold medal, mega award type of man.
And as he at last lines himself up and sinks inside the welcome, wet heat of your pussy, you feel like the biggest winner of them all.
Johnny's lips capture yours again, drowning out the sounds of your moans with his own muffled curses and groans of pleasure, sweet praises that turn to a blurred haze as your oversensitive clit and everything reacts to having Johnny's big cock inside you at long last.
You wrap around him -- your arms cling to his shoulders, your tongue twists with his, your pussy squeezes around his thick shaft, and Johnny sinks against you, pressing you into the mattress, your legs and his tangle together.
God, you feel amazing together, you can’t help but think. The way your bodies move, the way Johnny hits all the right spots, the way your pussy is squeezing around him. It’s like you were made for each other.
He's still pouring praises against your lips as you cum, as you find yourself floating in this blissed out space where the only sounds you can make are moans of his name and burbles of pleasure as he coaxes your body to squirt for him once again.
He cums almost immediately after, filling the condom while his mouth is crushed to yours, body attempting to bury himself fully inside you.
You don't feel like you're ever coming down from this high.
Johnny pulls away, leaving your skin tingling in the absence of his heat, your body feeling slightly hollow, but almost before you can draw breath to complain, he returns. Johnny softens his lips against yours, his arms slide around you, and you just gasp slightly in surprise when he lifts you from the bed.
"I can walk," you protest.
"I'm sure you can," Johnny agrees, "But, it's my personal belief that it's rude to make someone you just gave multiple orgasms to walk to the bath you're drawing for them."
"A bath?" You ask as Johnny steps through a doorway in his bedroom.
"Continuing the night of romance." Johnny carefully sits you back on your feet, and you look around at the room he's brought you to.
The bathroom is spacious, cool slate tiles beneath your feet lead to a bathtub that's set into the floor. There's a ridiculously large glassed-in shower off to one side, a double vanity, a doorway that you suspect leads into a walk-in closet or dressing room, and then a small doorway through which you can see a toilet. The far wall is entirely glass, overlooking the streets below, the city's lights glow off the clouds which aren't really so far away up here in Johnny's apartment.
You're tempted to walk over to the window and look down, but before you can attempt it, Johnny's arm snakes around your waist, his lips press against your hair.
"The bath?" His words rumble through his chest against your back.
You turn your attention back to the bath, noting that steam rises as the bath fills, clouds of bubbles float and grow across the surface. A faint relaxing scent puts you a little more at ease as you approach the bath.
Johnny moves around the bathroom as you sink into the warm, fragrant bath. The heat encases you, and you immediately tip your head back against the edge, relaxed, watching Johnny stride naked around the room.
Before, you didn't really get the chance to admire him, not in detail.
As Johnny (once again, falling victim to a cliche) lights candles around the bathroom to give the space a certain air of ambiance, you drink in the sight of his tall frame. His long legs, his broad shoulders, the perkiness of his ass, and when he turns to look at you from over his shoulder, you sink down up to your cheeks in the water.
"Enjoying the view?" Johnny teases, and then he swings around to fully face you. You swear he strikes a pose, a Greek god gilded in candle light, carved to perfection. You take note of the ink tattooed at his shoulder and down over his bicep, something you'd not noticed at all before.
You hold your breath, keeping only your eyes above the water as Johnny strides closer. God, you can't get enough of looking at him. You've always been mesmerized by his good looks when he was fully clothed, but seeing him like this is just beyond anything else.
He joins you, long limbs sliding beneath the water, bumping against yours, and at last you rise up as he settles in. Bubbles cling to your skin as you stand up, and now it's Johnny's turn to tilt his head back against the edge of the tub and watch you.
"It's been a while since I've had this with anyone," you admit to Johnny. "I'm allowing myself to be very open with you, letting myself want and taking what I want." His fingers curl against your calf beneath the water. "Johnny, I don't think I can tell you the last time I let a guy actually like just look at me naked."
The last several hook-ups you'd had and even the few brief relationships, you'd just had sex and then been done. No cuddling. No showers or baths or just sitting there to be with each other. There's been several of your hook-ups that you'd only had sex in the dark, halfway clothed or beneath the covers, him never seeing your body.
But with Johnny, you want him to see all of you.
You're standing here now in this bath, bubbles sloughing down your body, leaving nothing but glistening damp skin behind.
"I think I'm probably luckier than I even considered," Johnny says. "You're beautiful and sweet and sexy, and I am honored that you feel good enough around me to be so open, to be naked -- both literally and not so literally."
"Maybe it's just because I've wanted you for so long," you admit, feeling the heat rise in your face, "Because, in truth, we barely know each other, but at no point today have I hesitated to trust you."
A soft stillness fills the space between you and Johnny, a quiet that feels so full of something that you can't quite identify in the moment. Emotion, maybe. Johnny's eyes dart back and forth between yours, but you're still standing above him, and even as your skin prickles and your nipples draw tight in the cold, you keep standing there, loving the way it feels to be admired by him.
"Come here," Johnny requests after a moment.
This time when you lower yourself into the bath, you sit in Johnny's lap. He caresses your cheek, the bubbles tickling as they pop against your skin, but that hardly matters as Johnny kisses you. His lips and tongue and the subtle nip of his teeth against your bottom lip distract you from everything else.
You could have stayed in that bath for hours until the bubbles disappear and the water sits cold and your fingers and toes are pruned. Truly, you don't know how long the pair of you stay there tangled in the warm water, tasting each others skin and whispering to each other, tracing each others outlines in the flickering light of the candles. There's a lot of kissing and touching and quiet words, and even a little bit of washing up -- Johnny's hands in your hair, massaging shampoo through the strands, laughing as he shapes the suds into a mohawk on top of your head.
Eventually, the pair of you separate, pulling out of the water, and wrapping in towels.
Johnny disappears through the doorway that you correctly guessed leads to a large closet. He lends you a shirt of his, and once you re-enter his bedroom, you unbury your panties from where they'd somehow ended up beneath his bed.
You'd be happy to just snuggle right into his big bed, to burrow into the sheets with him beside you, to sleep until late in the morning, but as you climb into the bed, you notice someone's already there.
"Who's this?" You ask, reaching for a stuffed animal plushie that's resting against the pillows. "I wouldn't have expected this of you, Johnny."
The poor thing, you think as you bring it closer so you can get a better look. It had to play witness to you and Johnny fucking, its innocent eyes stare at you. It's so soft, a little pink nose, dark eyes, floppy ears, a pale blue ribbon is tied around its throat, and as you look even closer, you see that there's embroidery on the bottom of one of its feet.
In blue thread to match the ribbon at its neck, two letters are embroidered.
"Give me that," Johnny says, a little more roughly than he's spoken to you all evening. The bunny disappears from your hands, and Johnny carefully places it on his bedside table.
Something in his reaction pricks at you. And the letters on its foot....
His name is Johnny Suh, you've known that almost since the first time you laid eyes on him, courtesy of him being a rewards member at the cafe, and because of the coworker that recognized him as a celebrity. His initials are JS.
And those aren't the letters on the foot of the bunny.
Suddenly, there's an odd feeling in your belly, a strange sinking as you look around. Things that you'd barely allowed yourself to notice before now click into place.
Two bedside tables, both of them occupied with personal items. The double vanity in the bathroom had two sets of toothbrushes and toothpaste. Two sets of car keys had hung beside the door when you first entered the apartment. This apartment is lived in by two people.
"Johnny." Your voice has a little bit of ice to it as you pose your next question, "Whose bunny is that?"
"It belongs to my partner." Johnny admits without hesitation, no shame.
You climb off the bed and reach for your discarded dress without another word.
"Wait!" Johnny calls, reaching for you as you try to slip by him. "Wait, I can explain."
You feel so stupid. You can't look at him as angry, embarrassed tears burn at your eyes. He'd just looked you in the eye as you told him that you'd not been so open and honest and vulnerable with anyone in a long time, and the whole time he's in a relationship? He's going to take you out and wine and dine you, impress you with cheesy romantic shit like drinking wine in front of the fireplace and candlelit baths, when he's got a partner?
"I don't think I want to hear it." You pull your arm out of his reach.
He follows as you walk away, trying to slide your dress back up your legs as you walk, scanning the room for any sign of your shoes and your coat, your purse. Johnny's saying things, but you can't listen right now, too overwhelmed with shame and anger and embarrassment and guilt to process any of what he's saying.
You pull off the shirt he'd lended to you when you've finally got your dress slid back up into place. You launch the shirt at his face, and Johnny – mid-sentence, trying to convince you to hear him out – catches it.
You slide on your shoes, grab your coat from where you'd draped it over the back of a chair along with your purse, and without looking back, you walk out of Johnny's apartment, and let the door slam shut behind you.
a/n: So that was kinda a shitty ending BUT! don't hold it against him too much! Everything isn't always as it seems, especially since Y/N ran out without giving Johnny a chance to explain at all. Chapter two should be coming soon!
Also, I originally wrote this to post it on Valentine's Day, inspired extremely loosely by this interaction I had with one of the regulars at my job lol (as in he comes in all the time, works for a couple hours, is decently handsome, and we had this moment of eye contact on Valentine's Day this year, but lmao he's like a pastor and does not flirt but something about that moment that day got my creativity flowing), but then the idea got far too big to write in one day, and then it expanded to include what the future chapters will hold lol so here is chapter one finally almost half a year later. And I also have a funny story about the inspiration behind chapter 2/a funny coincidence that occurred weeks after I had written what happens in chapter 2
summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.
but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.
pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader
genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, a LOT of angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs, other chapter specific tags
back into reading bts fics (why has the nct fic space been kinda dry lately 😭😭) and omg this is so good, the unspoken words and the tension!! i’m usually not a fan of exes to lovers trope because a lot of the ones i’ve read come from a toxic ex kinda situation, but this one is built on pure misunderstandings and miscommunication
“Who do I gotta fuck for barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter around here?”
PAIRING: Chenle x Fem!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Four days, three broke girls, two possible outcomes, and one solution. What are you willing to sacrifice in exchange for a night seeing a long-awaited Juno pose five feet away from your eyeballs? Your dignity, probably because it just so happens that one (1) Chenle Zhong could be the solution to your current girl problem. Only, you don’t really do well with charity. Nothing in life was free and everything had a price, but Chenle likes to think differently—that he's simply helping a friend out. Like the many times he did before. There should be sugar-daddy-sugar-baby joke around here somewhere.
alternatively: ‘three dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyyy’.’ — ‘A sugar-daddy (kinda) au with no age-gap, but with a financial gap that no one asked for’.
WORD COUNT: 15.5K
NOTE: first Chenle fic kinda nervous but also excited because I've been wanting to write for pookie for a loooong long while!! So I gathered all the remaining brain cells I have and came up with this hot garbage (affectionate). This is legitimately the most unserious piece of fiction I’ve written so far, so if you’re in the mood for some fun and entertainment centered around vibes n mild-horniness you’ve come to the right place! The title comes from a song with the same title which is funny to me because the song itself (Credit Card Baby by Wham!) is the complete opposite of the story I'm telling here LMAO
CONTENT TAGS & WARNINGS: mildly suggestive themes (as in, there's very little implication to sex and masturbation here if it bothers anybody. Just to put it out there so proceed with caution), crude jokes and language, crack treated seriously, comedy, college au, fluff, friends to a secret third thing, sugar daddy au (kinda), Chenle majors in business, MC majors in architecture, everyone yaps a lot... for some reason, Chenle’s also a micro-celebrity (streams and posts on TikTok), brief discussion of OnlyFans, but I am in no way encouraging it.
DISCLAIMER: none of this is meant to represent anyone in real life. This is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only.
According to an article you’d come across, an OnlyFans creator earned an average of one-hundred-eighty dollars a month. Multiply that four or five times, you’d have enough for one ticket.
“Alright,” you sighed, bringing your knees up as your eyes glued to what laid out in a neat pile right before you and the girls you lived with. “how much do we have all together?”
“Twenty-seven dollars and thirty cents. One banana flavored condom. Three sticks of gum—a chewed piece of gum, ew—a crumpled tissue and a… hairball.”
Jesus. This was getting ridiculous.
“Fantastic!” You clapped, looking at both girls with a wide smile and desperate eyes. “Anything else?”
“A maxed out credit card,” Minjeong sniffed as she threw the offending piece of useless plastic onto the pathetic pile. “That’s all we have to our names combined. We’re broke as shit.”
No, really. You had everything you needed for a flourishing career of flashing your nether regions to the world behind a paywall.
A laptop with a webcam. A pretty face. A small collection of toys. Very small. A pink two-in-one vibrating dildo the girls had gotten you as a gag gift for your birthday still in its packaging type of small. Vaguely resembling a swirly ice pop you’d get on a hot summer day, and you had lovingly named it ‘Pinky’ before it had gotten shoved into the depths of your drawer, never to be seen again.
Your imaginary audience probably wouldn't mind, right? So long as they’d get an eyeful of a pretty girl playing out starved men’s depraved fantasies.
Then again, the idea didn’t seem too hard in theory considering how far gooners were willing to throw a couple of dollars for a five seconds long clip. They wouldn’t even notice the difference between an overexaggerated moan resembling a cat’s mating yowl and a genuine moan of pleasure, far too busy jerking it until their keyboards were dank from their own mess. You’d be earning enough to broaden your pathetic sex toy collection.
Simple-minded people were easy customers and you sure had no problems capitalizing off of that.
It was a good plan. A perfect long-term plan even, if it didn’t earn less than minimum wage and if you weren’t racing against time.
“This sucks,” Yizhuo whined, throwing her head back and staring forlornly at the ceiling. “Where the hell are we gonna get that kind of money in four days?”
Minjeong raised a groomed eyebrow. “Can’t you ask your parents? Say it’s an emergency or something.”
Yizhuo’s head lolled to the side, frowning at her. “They still have me cut off, remember?”
And the thought wasn’t just devastating to Yizhuo who, up until a few months ago, had been living the life of a spoiled princess with the world right in the palms of her dainty, never-worked-in-her-life hands. Naturally, being the closest to Yizhuo where you all were practically sisters, you and Minjeong were tangled up in the punishment as well. That meant leeching off of her and her unlimited access to her parents’ money was ineffective until she learned her lesson.
After all, she was the reason why you and Minjeong had a roof above your head because apparently buying a house out-of-pocket was much more cost-efficient than renting, leaving you girls the responsibility of paying for groceries and sparing you just enough to spend for personal items. Yizhuo handled the rest as she had become somewhat of a sugar mommy.
“Apparently Daddy thought I was being very irresponsible with their money.” Yizhuo rolled her eyes. “Whatever that means—that I spend most of my time shopping rather than studying, which is so stupid when I already know the business like I know Daddy’s card details by heart! Why should I go to university when I’m set for life?”
She had gotten a job a week after spending what was left of her savings in a fit of panic. Lavishly, one could say, where the amount of clothes, bags, makeup and accessories had your eyes bugging out at the exorbitant prices printed on each receipt. Minjeong hadn’t been responsive all throughout. You didn’t think she was breathing either when she stared hard at a receipt from Prada.
Lucky for Yizhuo, Minjeong’s job at a thrift store had recently let go one of their former employees after her boss had caught them doing lines in the break room.
It was perfect for Yizhuo, low effort as she’d be manning the cashier and would occasionally keep the racks in stock. And best of all, she won’t be alone. She’d be with Minjeong which also came as a relief to you since it was a huge adjustment from not lifting a finger all her years on Earth thus far, to suddenly contributing enough to keep your mouths fed for at least twice a day.
“Wow,” Minjeong drawled, “your life must be so hard.”
“Ugh,” Yizhou groused, crossing her arms as she leaned against the foot of the couch with a moue reminding you of a spoiled child being told ‘no’. “You don’t even know.”
Judging by the look on Minjeong’s face, she was not having Yizhou’s tone-deafness in the slightest, and while you silently shared the sentiment—that the youngest of the household could have refrained from flaunting her privileged life, you didn’t want any casualties that could potentially turn into a court case. Because as sweet as Yizhuo was, she could be just as evil and vindictive to anyone that wronged her in some way.
“At least your parents let us keep the house,” you joked, patting Yizhuo’s knee with a smile. She at least appeared genuinely apologetic by the situation. “Any ideas on how we could get at least fifteen hundred dollars for three barricade tickets in”—you glanced at your calendar app—“four days?”
“Girl, you are asking for a goddamn miracle,” Minjeong sighed, “even Jesus took three days to resurrect.”
You nodded sagely and added, “took him six days to create the world,” which got a confused noise from Yizhuo.
“I thought it took seven?”
Minjeong shook her head. “No. He rested on the seventh day. Didn’t you go to Sunday School?”
“Not really. I barely lasted half a day.”
Well, all of you were definitely losing the plot here, quoting holy scripture, or whatever, but Minjeong was right; none of you were divine beings capable of pulling miracles out of your proverbial asses in time when the goddamn concert was in four days.
One could argue that you were given a long enough timeframe to save up for pre-sale, but when you had a friend like nepo-baby heiress Yizhuo Ning who had connections everywhere, it was guaranteed that you'll get the best seats at a concert of a big-named artist with her influence regardless of the limited time frame. Perhaps backstage passes if Yizhuo liked them enough. And she liked this one. A lot. She could never resist Sabrina Carpenter’s big blue eyes and bouncy blonde curls.
So, no. None of you had the forethought of pulling out the ‘Saving Up For A Concert For Dummies’ manual. Not when you had Yizhuo and her endless pockets full of hard cash to fall back onto.
Then she lost access (temporarily) to the Ning family vault, with barely anything saved up from her job because her spending problem wouldn’t vanish with just a snap of her father’s fingers, apparently. Now here you were: sitting in a circle on the plush, mauve, floral embossed carpeting that must have costed a fortune with crumpled dollar bills and junk you found deep in your purses like you were all trying out a crude summoning ritual for fat wads of cash.
Nothing could get worse than this. You’ve been through worse than this.
“We could sell feet pics?”
“Hell no. Feet freak me the fuck out,” Minjeong shivered.
You plucked the condom from the pile and lifted it up at face-level. “Would a used condom sell a lot to some weirdo freak out there?”
“Maybe,” Yizhuo replied the same time Minjeong said, in absolute disbelief that one of you would ever think of something so unhygienic, “I wouldn’t know, I’m a lesbian.”
“Yeah, no.” You wrinkled your nose. “You would not catch me pulling out a condom with some guy’s jizz in it from the trash. Ew.”
“How about a sugar daddy?”
“Eh. I’m not really into older men.”
“You saying you wouldn’t let the guy who played M-C-U Bucky Barnes hit?”
“Oh sure,” you said, sarcasm dripping thickly with each word that followed, “let me just hit up my buddy, my pal, Sebastian Stan on Instagram. Maybe I should call his phone number too! Y’know, the number that I don’t have.”
“Okay, sheesh. You don’t need to be so mean about it,” Minjeong mumbled.
“Oh! OnlyFans!” Yizhuo suggested with reverence as if she figured out how to attain world peace, earnest as her eyes rounded with excitement. “I’ve heard plenty of success stories. It can’t be too hard for any of us.”
A beat of silence, and then—
“Not it!” Minjeong exclaimed, touching the pad of her index finger to the tip of her nose.
“Not it!” came Yizhuo’s shrill voice a close second, copying Minjeong.
“Not it—fuck!” you wailed, half from being the sacrificial lamb and half because you smacked yourself in the fucking face from momentary panic which the girls didn’t seem to catch, too busy shrieking and hugging each other in relief. “No fair.”
“Oh, I think it’s plenty fair,” Minjeong shrugged, pressing her cheek against Yizhuo’s. “You were just slow.”
“And if anything, this’ll be easy for you!” Yizhuo cheered.
“Easy? okay—this“—you motioned wildly to your own body—“isn’t for the masses.”
Minjeong snorted. “Oh, sure. Tell that to the three guys you keep on rotation.”
“They’re just three guys. God forbid a girl has a healthy sex-life,” you whined. It was either wither away when you weren’t agonizing over your Architectural Design course—any of your courses, really—or fuck around with the guys you’ve met through mutual friends as your mode of relief. “and why does it have to be me? I’m sure either of you could pull off being an O-F model.”
“One,” Minjeong raised a finger, “don’t ever call me that. Even if it’s in a hypothetical sense. And two, the thought of men being the majority of my audience unnerves me. I don’t think you could make it so only women could see me, so fuck that.”
“Fine. I’ll allow it.” You turned to Yizhuo with an expectant look. “What about you?”
She returned it with an unimpressed one, bordering on disbelief the longer you stared at her, waiting to say her piece.
“You’re kidding, right?” No, you were not. Was there a joke hidden in those three words forming a question? Not that you knew of, so you gestured for Yizhuo to get on with the program. “I’m like, the last person you should send to the wolves.”
“Why not?” You pouted. “You’re like, the most charismatic of us three. Got a pretty face too, if that wasn’t obvious enough.”
“Uh-huh, yeah—calling me pretty won’t change my mind,” Yizhuo said, firm and that meant she won’t tolerate any more of your pushing, yet the pretty blush tinting her cheeks told you enough that you almost got through her. “I’m an heiress to one of the largest Chinese conglomerates back home. How’d you think that would look for me?”
Bad, I’m guessing, and you knew this first-hand.
There was an approximate six-thousand mile distance from where Yizhuo was brought up to where all three of you resided, yet that didn’t stop the Chinese media from getting their updates on how Yizhuo Ning was faring as an international college student.
You had a few run-ins with the paparazzi just dying to get dirt on Harbin’s sweetheart, fought with some too which had caused quite a buzz on both Weibo and Xiaohongshu when pictures of Yizhuo stumbling down the stairs of a frat house, looking drop-dead gorgeous were shared. No one could tell she was barely clinging onto sobriety. Or that she had already emptied her stomach twice in one of Sigma Chi’s bathrooms and a plant that surely had seen better days being under the care of jaunty frat boys who barely knew the concept of photosynthesis.
There was also a handful of you elbowing one of the paparazzi in the face when they had gotten too close. Your face, thankfully, had been blurred out. Same with Minjeong’s who had been trying her absolute damndest to keep you from getting aggravated assault charges while being tipsy herself.
If they had somehow caught wind of Yizhuo being involved in something so obscene—and you knew they would eventually—her life would be over. And yours. And Minjeong’s, because God forbid her parents might as well treat you as their own children with how often their darling daughter talked about you during their weekly check-up calls.
“And my parents would literally kill me if they found out their only daughter isn’t as virginal as they thought!”
“But you haven’t been a virgin since sophomore year.”
Yizhuo rolled her eyes. “They don’t know that, obviously.”
“And so that leaves me to be the breadwinner of this fucking household,” you said, heaving a conceding sigh. “God I hate you rich people.”
“I know you do. You say ‘eat the rich’ at least three times a day like it’s ‘grace’.” Yizhuo didn’t even sound remotely annoyed by your diss, basking in the relief of not taking your place and sacrificing her dignity. “It’s just until we get the tickets. Then you can be boring and gate-keep yourself until we have to slut you out again.”
“My body is a temple,” you said, feigning offense as you crossed your arms, cupping your breasts in a protective hold while Minjeong cackled. “Besides, OnlyFans might be easy on paper, but executing it? Four days won’t be enough. There are many factors involved and engagement won’t be that easy from how oversaturated it is. I’d be a no name. It’d probably take me months to get the amount we need and Miss ‘have you ever tried this one?’ would be in Europe by then.”
“And you did the math for that?”
“Only since we took all the shit out of our purses.”
“Right, because you always do the math for everything.”
“It’s a reflex.” You shrugged. You could even say it had been ingrained in you, haunted by the fact you almost failed Calculus I. You struggled less with it now, spending all summer drilling numerous Youtube tutorials into your brain and electing one of your classmates as your tutor. “How do you think we’ve survived this long without your parents’ money?”
Yizhuo shrugged. “Fair enough. Nerd.”
She gets a pillow to the face for that.
“Well,” you said with a clap. “If that’s all, I gotta go in”—you glanced at your watch and then panicked as you scrambled to get up—“five minutes ago. Fuck, I’m gonna be late!” The pop in your knees made you wince when getting on your two feet, making a bee-line towards your bedroom and stumbling over Minjeong’s thighs in the process.
“For a dick appointment?”
“If you count AutoCad fucking up my chances for a four-point-oh, then sure.”
So maybe you had lied about the dick appointment, but in your defense, you actually had shit to do.
It just so happened Renjun also majored in Architecture, and that you shared all of your classes with him because if you were walking into five years of hell, you sure as hell weren’t going to suffer alone. You were simply hitting two birds with one stone.
If only those two hypothetical birds you hypothetically murdered coughed up fat wads of cash enough for three tickets, then you’d be set.
You let out a defeated sigh. “I need fifteen hundred bucks.”
Renjun, who just got back from a shower, blinked at the bold request.
“Say that again? You need how much?”
“Fifteen hundred bucks,” you repeated.
Renjun's face twisted as he stuck his pinky into his ear and wiggled it around. “I’m definitely hearing things ‘cause there’s no way.”
You rolled your neck to blankly stare at him. “I can say it again in Mandarin, if you want.”
“Please don’t,” Renjun shook his head, not minding that you were trying really hard to set him on fire with your eyes. “That’s like, using what I taught you for evil.”
“Well that’s too damn bad,” and you repeated what you said in near flawless Mandarin.
The conversation should have ended there. He just had the most underwhelming orgasm to-date due to whatever weird headspace you were in throughout your—ahem—session that made it less passionate and more robotic, but getting blue-balled was considerably worse than having to act as your last-minute financial adviser.
He simply could ignore anything that had just left your mouth when your attention was set onto the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling, but the unfortunate thing was that Renjun was nothing but indulgent at the moment.
Dregs of lust in his brain prevented any of his usual no-nonsense approach and it certainly didn’t help that he could never say no to a girl—a pretty girl, no less—no matter how insufferable they were. Specifically you with his sheets wrapped around your still naked body. Renjun was still a man, and his IQ could still lose a few points if a girl so much looked his way.
Since you were both things, a girl and pretty, he calmly graced your dilemma with an answer.
“I can only give you orgasms, I’m afraid.” He said with a pout you knew was meant to be patronizing, mocking almost, especially with a detached lilt to his voice.
This wasn’t new to you as it was one of his methods to get under your skin. He knew you hated it, and you could definitely tell he’d prefer to discuss something else. Or nothing at all, but he had already poked the bear which meant he had to listen to you whinge until you either 1.) get it out of your system yourself or 2.) or he did something about it, and Renjun knew exactly the choice he made, yet that obviously didn’t work.
“What’s the fifteen hundred for anyway?” he conceded, barely tampering down the reluctance of circling back on your current financial struggles while rubbing his hair dry.
“Barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter,” you said shifting onto your side so you could face him properly. “VIP too if possible. For me, Ningning and Minjeong.”
He closed his eyes, jaw clenching. Saying other girls’ names post-coitus should be considered an act of violation or something, but he digressed.
“I thought Yizhuo got you tickets already?” His eyes snapped open to regard you with a lost look. “Before the whole cutting her off from her parents’ money fiasco?”
“Well, no one was really expecting her to go broke. She didn’t think it was a priority when she could just get the tickets last minute.”
“And since they took away access…”
“No money for us until further notice.”
Both of his eyebrows rose at the sheer ridiculousness of Yizhuo, self-proclaimed number one Sabrina shooter who could not go one day without singing Feather as much as her lungs could take, not being able to cop tickets. “The concert is in four days.”
“Oh don’t I know it.” When it rang like a giant alarm in your head, it was hard to not think about it. “I’m thinking of taking out a loan from my bank.”
“Absolutely not,” he snapped and tossed his damp towel onto your face. You shrieked and clawed it away because, ew, gross. “No way in hell are you going into debt because of a concert. Are you fucking crazy?”
“It’s not like I can ask someone to buy them for me either!”
Renjun just barely resisted the urge to groan at the fact your persistent yapping almost ruined your then stellar bed chem.
“Like, who would be dumb enough to buy me a ticket? Let alone three?”
It’s surprising how you were able to come up with coherent sentences aftergetting your brains fucked out, but Renjun had always thought you were a weird one. Stamina on good days, yet a common cold could have you acting like you were knocking on death’s door.
“I’m sure I can name at least one person,” he said, thoughtful.
“Does this person have two-toned hair, perchance?” you wheedled, rolling onto your stomach to cup both of your cheeks with your hands looking like a flower in bloom for him. “Is his name Renjun Huang? A-K-A my favorite guy in the whole wide world?”
“You’re cute,” Renjun snorted, sitting on the foot of his bed. “But no.”
Your bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “You’re no fun.”
“There’s Jaemin,” he offered.
You grimaced. “Too needy.”
“Haechan?”
“Too mean.”
“And you still go to that asshole?” Renjun asked, incredulous.
“He’s a good lay?” you offered, sheepish almost under the glare of his disbelief and the full force of his eyebrows. “C’mon, at least one ticket for your best girl?” you cooed, laying it on thick with a flutter of your eyelashes. “The other two can probably work something out.”
Minjeong and Yizhuo were your girls. No one could ever doubt the love you had for them, being housemates for two years and counting, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It’s every man (well, woman) for themselves and if there was an opportunity right in front of you, might as well take it.
“Yeah…” he trailed off with a wince and you already didn’t like what he was about to say when he glimpsed at you and then at some random spot behind. “about that—“
“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” you ground out.
Renjun pretended like he hadn't heard you. “Someone from the student association gave me a ticket.”
“And you’re going?” You hoped he wasn’t.
As if he read your mind, Renjun’s mouth parted in offense. “It’s Sabrina Carpenter. It’s a great opportunity to clout chase.”
Oh he was definitely going to be insufferable on Instagram, talking about it for days on end. Just like you would be.
“Seriously?” you exclaimed, both hands covering your face, muffling your scream. This felt way worse than the time you almost didn’t meet the deadline of a plate submission that made up a large chunk of your grade. “Is everyone and their goddamn moms going except me?”
“Guess so.”
You peeled your hands away to Renjun scrolling through his phone in mild interest.
“Can you at least pretend to feel sorry for me?”
Renjun let his phone drop in between his crossed legs. “My condolences that you won’t get to see Sabrina do her Juno pose five feet away from you.”
“You’re the worst,” you groaned, sitting up and holding the blanket tightly to preserve your modesty. “I’m literally out of options and you’re already kickstarting the FOMO.”
“And what were your”—he waved absently to the air—“options exactly?”
“There was the OnlyFans route—and before you say anything else,” you gave Renjun a look that was sharp enough to make him think twice about his needling. He said nothing, thankfully, but his pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows said a lot. “yes, I did the math and we all agreed—surprisingly—that it would be impossible to earn that amount of money before the concert. Then Minjeong suggested a sugar daddy, but I’m not really up for being a geraitric’s pretty play-thing. What if he dies mid-sex—”
You got cut off from Renjun doubling over with laughter. “Sugar daddy? Why don’t you just ask Chenle then?”
“Why should I ask Chenle?”
“Why shouldn’t you ask Chenle?”
“That’s why I’m asking you,” you quipped back.
Renjun laughed again. A rich, belly-deep equal parts loud and grating. “You cannot be this dense,” he said as he calmed down. “I just mean—you guys are close, right? Close enough that he bought you a replacement T-square.” He watched you, amused, as you considered the question. Renjun can almost see the gears turning in your head, chin resting in his palm and using his leg to balance his elbow.
“It was an emergency,” you stressed with an eye-roll, though you didn’t exactly fight the fond smile settling on your lips at the memory of Chenle getting rung up for a new sixty-four-inch long acrylic T-square while you perused the rows upon rose of cute stationery. You hadn’t meant for your old one to snap cleanly in half, but when there was a guy who didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and, well, there was a reason why the running joke of a T-square doubling as a weapon was still relevant to this day.
“Doesn’t he pay for you guys when you hang out?”
Renjun snorted. “Sure. If you count him demanding us to Venmo him later.”
“Huh. He usually just pays for us both.”
Actually, now that you’ve thought about it, his housemates hadn’t ever gotten the privilege of Chenle covering for any of their expenses, much less a cheap meal from a well loved hole-in-the-wall restaurant. You didn’t think it was favoritism either. Was that a thing in friendships too? You had no idea, and you never had to ask when Chenle never thought twice to remind the waiter or waitress that he was paying for two. For me and her—he would nod his head towards you—only and leave the rest to settle their shared bill among themselves.
“Huh.” you repeated.
“Yeah-huh,” Renjun echoed with one corner of his mouth lifted up in a smirk. “Seriously, if you’re that desperate to see Sabrina up close, I’m sure he can work something out for you. What’s fifteen hundred gonna do?”
You both knew the answer to that. Nothing, because although Chenle wasn’t as high profile as Yizhuo and her family was, you had a vague idea on how deep his pockets ran if he barely spared a glance at his receipt from Gucci for a track-suit set he’d been meaning to get. He might as well have slapped you in the face with a thick stack of one-hundreds.
It would have invoked the same feeling of being too poor to even breathe inside the store and it had been a relief you thought of dressing up that day too despite the fact you’ve pulled an all-nighter to complete a handful of plates for design class the night before. You were at least spared from any judgment from the sales reps.
Still.
Renjun clicked his tongue, sensing your mental turmoil. “Just ask him. If he says no, then there’s your answer.”
Just ask him. Easy for Renjun to suggest when he wasn’t the one stewing away in a puddle of anxiety. He already had a ticket! Of course he’d think nothing of it.
Walking into Yizhuo’s obscenely large living room, you were once again reminded how excessive it was.
There was a grand piano in there, for fuck’s sake, in the far end after the actual living area with the plush seating, yet none of you could play any elaborate musical pieces except for Twinkle Twinkle Litter Star. Right next to it was a sunken conversation pit with a modern fireplace built into the large concrete column and there were a series of floor-to-ceiling windows and glass sliding doors encompassing the pit.
Other than overlooking the luscious, grassy backyard, the doors led straight to the deck where a round pool resided as its main attraction. There was a goddamn fountain just beside it, too. Who needs a fucking fountain in this economy anyway?
Actually, everything about the house was ridiculously extravagant for three college girls to live in. Your bedroom included. Yizhuo ended up giving you one of the bigger rooms and you were sure the drafting table you bought off of a grad student for cheap would do its job and cramp it up, but you knew the saying about gift horses and Mom raised you better than complaining about convenience being handed to you on a silver platter.
The round floor table of the conversation pit was vacant, though there were scattered papers, notebooks, textbooks and all sorts of pens on top of the reflective glass surface. That meant either one of the girls was home. Or both, as Minjeong’s and Yizhuo’s voices grew louder by each step towards the kitchen.
“Guess who might have found a solution to our ticketing problem!”
You slid onto the cushioned seats of the breakfast nook—a breakfast nook, Jesus—right across from Minjeong sipping her to-go cup of thai milk tea. She wordlessly slid on towards you. You took a generous drag of the stuff.
“Actually, it was more of Renjun’s idea—which I am effectively stealing.”
Yizhuo, who was in the middle of plating a hefty amount of pad see ew, looked like she swallowed something toe-curlingly sour. “Oh so you were with Renjun-ge.”
An easy smile curled on your lips as you lifted a shoulder to shrug, sweetly batting your eyelashes. “What can I say? The guy gives good head—” (“I did not need to know that.”) “—anyways, my idea.”
“Mine was probably better.”
“Oh yeah?” you drawled, egging Yizhuo on. “Let’s hear it then.”
“Breaking into the thrift store and stealing everything from the cash register.”
“What?”
“She claimed if her parents found out about her crimes, they’d have to bail her out from prison and then restore her money privileges,” Minjeong glared at the youngest who simply whistled to Espresso as she carried on with the food. “Then I had to remind her of her reputation.”
“Good thing you did ‘cause that’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” you said and you made sure it showed on your face as Yizhuo wilted underneath your tangible disappointment that she would even risk an integral part of her privileged life when she had used it as a counter-argument to the whole OnlyFans thing. “So we’re going with my solution to our broke-ness—Chenle Zhong.”
Yizhuo did not look pleased whatsoever. “What does Caillou have to do with Sabrina Carpenter?”
You ignored Minjeong shrieking with laughter. “Chenle’s got money,” you said as if you were talking to a toddler barely getting a grasp on words having their designated meanings. “And do you know what we need to get tickets? Money, and Chenle has a lot of it.”
“It took Renjun for you to realize that Chenle could be our solution?” Yizhuo exclaimed in disbelief, head in her hands. “Oh my God—it took Renjun telling you, then you telling us that he could be our solution? How could I’ve been so stupid?”
Her head jerked upwards, ponytail swishing along and gave you a look so sharp and abrupt that you jerked in surprise. You fixed your posture so fast that your grandmother would have been proud. For once. “You’re definitely asking Chenle.”
“Uh—first of all, why me? Don’t rich people have, like, some sort of kinship with one another? Like, hey, can I borrow ten-thousand dollars? I’ll pay you back with five-percent interest.” That definitely wasn’t how deals between rich people were made, but whatever. “Second, why not you, money bags?”
“He’ll never say yes to me,” she said brusquely, clicking her tongue. “I kicked his ass a bunch of times in PUBG and he’s still bitter about it. It’s not my fault he sucks absolute balls. There’s like, a compilation of him complaining on stream about how I was cheating”—Yizhuo made air quotations—“on TikTok. It’s so funny. Actually, I’ll send you the link—”
You turned your gaze towards Minjeong for help, eyes widened a fraction for an added pathetic flair as the younger one focused on scrolling through the damn app.
“Don’t look at me. Chenle’s just cheap with everyone—actually, maybe except for you,” Minjeong pointed a long, black almond tipped nail in your direction. “the favorite.”
“You say it like it’s an insult.” You slurped your milk tea at an obnoxious volume, shrinking in your seat. “Maybe he’s just nicer to me because I’m nice to him unlike you two.”
“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Minjeong said, eyeing you curiously.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She moved her gaze elsewhere. “Nothing.”
You squinted. “Uh-huh.”
“Anyways,” she said, pointedly keeping her gaze forward. “He started it. I asked him if I could borrow money for my Lyft and he laughed in my face.”
You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from laughing too because, yeah, the image was a little funny. “You’re exaggerating,” you said evenly.
Yizhuo made a half-wince, half-smile sorta thing with her face. “Are we though?”
“Lele’s not that much of an asshole,” you defended. “He drives me home. You could have hitched a ride with us is all I’m saying. And if I can remember correctly, he still gave you more than enough for your Lyft.”
“He didn’t have to laugh at me, then.” Minjeong looked like she was heavily debating whether she should smack you upside the head, or not. “For someone smart, you’re real stupid.”
You frowned. “Hey.”
The argument still carried on deep in your weekly ‘everything shower’.
“Face it, babe. He’s like your personal A-T-M.”
“Chenle doesn’t always get me things.”
You were aching in places you never knew existed as you passed the foamy loofah over your skin, yet the girls had denounced what it meant to have boundaries, making themselves at home in your bathroom to prove their joint points.
Yizhuo scoffed from where she sat on top of the closed lid of the toilet. “The shampoo you used earlier? That was imported from Japan.”
“So? He noticed I ran out the last time he was here. It’s just shampoo.”
“From Japan,” Yizhuo countered.
You pulled a face. “Is that supposed to mean anything? It’s fucking shampoo.”
She just threw her hands up in the air, visibly annoyed.
“And the body wash you’re using? From Chenle.” Minjeong piped up from the separated bathtub, pointed at the towels hanging on the towel warmer and added, “The bath towel set? Chenle.”
“Alright, fine, maybe—”
“The year’s supply of assorted sheet masks in the fridge we use?” she offered.
“The gargantuan tin of tea leaves you’ve mentioned you liked.”
“Okay. I get it—”
“A new backpack because your old one ripped at the seams.”
“Your underwear—”
“Hah!” You pointed triumphantly in Minjeong’s direction. “No, he hasn’t bought me any.”
“Not yet,” girl-in-bathtub emphasized, resting her chin on top of her arm propped on the tub’s edge. “Shit, he probably bought everything you own.”
“Okay, now you’re definitely exaggerating.” You snorted, walking into the spray of the shower to rinse off the suds. “I’m not that broke.”
“Should I also mention that if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have met us? Or that you would have been homeless?” Well, yeah, and you would have figured something out eventually, but you weren’t expecting Yizhuo to bring that up to one-up you in an argument.
“I can’t believe you would use the ‘you would’ve been homeless if it weren’t for me’ card against me.”
“If it weren’t for Chenle, you mean,” she corrected, propping her cheek on top of her bent knee. You glared at the needless addition, though the usual effect wasn’t as strong with warm water sluicing down your face. To Yizhuo, you were definitely doing an almost perfect rendition of ‘wet cat’. “You can’t be this stupid. You’re literally his favorite. I doubt there’s another guy out there that would willingly—again, listen—willingly spend money on you.”
“Does Jaemin buying me a pack of gum the other day count?”
“Oh my fucking God, you’re hopeless.”
Minjeong shrugged. “Maybe he was lowkey telling you your breath stinks.” (“Ex-fucking-scuse you?”) “Didn’t Chenle buy you a ring that looked like a bent nail?”
“As a gift, yeah?” Your wince was immediate the moment Yizhuo gasped at your confirmation.
“That was Cartier!” She whipped out her phone from fuck knows where and showed you the website and its price. Did she have that tab open all this time just for a ‘gotcha!’ moment? Jeez, she scared you sometimes. “Look—Juste un Clou ring. Classic model. I would’ve given you rose gold, personally, but the white gold looks pretty too,” she mumbled, nodding approvingly. “He knows his stuff, at least.”
“Viola!” You turned to Minjeong making jazz hands with flourish. “If he can blow three grand on you without blinking, fifteen hundred would be nothing.”
You let out a heavy sigh, rinsing the loofah free from the suds. “How sure are we that there are any tickets left? Last I heard, three nights sold out.”
“It’s Chenle. He has connections everywhere. He’ll probably end up tracking scalpers too if he could help it.” She weighed her own words for a moment. “As long as you’re the one asking.”
“If you say so,” you trailed off, still not entirely convinced even by her radiating certainty.
“Uh-oh.” Yizhuo promptly sat up. “That’s not good. What’s wrong?”
“It’s just—I feel kinda weird. Asking him. Like, I’ve never really had to ask him for… stuff before.”
“What,” the girls said in a way so dry that you most likely would have broken out in sweat with how serious their faces were right now. Thunderous even.
“What do you mean by ‘not having to ask him’?” Minjeong asked, deathly calm.
“Just as I said. He just does it on his own. Without me telling him.”
In hindsight, Chenle might have been an option right from the very start if the thought of simply asking for help financially didn’t bother you in the slightest, but that’s the thing. The idea did bother you to your very core because, again, it wasn’t like you were broke. A victim to capitalism? Absolutely.
Once you broke the news to your parents and brother about your acceptance to one of the top universities in the state on a full-ride scholarship, they had insisted on a monthly allowance. They hadn’t minded extending a helping hand at all, and it was the least they could do to lighten the burden with the condition that you should be devoted to your academics.
Consequently, you were also good with multi-tasking, so you’ve managed a healthy work-play balance so far. What your parents and brother didn’t know wont hurt them and you hadn’t given them a reason to not trust you on your own, miles away from home, either. Not yet at least.
Deciding for a part-time job was after the realization that majoring in architecture was a bit heavy on the pockets from the consistent need for materials and printing out your designs brought to life by the handful of software provided by your department. The café pay was decent, you were tipped just as okay, and you wouldn’t say no to some cash on the side. Adding that to the remnants of your monthly allowance, it was enough to buy a thing or two at the end of the month as a treat.
And then came Chenle, guns ablazing, with no qualms swiping his card on your behalf.
You never really had to ask him.
Literally.
He would already have it taken care of before you could even pluck your wallet out and split the cost. You couldn’t remember if you had a time where you outright asked (begged) him for a few bills, and if you did, you always always promised to pay him back.
That being said, Chenle wouldn’t let you fight him on it either. When his mind was already made up, it was like talking to a brick wall, standing tall and impervious to almost everything. A losing battle when you’re up against someone headstrong yet so goddamn stubborn.
That’s where your hesitation had stemmed from, because it could either go two ways: he could say no and you could kiss your chances of brushing hands with Sabrina Carpenter goodbye, which would be the best case scenario, or he’d say yes, and once he said yes, there was no turning back. A yes from Chenle was law—signed and sealed that not even expressing the preconceived regret of asking a favor would shake him.
This was entirely different from Chenle just doing whatever the fuck he wanted with his own money without any of your persuasion. You never had to ask him for anything before and the fact of the matter was, you were damn terrified of asking if Chenle could be a bro one last time and drop what was equivalent to the price of a newly released iPhone for you.
Asking him would literally be so detrimental to your conscience that you would probably go insane with guilt and you couldn’t afford getting thrown into the nearest psych-ward when you had tons of deadlines to meet.
Minjeong leaned back to stare forlornly at the ceiling. “Lord, I see the luck you’ve bestowed upon this girl so stupid.”
“Hey!” You whined.
“Congratulations on getting a sugar daddy,” Yizhuo said, dry. “Can you ask him for tickets now?”
Oh God, you thought with abject horror. What if Chenle is my sugar daddy?
Technically speaking, though, you both fit the description. Minus the ‘sugar’ part so, quasi-sugar-daddy then?
Okay, no. That’s definitely not a can of worms you’re gonna open, like, ever. Chenle just happened to be there whenever you had to go out and buy shit. Just happened to be faster whipping out his wallet than you were. After all, he’s the spry athlete while you were five cans of Monster Energy away from keeling over.
What you’d like to get into now was how this conversation developed backwards where you had to be naked and wet to get some sort of pep-talk. Was this even considered pep-talk? This was somebody else’s form of nightmare for sure.
“This is really weird,” you said, neither confirming or denying Yizhuo’s so-called congratulations as you glanced between the two girls unabashedly staring at you in your birthday suit, expecting. “Can you guys leave?”
“Nothing we’ve seen before.” You met Minjeong’s eyes for a second before they strayed to your naked breasts and back up again. “Bet Chenle would love to see you right now.”
For whatever reason, Yizhuo mirrored Minjeong’s sentiments as she bobbed her head so fast you would think the idea was exciting for her. “Only right for you to give him some sugar, too.”
“Or—get this—I don’t do that?”
“Why not?” Minjeong frowned. “You fuck anything that moves.”
“Correction: I do not. I’ve only been with, like, five guys my entire life,” you said, brandishing one hand so they would get the picture. “And Chenle’s my friend! We’re like this”—you crossed your fingers, shaking them for emphasis—“tight, y’know? Literally everything’ll change if I go… do that.”
“You and Renjun are also”—she copied your crossed fingers—“like this, but you’re still fucking.”
“Well… that’s—that’s obviously different! He doesn’t count!” you said with each word increasing in pitch.
“Oh pray tell why you wouldn’t sleep with Chenle Zhong,” Minjeong goaded. “I may not like guys, but looking at him through an objective lens, he’s one of the good ones.”
“There’s no risk with Renjun because it’s strictly casual and platonic, and I know I wouldn’t get attached and develop—” you quickly clamped your mouth shut. Shit. “Uh—um—you’re breaking up,” you blurted, closing your eyes as you stepped into the heavy downpour of the rainfall shower. “I can’t hear you,” you said, though that likely sounded like incoherent blubbering. You were sure you’ve got your point across with that piss-poor save anyway.
“We can literally see you.”
You turned your back to them. They could talk to your ass if they wanted. Out of sight, out of mind. “Not anymore, you don’t.”
You hoped that was the end of it, though it was made clear time and time again that the girls weren’t satisfied with your hedging. A growl was heard, followed by the quick plap plap plap of feet against the cold tiles. As the glass door squeaked, the brief water prison you’ve enclosed yourself in stopped soon after and you opened your eyes to a hand retracting from one of the knobs.
There was barely a second for you to complain before an undignified yelp was forced out from your throat when you were spun around to find Yizhuo’s dour face, her hands clamping down on your shoulders.
“You’re just admitting this to us now?” she said, incredulous, and a little surprised that you’ve managed to keep a crucial detail from them for this long.
“It wasn’t like an immediate thing I needed to resolve!” you argued, “but the thought was always there, I guess. Just sitting in the back of my mind until you brought up sex with Chenle. And I’m busy, in case it wasn’t obvious enough to you non-architecture majors. Never had the chance to explore it, y’know?”
Busy was the biggest understatement of the year. Your life revolved around sketching, drafting, rendering—hell, even printing your designs on sheets of paper almost (more or less) half your height had never been this stressful. Adding a part-time job to that? It was a miracle you were still kicking.
With all that combined, you didn’t have the time to give a damn about relationships running deeper than casual, less emotionally charged flings. Those were easier to manage without the messiness of feelings involved.
“Well, Dora the Explorer,” Yizhuo tendered as she handed you your heated towel. “you better start explorin’ because you’re gonna fuck him either way.”
You swiped the towel from her. “No I’m not.”
“No you’re not,” Yizhuo agreed, and maybe the shrewd glint in those beady eyes of hers was only your imagination, toweling yourself dry and wrapping it around you once you were less damp. “but at least keep it as your trump card if he gets difficult—which I’d doubt, really.”
“You guys’re that confident he’d say yes?” you mused, pushing past Yizhuo to grab the other towel for your head. “It’s gonna be so embarrassing if he says otherwise.”
“To the tickets? Or the sex?” Minjeong then heaved a dramatic gasp, eyes wide as her voice dropped to a staged whisper. “Or worse, your alleged feelings.”
You puffed out your cheeks, ignoring the rush of warmth blooming onto your face. “Now I’m hoping he says ‘no’.”
“Oh, girl, trust me when I say ‘no’ is the last thing he’ll say to you.” Yizhuo said, looking very sure of herself. “So. How soon can you get to him?”
“God I hate you rich people.”
Yizhuo beamed. “I know.”
Well, it wasn’t like you were a stranger to testing your luck.
You: wyd
Lele: ?
Lele: I’m not one of your groupies
Lele: need something?
You: wanna get groceries with me? :D
Lele: be there in 15
Lele: need to grab Daegal’s kibble too
You: ur the best ✨✨
Lele: i know i am
You: girl whatever.
Lele: ❤️
“You know, when you said groceries, I was expecting personal stuff—like skincare or some shit,” Chenle said loftily. “Pads? Tampons? God forbid a menstrual cup—“
“How do you even know what a cup is,” you muttered. “and my period ended a week ago.”
“I know.” You looked up from your work to Chenle squinting down at his phone. He caught your eye and beamed, pocketing the device. You were too afraid to ask what that was about. “We could have gone to Sephora after.”
Oh you definitely could have if you had been more specific with what groceries meant, but you simply said to take both your asses to the nearest H Mart. Cute as the thought was, you weren’t exactly in the mood to watch Chenle try and figure out which products were on your current rotation. It would have made good content for him though, a sure hit for his predominantly female fanbase, yet the looming three days left to secure tickets above your head kept you from suggesting that.
“Well, I can’t exactly cook you a five-star meal with hyaluronic acid now can I?”
He blinked and answered with a bland, “I have no idea what that is.”
You squinted at him, taking in the way he’s got his head tilted at an angle where the lighting hit one side of his pale face just right. No texture whatsoever, like a smooth, almost blank canvas marked by a singular mole on the cheek.
“‘Course you don’t,” you grunted, envious of his near perfect skin.
Chenle’s gaze slid towards the pot on the stove, then to his wooden chopping board where a humble spread of your additional ingredients had been neatly organized in small piles with two open noodle packets. “Also, that’s just your classic Shin ramyeon and some crab balls.”
“Well damn, Chenle, I’m no Gordon fucking Ramsay,” you snapped, swatting at his arm. “So ungrateful.” An elaborate recipe was out of the question when you were too busy panicking about how the hell you were going to pull this off.
(“The one thing you’re gonna ‘pull off’ is your top,” Yizhuo instructed as she followed you out the gargantuan front door. “You know how guys are with boobs. They’re like catnip for them.”
“Please don’t compare my tits to catnip.”)
He cackled, tucking himself into your side with an arm thrown around your shoulders in a side-hug. “Thank you,” he cooed, and like a cat, rubbed his head against yours. “You didn’t have to do all this, but I’d never say no to food.” You couldn’t exactly see his face like this, but you could hear his appreciation. Your heart squeezed at the press of his cheek against your temple.
See, it’s little moments in time like this were what jump-started the on-going betrayal you would never expect from your own beating heart, and Chenle made it extremely hard for you to not entertain any straying thoughts formed by the casual intimacy between you. It really didn’t help that Chenle was physically affectionate, and it especially didn’t help that you spent most of your time with him despite majoring in vastly different programs.
Starting the day with Chenle waiting in his car to take you to school, ending it with him driving you home and everything in between was a sure gateway for neutral feelings to gradually do a one-eighty. Reaching that level of comfort where you felt safe with him was just as inevitable, too. Chenle was safe. Always has been.
But for both of your sakes, it had been a conscious choice of burying yourself into your work—letting yourself get fucked over by the workload you had to do. The minor breakdowns you’ve had every time your calculations went wrong, or when color or material swatches didn’t seem to go together than you’d originally thought saved you from overthinking every single interaction with him.
You wouldn’t risk it. You couldn’t risk it.
“What’s the occasion?” Chenle prodded. Still there. Still close. Still trying his hardest to weld himself to your side that he would soon figure out something was up the moment you went stiff in his hold, but you were just as quick coming up with some bullshit excuse to save your own ass. Though it begged the question whether it will hold up against Chenle’s incessant need to stick his nose into anyone’s business.
The longer he stayed quiet, the more your nerves fried. His house—house because Chenle was a loose cannon with money like Yizhuo—was always set to a cool temperature and you wore an outfit that wasn’t meant to cover up much at all, yet you could feel yourself break into sweat the moment he pulled himself away from your space. You still stood there frozen and the pot was taking too long to fucking boil.
“No occasion!” you exclaimed, spinning on your heel to face him with the sweetest and most disarming smile you could muster at the moment. A drop of sweat trickled from your temple down to your cheek when all Chenle did was wrinkle his nose as he took a step back. “‘was just in the mood to cook… something. For you—uh, for us. I was craving ramyeon.”
“You were craving Shin ramyeon,” Chenle echoed, not looking at all convinced. “Shin ramyeon that Yizhuo has stocked in her pantry.”
“That’s why I asked you to get groceries with me,” you replied in haste. “We were running out.”
Which wasn’t a lie. Technically.
The three of you used to gorge on whatever there was in the kitchen, fridge or pantry, or DoorDash when any of you craved something specific. Key words were ‘used to’ because snack options had been limited to cheaper alternatives and what was cheaper and filling than a packet of noodles that took less than five minutes to cook? Really, it was like you were back in your freshman dorm, living off of instant noodles.
“Running out.” The more Chenle repeated whatever you said, the more you started to realize how deep of a grave you had dug for yourself. “You bought just enough for two people to eat.”
“Right.” You drawled, snapping your fingers and hitting him with the finger-guns. Might as well make yourself look even more like a jackass than you already are with the dogshit lying. “Right—so no plans later? I could use another H Mart run.”
Chenle cracked this time. “You’re a shitty liar,” your name tapered off into laughter. “You want something, don’t you? You’re never this nice to me.” He simpered with a certain type of fondness you’d usually see in people witnessing a puppy scaring itself with its own bark—he should really stop that. You were already kind of a mess from the way he’d freely insert himself in your bubble like he owned the space. You didn’t need the ooey-gooey, cavity-inducing stares to go with that too.
This was all clearly very amusing to him—you stumbling over your own words picked out from throwing darts at random in an attempt to gaslight him. He shouldn’t find any humor in this, really, but Chenle had always been chill like that. Marching to the beat of his own drum or however the saying went that the ease of falling into character, the jester to his court, wasn’t surprising.
If it made him that happy, then you’d continue shaking your fool’s cap for him. As a friend, of course.
“What? Me?” you said, guileless and with a hand flat on your sternum, eyes rounded with that faux gleam of innocence for the full effect. “I have never wanted anything in my life.”
“Anything?” he pressed and received a firm nod. “Not even barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter?”
You gaped at him, stuttering out words that weren’t even qualified to be in the English dictionary until you settled with a broken, “who told you that.”
Chenle smiled serenely in kind, not at all fazed by your brain blue-screening in real time. “Renjun.”
The mention of a name sobered you up in record speed.
“That snitching bitch,” you seethed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I only told him because I was hoping he'd help me think of options, or buy me a ticket himself. The girls could figure something out.” You paused, absorbing the situation as your hand fell back to your side. “Less work for me, though. I've been shitting my pants since, like, yesterday.”
“Yeah?”
You huffed a short laugh. “Oh yeah. There’s this theory going around—not that I believe it—that it’d be easy convincing you.”
“Easy,” he huffed, amused.
“Easy as in—I just have to ask you.”
Chenle tilted his head, considering you for a moment. “Alright. Ask away.”
You balked, grasping straws for a response.
“Ask away?” Nod. “Just like that.” Nod. “I’m not asking just for me, y’know? I’m also asking for Minjeong and Ningning. Since we’re broke and desperate girls who just happen to love the same singer.” Chenle only raised an eyebrow, slowly nodding in a way that said, ‘yeah. I know. What are you trying to say?’.
“Are you not worried how much it’s gonna cost you? Even just a little bit? I’m already feeling sick just thinking about it.” You grimaced.
“Not really, no.” He shrugged, slanting an easy smirk.
You pursed your lips. Right. Okay. So maybe you had severely underestimated how disposable money was to him, then. It didn’t seem like he minded at all, barely showing any negative emotion sans the boredom slowly coloring his features.
You, on the other hand, were already knee-deep in a bog of guilt and regret that you could honestly spit-up today’s lunch from how nerve-wracking this was; standing in front of him while carrying as much audacity a human being was allowed to and asking for something so expensive.
“You’re insane if you actually say yes. I don’t know about you, but if someone asked me for a thousand bucks and told me, ‘oh, bee-tee-dubs, I’m not gonna pay you back. Like ever.’, I’d consider suing the hell out of that person until they have to file for bankruptcy.”
“I mean, money’s never been an issue so I don’t see why my attorney should be involved.” The fact that he actually has an attorney (or a full-blown legal team. You never know) at the ready did not bring you comfort in the slightest. Chenle still tried though. You could at least appreciate that. “I wanna circle back on your so-called theory, though.”
“Don’t look at me.” Both of your hands raised in defense. “I’m not the one who came up with the ‘I’m Chenle’s favorite’ theory. The girls did.”
“Did they?” And for some ungodly reason, he looked delighted by the claim. “Well, can’t say they’re wrong.”
“Chenle,” you warned with a tone so biting you would think it’d have him think twice with this blasé approach.
Though maybe there was something on your face that betrayed the annoyance you’ve vocalized when all Chenle did was smile genially as the syllables making up your name passed through his lips in smooth succession.
“I’m not a charity case,” you muttered, flexing your fingers then curling them into fists. You weren’t too sure if you were pleased hearing it from the source. That you were Chenle’s favorite, confirmed by the man himself. Whatever that meant, or more annoyed that he really couldn’t care less about the money he’d wasted on you because you were his favorite. “You know I don’t take charity as well as normal people would.”
“Why do you think I never let you argue?” He said cheekily. “It’s easier and faster that way. And it’s no big deal! Seriously,” Chenle emphasized quickly at the sight of your deepening frown.
“But it is to me! If there’s one thing I know, it’s that nothing is ever just free. People these days are always expecting something in return. Maybe not right away and what if you’re just letting me rack up enough debt so you could ask me for my soul, or something.”
Chenle snickered. “So this is an exchange, then. Your noodles for concert tickets. You drive a hard bargain,” he wondered with an impish quality to his words, giving you a once over. Twice. It made you a little self conscious, shifting from foot to foot the longer sharp, cat-like eyes passed over your form. “Is that why you’re dressed like that? In case your cooking didn’t make a good bribe—oh, sorry—exchange?”
“Like what, exactly?” You asked, a little offended that he wouldn’t completely fold—or at least crease—at the first bite of a dish that earned its Michelin stars back in Yizhuo’s kitchen. Or that your chosen outfit wasn’t creaming any pants.
“Didn’t you wear this exact outfit when you skipped class to meet with Haechan that one time?”
“It was a different top, I think.” A top that was just as fast to remove too, so you understood the confusion. “How do you even remember that?”
“I remember lots of things,” he clarified, closing the distance until you could make out the top notes of his five-dollars-per-spray perfume with each inhale. “Like how you dress differently whenever you meet with one of your guys.”
“Gee what a coincidence. I wonder why I’m dressed like I am about to meet with one of my guys while in your kitchen.”
This time it’s Chenle who got the surprise of a lifetime, eyes almost bugging out of his skull as those lips you had once imagined yourself kissing just to see how they’d give under the soft pressure parted in a delicate ‘o’. He was quick to recover though, with a sly uptick of his mouth replacing the initial shock of finding out that, yes, you’d probably sleep with him if it came to that.
“Didn’t think you’d be that desperate for tickets.” He’s closer now, too close for comfort that you backed into the edge of the kitchen counter. “Is that how you’re gonna repay me?”
“It’s charity work,” you answered blithely, emboldened by Chenle’s interest because, fuck, might as well. “Fuck knows if you’ve been getting your dick wet or not. I’d literally be doing you a favor.”
Chenle didn’t seem to take offense to that as he threw his head back in raucous laughter.
“Charity for charity.” He grinned. “Seems fair.”
And the words had never sounded sweeter until they came from Chenle’s mouth. You could already hear yourself screaming with the crowd filling up the arena, with your girlfriends who you absolutely did not resent for essentially pimping you out to the one guy who could arguably make your dreams come true—
“I’ll think about it.”
Both Minjeong and Yizhuo were dead to you.
“Think about—” you paused, taking steady breaths until you were calm enough to start talking again. “Chenle. Lele,” and out came the big guns, being sweet to him and using the cutesy nickname the girls from the Chinese Students and Scholars Association would croon to get at least five seconds of his attention. Watching that play out from the sidelines always left a sour aftertaste, how they all would go as far as touching him when they decided holding eye-contact wasn’t enough to fuel their delusions.
You’ve soon come to realize that it was jealousy that caused your eye to twitch when Chenle’s capitalistic smile turned honeyed towards his junior. Because there wasn’t a day where you were short of his attention.
Perhaps the thought was a little unhealthy, but what if you said it was what you were used to? Can anyone fault you for being a little catty after that interaction?
Calling him Lele worked, you thought. Or so you hoped. You weren’t sure rendering him silent was a good thing, actually. Silence never bode well with larger-than-life Chenle Zhong whose entire personality was being loud, especially with eyes as expressive as his. Dark as shots of espresso you’ve brewed countlessly at work laced with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“The concert is in two fucking days! There’s no time to think—you know what? This was a bad idea. I don’t know how Ningning talked me into—” you shook your head, pressing the back of your hand to your cheek with a heavy sigh. “We can just eat the goddamn noodles and forget all this. I’ll just tell the girls they were wrong, and you said no—”
“Oh, no no no,” you would never admit to making such an undignified sound when Chenle pulled you back by his steady grip on your wrist. “you can’t make that offer and leave just like that, c’mon.” And he had the audacity to whine on top of it.
“Well that’s before I—what are you doing.”
“Making sure I am getting something out of this,” he murmured, crowding in on you further where all you could see right in front of you was Chenle, and whatever you could see over the slope of one hoodie-covered shoulder.
Which by all means wasn’t a lot to begin with, him being taller and broader than you. And Chenle wasn’t even super tall. You knew plenty of people that exceeded the one-hundred-and-eighty centimeter mark, like that Jisung kid who hung out with you both on occasion. Wasn’t even built like a brick shithouse like Jaemin and his friend, your on-and-off tutor, Jeno.
Yet the way he had you cornered, hands planted firmly on the polished quartz countertop boxing you in, kind of screwed with your perception—made him appear bigger than he actually was. Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze, pinning you down with deep pools framed by gradually thinning rings of brown the longer this stare down went on.
Coupled with the heat radiating off of Chenle, from standing so much closer where it totally crossed the limits of what it meant to be platonic, something just as heated unfurled beneath your navel.
“What—whatever you want,” you stuttered, swallowing thickly when the soft material of his jacket brushed along the strip of skin left exposed by your cropped top.
“Whatever I want?” Chenle’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he studied you. “Even outside of sex?”
It was really hard trying not to not stare at his mouth. “I think being your errand girl will get you your money’s worth than a regular pump n’ dump.”
“The mouth on you.” Chenle cracked a lipped smile, wide enough that a hint of teeth peeking between the soft rosebud pink of his lips. “‘My girl’ does have a nice ring to it.”
Warmth creeped up your neck. “You forgot the word ‘errand’.”
“I know what I said,” he murmured, coming in closer that the tip of his nose gently nudged yours. “Kiss me.”
Your breath hitched, eyes growing into saucers because kiss me could imply anything. Everything.
“What—“
“You said whatever I want,” Chenle pointed out. “and I want you to kiss me. Or I want to kiss you, actually. Real bad.”
Words, apparently, weren’t enough to prove how much Chenle could want something as simple as a kiss.
Slender fingers splayed themselves along your waist, just marveling that you’re allowing him to touch you like this—with reverence. Palms cooled by the counter and the calluses earned from years of basketball raised gooseflesh along your skin when dragging them along the expanse of your stomach. The dips of your waist again—like he couldn’t resist how softer you were there—your back, until one of Chenle’s hands settled beneath the curve of your spine, the other just shy under the side of your breast.
Chenle was impossibly closer now and your body’s natural response was to arch into him and—oh, he’s hard. So hard—straining against the fly of his jeans pressed against your stomach, and you’ve barely done anything except letting him feel you up, leaving phantom brands of his touch along the way.
“Feel that?” Chenle said, voice low and gravely, delivered like it was a secret only you two should know. He pushed his hips further into yours causing him to groan quietly as you gasped, your hands laying flat on his chest to steady yourself. “You’re definitely getting your tickets if it’s the last thing I do.”
Somehow, out of everything Chenle said, that knocked the breath out of you. The utter conviction. How positive he was in his own right that he will get those tickets for you, one way or another.
Frankly, you couldn’t care less about them now, nor what you had to do in exchange for what was essentially overpriced pieces of paper. All you cared about was who you were getting them from: Chenle, his mouth just a couple of centimeters—all yours for the taking, how secure his hold was around you as if the mere thought of you drifting away any second unnerved him, and the fact that he wanted to kiss you.
Because maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t at all one-sided. Maybe what Minjeong and Yizhuo had been speculating held some substance that, yes, it wouldn’t be too hard if it was you appealing to Chenle’s sweeter side. Maybe the notion was that gratifying to your dwindling self-esteem because how could you deny his simple request?
So with a breathy, almost breathless, “just—just shut the fuck up about the tickets for a second,” you cupped his face with both hands and yanked him down for a kiss.
Chenle’s kisses were syrupy-sweet, if not purposely drawn out as though he was savouring a once in a lifetime opportunity; uncertain if he’d ever get the chance again. The most surprising thing about kissing Chenle, other than the act itself, was the unhurried pace. So unlike the man you would see loping over with this restless energy ready to leave him bursting at the seams, harrying his friends (anyone, really) to play ball with him.
It had been near impossible, forcing him to sit still when all Chenle knew was to keep on moving. Keeping close at his heels was a fixed workout you didn’t remember ever signing up for. It was only to your relief that he made sure to keep you right behind him. Beside him, rather. There wasn’t a time where Chenle would knowingly leave you behind and if that ever happened, he would always wait for you to catch up.
There was no rush, and maybe that was the point of it all. Chenle’s willingness to adjust for you with no terms and conditions applied, and you have yet to see him stop.
With each push and pull, worrying teeth on lips and a shallow press of a warm wet tongue, Chenle kissed you like he was a man starved, stumbling upon an oasis and letting himself drown after a drought lasting so long. He kept with the pace, not doing too much or too little, lips slotting together like perfect puzzle pieces. Sweet and deliberate, each movement holding intention. Chenle really wasn’t fucking around when admitting he wanted to kiss you.
You shared that want too. More than you had initially allowed yourself, but that was to be expected when you’ve basically repressed every not-so-platonic thought regarding Chenle for a long while. And you know what they said about bottling it all up.
It came bursting in a flurry rush of movement. From their tender cradling, your fingers reached up to curl into Chenle’s freshly dyed jet-black hair just as he mirrored your own growing need, lithe arms coiling around your torso as your mouths grew greedier by the second. A show of teeth pulled an airy moan out of you turned muffled the second he licked into your mouth.
From there, kissing just became a mere afterthought. Devolving into a carnal dance of tongues, lapping it all up to get your fill.
Chenle tasted just as sweet as he kissed before, like the lemon ginger candy he had stocked around his house, his car and sometimes you would catch him plucking a piece or two out of his pockets. And it was quickly becoming a problem where you just knew there was no coming back from this.
That nothing will ever be the same once you walk out of that door when all of this is over. You couldn’t go back, not when you’ve gotten a taste of what it was like swapping spit with the guy, the same guy who you had thought wasn’t worth the risk.
Fuck it, might as well risk everything, then. You’ve already kissed him, already bulldozed past that boundary you swore you would never cross. So long as Chenle wouldn’t mind a kiss, or two, or three—until he has to pry you off of him and say enough is enough, you’d let yourself crave the sensation of having his mouth give under yours.
Just like how you chased after the plushness of his lips with a meek whine when he drew back, grinning at the state he reduced you to—a needy little thing this high strung over a kiss.
Please. As if he didn’t pop a boner at the thought of kissing you.
Just as you were about to voice out the retort, one of his hands raised to cup your cheek. You leaned into the touch, feeling small under his thoughtful gaze as his thumb swiped over your kiss-swollen lips. You chased after that feeling, too, each drag winding the coil of your self-control tighter and tighter ‘til it snapped like you did, catching his thumb in between the edges of your teeth.
Chenle’s gaze darkened then, no traces of the playful glint you were used to seeing as he surged forward and kissed a searing path from the corner of your mouth, all the way up to the swell of your cheek. Then lower, and lower until the scrape of teeth under the hinge of your jaw made your knees buckle from the sensation with a gasp.
You gripped his hair tighter, though you made no move to pull him off. “That—this is more than just a kiss,” you lightly chided, voice shaky. “Greedy.”
“So what if I am?” He mumbled, mouthing his way down your neck. Your fingers left his hair and curled around his nape. “Want me to stop?”
Pulling him in further by his neck told him enough. The vibration of his pleased humming against where your pulse was at its strongest made you shiver. You could feel him smirk. Like a knife to your neck.
“Thought so.”
Staying true to his words, he didn't stop. Chenle latched onto your mouth again and you’ve quickly grown familiar with his rhythm. Only this time, his hands joined in the fray, seemingly needing more than just having you secured in his arms.
Though perhaps you bit off more you could chew.
Like, yeah, getting fucked by Chenle wasn’t the most horrible idea you’ve had so far in your early twenties, but thinking about it was vastly different from actually doing it.
So you were definitely in your right to squeal when one of your best friend's wandering hands went up your skirt.
Chenle stilled and pulled back with his eyebrows knitted together. Your face was on fire, both from his bold move and the embarrassing sound you made.
“You okay?” He asked, the same hand that was under your skirt—right below your ass cheek—rubbing soothing circles. It was anything but soothing. When you’ve got thighs as sensitive as yours, the only thing Chenle was helping with was making you hornier.
If he moved his hand a little further up and a little further in, he would have felt just how soaked your panties were.
“I—uh—I’m not ready.”
He blinked. “My hand is literally up your skirt that’s barely covering your cute little butt,” he pointed out as his hands trailed higher and squeezed the plump flesh. “and you’re not ready.” Now he’s looking at you like you’re crazy. Shit, maybe you were. And it’s his fault. He’s just as crazy for calling your ass cute to your face, too.
“I mean yeah, that’s nice and all—your hand is really warm, um—but I may or may not have been talking out of my ass about fucking you.”
Chenle snorted. “I dunno. Your outfit clearly screams ‘fuck me!’. Cute shirt, by the way.” A stray hand wedged itself under the tight fit of your tube-top, earning him a sharp intake of breath when his fingertips grazed the underside of your tit. His touch didn’t go further than that, hand simply splayed across your ribs. “If you can call it that.”
“You bought me this shirt, dumbass.”
“Even better,” he said, delighted by the thought. “Feeling cold?” Chenle wondered, almost in an innocent, offhanded manner you wouldn’t think much of if the twitching of his mouth slipped under your radar. You caught his leering stray south, too. Just what could he possibly be intrigued by when he was quite literally sharing your breathing space?
With eyebrows furrowed, you let your curiosity get the best of you, tracing his line of sight.
You should have stayed curious.
Better yet, you shouldn’t have acknowledged the change of his focal point because of course he’d take notice of your nipples poking against the soft material of your shirt; as if they were saying ‘hi’ to the man who had come so close to giving them some attention.
Chenle dissolved into a fit of cackles. You could only imagine how embarrassed you looked to him. Why were you even embarrassed? You chose to forgo a bra in hopes of distracting him with your boobs if all else failed.
“Yeah, yeah,” you acquiesced, keeping your chin up as you blindly reached for his hands. “Hands where I can see ‘em, pervert.”
Only, you don’t exactly take his hands off of you. This was like, casual touches here and there dialed up to an eleven, right? It wasn’t a foreign concept to you, being held by him. Being friends with him for this long and counting, hugs were a thing you were frequently subjected to, and Chenle loved those, so you did your due diligence of settling his hands on your hips as a pseudo form of it.
A peace offering, if you will, for cutting the closeness short and a little because you were starting to like the warmth emanating from a more intimate touch.
Seemingly pleased by your initiative, Chenle graced you with the sweetest of smiles, squeezing you. That got him a snort and a fond shake of your head, though the amusement dimmed into contemplation as you lingered on the silver padlock-shaped pendant hanging from the dainty chain of the same metal around Chenle’s neck, not knowing where to go from here.
Eventually, you found your voice. “That better be worth fifteen hundred bucks,” you joked because if there was one thing about you is that you had a knack for making light out of an emotionally charged situation.
“I’ve spent more on you before, and you're worth every single penny so far.”
That shouldn’t have flustered you. Really, it shouldn’t have you hot in the face when you weren’t sure if he meant the dig towards you unintentionally milking him of his fortune. But Chenle’s ease of letting weighted words spill from his mouth was the sure contender here, and to deliver the final blow was the charming grin that ensured you everything was going to be just fine. He’d make sure of it.
“That’s definitely something a sugar daddy would say,” you said with a wry curl of your mouth. “Are you my sugar daddy? Because I can’t remember the last time I had to pay for my shit when you’re around.”
There was one time you went out for a bagel on your own, though that didn’t seem like a big girl purchase compared to your ergonomic chair he had ordered from Amazon. The look he had given you when you told him you made do with the many dining chairs Yizhuo had around her huge glass dining table had been the funniest thing you had ever seen. Like stiff chairs having multiple uses was a foreign concept to him.
You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were mostly on your feet when you had to (by hand) draft floor plans and vignettes that took up almost the entire space of your choice of paper. And the chair was comfy. Good for your back too.
“It does look like that, huh?” Chenle laughed at that, shaking his head as he did so out of endearment because you just wouldn’t get it. “What if I just like taking care of you?”
Now wasn’t that an insane thing to say out loud? Granted that you could kind of see where he came from as he did save your sorry ass a bunch of times with either a tap or a swipe of his card, this was Chenle you were dealing with. The likelihood of him just pulling your leg under the guise of flattery was great and backing down that easy had never been your forte. No matter how sweet he was being about it.
You could count the serious conversations with him on both sets of your fingers and this regularly scheduled bout of psychological warfare won’t even count.
“You just want to get in my pants,” you accused with a defiant raise of your chin.
“You almost let me in your pants,” Chenle pointed out, his fingers gently grasping your chin so he could tilt your head back at its normal angle. “My hand was literally up your skirt and I heard no complaints until you got stage fright.”
“Fair,” you allowed with a shrug. “Still not gonna fuck you though. Not now at least.”
“Whatever you want,” he said softly as he bent down to catch your gaze. “and you know I won’t do anything you don’t want to.”
You hummed, thinking Chenle’s words over. “I’ll give it a few days until you’re on your hands and knees begging to stick just the tip in.”
Chenle’s smile wobbled then turned pained. “If I have to.”
It took three whole seconds for his admission to register in your brain before you sputtered a laugh, falling forward until his shoulder cushioned your forehead. No wonder you and Chenle worked so well. There was not a serious bone in any of your bodies and you wouldn't want to change it for the world.
“Down, boy,” you teased, still cackling as you nuzzled into his neck. “Who’s desperate now?”
He huffed. “Like you weren’t trying to eat my face moments ago.”
You pulled back with a pout. “I could say the same about you.” You poked him in the chest. “Were you actually trying to suck my soul out?”
“Regret anything yet?” Chenle’s question was posed as playful, but there was undertone of uncertainty to it too and over the years, you’ve gotten good at figuring out his tells. The uncharacteristic sudden stiffness in his frame, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek (subtly as he could) and the tightness around his eyes—he thought you did. Regret it, that is, but it was the farthest from what you were feeling right now.
“The only thing I regret is not seducing you sooner.”
And that did it. Anything that fell in the same vein of uncertainty gave way to the radiance you were much more familiar with.
Chenle looked like an absolute winner—the cat that caught the canary and washed it down with cream in celebration of his win before diving in for his prize.
Until Daegal barked at the sound of jingling keys the moment your lips were a hair breadth away from touching, her excitement piercing through the bubble and granting you awareness from beyond it; namely the pot barely having any water being left on the burner for too long.
There was a flash of white from your peripheral as you shared a panicked look with your qausi-sugar-daddy when the front door opened, followed by one of Chenle’s housemates, Beomgyu, announcing his arrival with a loud, “I’m home!”
“Shit,” you whispered and the two of you set into motion. Harried, if anything, yet still efficient with the swiftness Chenle displayed in fixing your clothes just as you smoothed stray strands of his hair back in place.
For a quick moment, he took a good look at you, a crease in the middle of his eyebrows before he was shucking off his hoodie and urging you to wear it.
“Didn’t take you for the protective type,” you teased, yet took it without question as Chenle rolled his eyes with a gentle shake of his head, watching you pull on the sleeves; a smile equal parts warm and mischievous playing on his lips.
With the zipper in place, you glanced at him then down to his very obvious problem beneath those denim jeans. “You gonna do something about”—Chenle’s eyes blew wide in alarm and stuck his hand in his pants—“yeah, okay,” you mumbled.
His smile widened into something annoying and you quickly pushed him towards the kitchen sink, a silent command to wash his hands once Beomgyu walked right into the kitchen, surprised that you were here. Daegal trotted closely behind, her tail wagging happily as you bent down to pick her up.
“We’re going to get groceries after some noodles,” Chenle answered the silent question for you while pouring water into the pot. “Want some?”
“Hope you’re excited for Shin ramyeon and crab balls, then.”
Over Beomgyu’s shoulder, Chenle winked at you and you nuzzled into Daegal’s fur, hiding your smile.
In the end, after letting Beomgyu devour most of your noodles, Chenle did take you out for another H Mart run.
“Are the two carts necessary?”
You didn’t think so. One full cart was pushing it, but two? For a second, you feared he might just buy out the whole store if you dared him. Then again, Chenle wasn’t familiar with the concept of limiting oneself and it seemed like it applied to you too. Well, in a way where he showed you it was okay to want things. That it was okay to ask him for things.
Because it’s Chenle who did most of the shopping. Fresh produce, different kinds of meat that didn’t need to be cooked in complicated ways for it to come out edible—namely the humble samgyeopsal. Quick, easy and absolutely delicious—he glossed over most of the condiments seeing you still had them at home, then he absolutely went insane when it came to the snacks, ice cream and, of course, packets of instant noodles.
Chenle had another pack of a different variant in his hands, tossed it into the snack-filled cart he was pushing around.
“You’re really playing into the sugar daddy thing,” you said as you mentally calculated the amount of debt you were in now with the addition of groceries that could last you and the girls the whole month.
“Better than you starving,” he said cheerfully, grabbing a dozen of Buldak Carbonara noodles and dumping them into the cart like a dad finding out their kid’s favorite snack. “Wouldn’t want you living off of shin ramyeon and crab balls.”
You scowled. “It wasn’t that funny.”
Chenle laughed and laughed and laughed anyway because your failed seduction plan was that hilarious if he was still making jokes about two-person groceries.
The drive home was quiet. Peaceful. Less awkward than you had initially expected when the soulful drone of music filled in the spaces with you sat in the passenger’s seat, reaching over to feed Chenle the Pepero you elected on sharing. When it all ran out, you relaxed in your seat and just… watched.
Watched your best friend in his element with his hand on the wheel while the other patted his thigh along the beat of the current song. He looked good. Unfairly so. With the lights glinting off the watch that likely made up your yearly university tuition and the high points of his face, the ruffled look of his hair and the way his jaw flexed every time he sang along the melody.
All this filled you with the urge to kiss him. Reach over and plant one on him and the thought still lingered even as you drove past the house’s gates opened with an app on your phone.
As Chenle helped put away the groceries while you pretended not to notice the leering from the peanut gallery.
As he helped himself to a Melona while keeping up with the verbal spat between him and Yizhuo munching on something yoghurt and blueberry flavoured.
It was all you could think about as you saw him out the door, and if you couldn’t help yourself and acted on it—a quick peck to the corner of Chenle’s plush mouth as thanks—leaving a sheen of your lipgloss, then that was between you, God and the security camera angled to where you stood.
Yizhuo wouldn’t notice if you deleted a few seconds of footage anyway.
Late into the night and you could still feel it. Feel him—the ghost of his kiss, his touch as everything that had transpired in the afternoon played on loop in your head.
You couldn’t sleep. Not when your mind was chanting Chenle Chenle Chenle like a mantra set to summon him. Like an itch you couldn’t get rid off no matter how hard you scratched.
If only…
That night, you decided to get well acquainted with Pinky, fishing her out deep within your drawer.
Mornings like this were rare, where all of you were awake at the same time. Even rarer that you were all up before ten, quiet. Relaxed.
No sense of urgency found on anyone’s person. No school, no jobs to clock into, no not-so-secret meetings—none of you girls had anything of priority today.
There was breakfast, arguably the most important meal of the day, though it seemed Minjeong and Yizhuo weren’t exactly in a rush demanding their eggs be cooked just the way they liked. Just fine with nursing a steaming cup of whatever energized them for the day ahead as they sat at the island counter.
Your phone chimed in the middle of cooking Yizhuo’s scrambled eggs. A text from Chenle—a sent photo to be specific and—
You screamed, nearly dropping the spatula.
fine shyt: [IMG_6969]
You: WWHAT THEBFUCJ
fine shyt: got your tickets 🤓
You: YEA I SEE THAT???????????
When you screen faded into Chenle’s caller ID, a photo of him holding up Daegal, Minjeong immediately took over the cooking as you rushed towards the living area.
“You got the tickets,” you said as you accepted the request to FaceTime, half in wonder and in disbelief that he was able to nab tickets in less than twenty-four hours and a day before the concert. You really should stop doubting Chenle and his ability (see: privilege) to get whatever, whenever. “Not that I doubted you, but the first night usually sells out quick—so how the hell.”
“You underestimate how far money can get you,” Chenle laughed. He looked sleep-ruffled, like he had just woken up. This was his cutest state yet and you really wished you were with him right now. “Think you’re ready to find out?”
“As I’ll ever be.” As long as he held your hand through it, sure. What the hell. You could survive future heart attacks caused by six figures by sheer will alone, you thought. “I asked for three tickets though. Who's the fourth one for?”
“Me,” he answered, beaming. “Someone has to drive you girls.”
“What? I mean—thanks.” That was one less thing to worry about then. “But since when do you listen to Sabrina?”
“Since last night. Still at it, by the way.” he clarified, a little too happy and if you listened closely, you could make out Sabrina’s crooning of Read your Mind on his end. “An enlightening experience, I might say.”
“Good luck on memorizing twenty-one songs then.”
“Oh, Princess. I released an album when I was eight. Memorizing the setlist is light work. Bet I could sing louder than you.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll grill you on the album thing next time because what the fuck.” The ‘Princess’ thing you elected to ignore, too early and dire to suffer an aneurysm when a concert was waiting for you.
“I’ve lived quite the life,” he mused (“oh I’m sure.”) combing his fingers through his hair. “So what do we say?”
You scoffed, fond and grateful for his generosity whether you were deserving or not. “Thank you.”
“Thank you what, baby?”
Your face twisted in horror, quickly clocking what he was trying to get you to do. “Bye Chenle.”
He was cackling when you hung up, your face on fire, yet you didn’t put in any effort to tamper the giddy grin threatening to split your face.
The tickets were yours. Chenle got the tickets and they were yours. Gosh, this was probably the best morning in your life so far and nothing could dampen your mood from doing your girls proud.
“Now do you believe us when we say you’re Chenle’s favorite?” Yizhuo asked with a mouthful of scrambled egg.
You laughed, cheeks aching from how hard you cheesed at a simple fact. “I’m starting to.”
And selfish as it sounded, you hoped that it would remain that way for a long time because you couldn’t remember a life so dull when Chenle walked in with colors so bright that it sung, and because he was your favorite, too.
a/n: waow you've reached the end! Here, have a cookie 🍪 as always, thank you soo so much for reading until the end! I'd like to thank the girls: Aria, Moon and Aeriel for letting me talk my shit about this fic and help with ideas! and yes, brainstorming with them is an almost daily occurrence and it's great mental exercise imo lol! I hope you had fun reading the chaos that was this fic. I know I had fun laughing to myself writing all this 😆 and please please please let me know your thoughts! Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3
TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna @spacejip @ykvdani @drunkhee @neozon3nha @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce @sunghoonsgfreal @champagne1221 @yuyita-rosier @grimlinshere @jvngw0n @nanaxwi @kissesfromdarling @peterm4rker @haechology @evergreeneyesx @bbina @nctseventeensworld (special thanks to those who asked to be part of the taglist!)
OMGGG another banging fic from jaeminvore 🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️ this was so cute the way chenle spoils y/n, i absolutely love the dynamic. i definitely need a cute sugar daddy like chenle pleaseee 😭
pairing: idol! mark lee x fem.reader
genre: fluff, smut, angst
wc: 9.6k
summary: you fell for mark lee through blurry facetime calls and late-night voice notes, but when the distance starts causing a strain in the relationship, you board a plane to seoul with nothing but a suitcase and a heart that won’t stop beating for him.
content warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content, phone-sex, oral (fem. receiving), protected sex, explicit language, long-distance relationship stress, idol pressures, light alcohol consumption, mentions of food & brief mention of disordered eating habits (skipping meals due to stress), tooth rotting domestic fluff.
a/n: here it is finally!! i cannot believe i told myself this would take less time than my hogwarts fics and it ended up taking me LONGER 😭 and it’s not even that long so i was 100% just procrastinating. BUT GUYS. i freaking love mark in this because i literally wrote it the way i imagine a relationship with him would be and like… fawk. i want this life so bad. mark give me one chance juseyoooo.
anyways, hope u enjoy <3 also! tiny author suggestion: listen to turning page by sleeping at last during the final scene if you wanna fully immerse yourself.
ps: divider by kodaswrld
Another practice room light flickered out down the hallway, and with it the building finally emptied out. Mark was the last one there again.
He peeled off his in-ears, let them dangle around his neck, and flopped backward onto the studio floor. Sweat slicked the vinyl under his shoulder blades. His hoodie had been abandoned somewhere near the mirrors, but he was still running hot, humming with the choreo that refused to leave his muscles even after twelve straight run-throughs.
His manager would murder him if he was late to call time tomorrow, but his brain was nowhere near sleep. It was too busy spinning in the familiar orbit it had fallen into every night for months: you.
Mark fished his phone out of his joggers and opened the last message he had sent hours ago.
on my way to rehearsal. i think you’re gonna love our new song :)
No reply.
He exhaled through his nose. You were probably not awake yet. The quiet between messages always managed to feel personal after a tiring day like this. He scrolled up anyway, re-reading pieces of your conversation. There was a blurry photo of your family’s cat sitting on a stack of Murakami paperbacks. His own late-night voice memo humming a chorus that didn’t have lyrics yet.
The memory of your laugh shoved its way in, uninvited and perfect. Mark shut his eyes. For a second it was easy to pretend the fluorescent hum overhead was your apartment’s old fridge, that the scuffed practice floor was the couch where you’d sit while you argued about pineapple on pizza during video calls.
Mark opened his eyes before the fantasy got too good, pushed up onto his elbows, and grabbed the half-empty water bottle beside him. As he drank, a few texts from his manager pinged through. Mostly schedule changes, wardrobe notes, and a reminder to ice his knee. He swiped them away and pulled up the blank chat bubble with your name again.
Type something, Mark. Anything.
The rehearsal room clock read 01:39 a.m. That was—what, mid-morning for you? You would probably be getting up, maybe grabbing coffee before heading out to work. He pictured you in that oversized cardigan you loved, eyes squinting at your phone because you’d forgotten to put on your contact lenses again.
The thought kicked his pulse into a sprint.
Before he could think, he started typing.
hey, i can’t sleep. just finished practice.random question: if you could teleport for exactly 10 minutes, where would you go?
Mark stared at the message. Too weird? He was about to unsend it when the typing indicator popped up on your side. His chest cinched.
jiwon says i should pick somewhere romantic so i don’t waste the free trip lol. maybe the han river at sunset? i’ve never been.why, where would you go?
He pictured you on the couch, eyes bright, seriously discussing such a silly question with Jiwon the way he probably would have done with Haechan.
His fingers moved before he could overthink.
wherever you are. ten minutes is enough to steal a hug right?
A second passed, and then the dots appeared again.
bold, lee. i like it.also i’d tackle-hug you so it might be nine minutes of us laughing on the floor, hope that’s okay
Mark’s face broke into an idiotic grin. Sleep was officially lost.
He pushed up, snagged his hoodie, and headed for the door, phone still glowing in his hand while your next bubble popped up.
anyway, go shower before you catch a cold. text me when you’re safe in bed
He stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
deal. goodnight for now ;)
p.s. you just gave me lyric ideas. hope you don’t mind being a muse
Mark pocketed the phone, heart drumming a new beat that had nothing to do with choreography, and jogged toward the dorms, already humming the melody you had just sparked to life.
He stepped into the night, sweat chilling under his hoodie, headphones pulled over his ears as the city noise swallowed him up. Seoul at two in the morning felt almost peaceful, all the rush muted, and he could finally hear his own thoughts again which was dangerous territory, but better than silence.
There was a bounce in his step he couldn’t explain, even with his knee twinging and his bones begging for a hot shower. All he could think about was your messages, how you always managed to make him feel like a regular guy, not the name thousands of people screamed at concerts.
By the time he was back at the dorm, the lights were low, but Haechan’s voice filtered down the hall—arguing with Johnny about leftovers or LoL or something equally stupid. He slipped off his shoes, tiptoed past the noise, and ducked into the bathroom before anyone could spot him.
Steam billowed as Mark stood under the shower, letting it pound against tired muscles. He replayed your conversation again, grinning at nothing, mouthing the words he had typed, imagining them as lyrics already.
wherever you are. ten minutes is enough to steal a hug right?
He said it again, quieter, letting the steam swallow the edges. Would he actually do it—show up to your door, wrap you up, laugh until his sides hurt and the world faded out? God, he would.
He toweled off, tossed on some sweatpants, and flopped onto his bed. His phone buzzed just as his head hit the pillow.
i hope you’re actually resting and not writing a sad song about me being halfway across the planet
Mark smirked, typing back.
not sad i promise. i’ll probably finish it tonight #insomnia
Your reply hit after a few seconds.
:( insomnia is beating my ass too.i’m sure it’s gonna be cute tho. i wanna listen
He couldn’t help it when a laugh came out, soft and breathless, afraid to wake the others. He wished he could call you, but you were probably heading to work now.
Still, he opened his voice notes and hummed the chorus that had been haunting him. The words fit better now that you’d given him the missing piece. He knew it was corny, but he didn’t care. This was the part they didn’t see, the part that made him want to risk all the rules, just for a few more minutes like this.
He’d been working on a song for weeks now—sometimes he called it “loser,” sometimes he sang it like “lose her.” It started as a joke lyric, a throwaway, but it kept coming back. The words were different every night, but the chorus always landed on you.
i don’t wanna loseri don’t wanna lose her
He hit send without thinking.
for you. don’t laugh if it sucks.
Seconds passed while Mark stared at the phone. The little read indicator popped up almost immediately.
…i love it(and i’m definitely saving this in my secret folder)
He buried his face in his pillow, his pulse racing.
Johnny’s voice floated in from the hallway, half-annoyed. “Mark! You sleeping or composing another heartbreak song in there?”
He shouted back, “Go to bed, hyung!”
Johnny laughed, the door creaking as he walked away. “Don’t blame me when you’re a zombie tomorrow.”
Mark grinned, pulling the blanket over his head and letting his mind drift back to you. He pictured your smile, the shy way you looked away when you were flustered, that little laugh he wanted to hear in person, not just through a phone speaker.
For the first time in days, Mark actually felt sleepy—in a good way. He let the tiredness take him, already counting down the hours until he could text you again.
Soon enough, both of you fell back into your natural rhythm. With calls coming more often, you were back to sharing every little moment of your day.
Practice had ended hours ago, but the thrum of bass still vibrated in Mark’s bones as he padded into the dorm kitchen for a bottle of water. He thumbed his phone, opened your chat, and hovered over the call button. It was late, but the lingering jet lag plus rehearsals meant he didn’t have a normal sleep cycle anyway. He just wanted to hear your voice for thirty seconds, maybe a minute.
He tapped FaceTime before he could talk himself out of it.
The tone rang twice, three times, then connected.
Steam clouded the camera lens first, followed by a startled gasp. You stood in your bathroom, hair dripping, wrapped in nothing but a white towel knotted above your chest. Water beaded across your collarbones, and you were half-laughing, half-mortified as you fumbled with the phone.
“Mark! Give me a sec—”
His throat closed. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t think—I’ll call later—”
“You’re fine, just—” You shifted, the towel slipping a centimeter lower.
Mark’s brain short-circuited. “S—sorry! Talk later!” He hit End so fast his thumb stung, then flopped onto his mattress with a hammering heart.
For a full minute, he stared at the ceiling, willing himself to breathe normally. It didn’t help. The image was branded behind his eyelids: your damp hair, flushed cheeks, a single droplet tracking down the slope of your chest.
Great. Now his pulse was pounding in the wrong place.
He rolled onto his side, pillow over his face, trying to think of choreography counts to distract his brain from sending all the blood to his groin. Instead, all he could hear was the soft gasp you made, all he could see was the towel sliding down—
A frustrated groan slipped out. Fine.
Hand sliding under the waistband of his sweatpants, he let the fantasy take over: you standing there for him, towel loosening under his fingertips, your breath catching the way it did when you laughed too hard. The tension coiled fast—months of late-night calls, that night you spent together, everything he hadn’t been able to touch.
When his hand wrapped around his cock, he imagined it was your lips instead. How warm and soft they’d feel. Your wide eyes looking at him so innocently even as your mouth sucked him off so perfectly. His orgasm came quick, feeling nothing like what he really wanted, but it still ripped a low moan from his throat. He bit the edge of the pillow to muffle it, hips stuttering once then stilling as relief flooded every aching limb.
Breathing hard, Mark wiped a hand across his jaw, suddenly self-conscious. He grabbed tissues, cleaned up, and collapsed on his back, guilt and heat mingling in his chest.
He finally glanced at his phone, about to text an apology, when he noticed the screen was still glowing.
The little green bar at the top still said Call In Progress.
His stomach dropped through the floor.
You were standing frozen in your bathroom, towel clutched under your arms, the phone face-up on your counter where you’d set it in a panic. Mark’s voice echoed from the tiny speaker, followed by a sudden shuffle and a muffled curse. You reached for the screen, intending to end the call, but then you heard it.
The breathy, almost desperate sound of his voice, low and strained, your name a broken whisper under his breath. You went still, barely breathing, cheeks burning as the realization dawned. Oh.
Oh.
You should have ended the call. But you didn’t.
Too enthralled by the idea of sweet, careful, too-polite Mark falling apart on the other end of the line.
You heard a ragged breath, then another.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered.
His voice was low and rough, the kind of tone you’d never heard from him. Needy. Then your name again, this time broken in the middle of a moan.
Your hand flew to your mouth. Oh my god.
He kept going, panting harder now. The way his hips were probably stuttering into his fist, the bed creaking under him—it all played in high-def through your speaker.
“Wanna touch you so bad,” he groaned.
Your entire body was on fire.
When the line finally went quiet, you waited, heart racing. Then, Mark’s face appeared, looking absolutely horrified, eyes wide as he finally realized.
“Oh my god—wait—were you—”
You couldn’t help it as you burst out into nervous laughter, cheeks burning. “Yeah, I…heard all of it.”
His face went so red it was almost purple, both hands flying to cover his eyes. “I’m—I swear I thought I hung up—”
“Don’t worry,” you reassured him with a little smile. “I liked it.”
And with that, you hung up, letting a mortified Mark lose his mind on the other side of the world.
You didn’t directly address that night again, but there was a clear shift in your late night video calls.
They always started the same way: Mark sprawled on his bed, pretending to focus on the story you were telling about work or your idiot neighbor who kept parking in your spot. The truth was that he hadn’t caught a single detail in minutes.
Why? Because you were wearing a tank top that looked like it was designed for a doll, legs pulled up so your shorts barely counted as shorts at all, and every time you stretched, the hem inched just a little higher.
Mark tried. God, he tried to play it cool with a sweet smile, eyes glued to your face like a good boy, but it was a lost cause because your skin was glowing, your hair damp from a late shower. You shifted on the bed, moving closer to the camera. Did you have any idea he was fighting for his life?
“So, anyway, I told my boss that if he wanted to schedule me a third weekend in a row, he’d have to cover my therapy bill.”
Mark blinked, realizing you were waiting for a reply.
“Uh, yeah, absolutely. You should… definitely… do that.”
You grinned. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”
Busted.
Mark coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I—uh, got distracted.”
You leaned in. “By what?”
His cheeks flushed, eyes darting lower, and you just laughed that soft laugh that always made his stomach flip. You knew exactly the effect you had on him and you loved it.
“Nothing. Just… thinking.”
“Tell me.”
“Just stuff.”
“Hmm. Must be important stuff.” You stretched again, and Mark’s ears turned red to the tips.
“Do you ever think about what you’d do if you were here?” you asked suddenly, your voice syrup sweet, teasing but vulnerable too.
Mark’s eyes darkened. He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, all the time.”
“Show me.”
His breath stuttered. “What?”
“Show me what you’d do.”
You bit your lip, letting the camera slip lower so he could see the line of your thigh, your fingers tracing soft circles at your hip.
“Uhm…” he started shakily, “I’d kiss you first,” he murmured quietly, voice strained, words tumbling free before he could reconsider. “Your neck, then your shoulders. Kiss down your chest.”
Your breath caught audibly. Mark could almost see your pulse jumping at your throat.
“And then?” you whispered.
He swallowed, his throat thick with desire. “Then I’d pull that shirt off. Nice and slow.”
You held his gaze, your fingers sliding up to the thin strap of your camisole. “Like this?” you whispered.
You slipped it off your shoulder, the silk gliding down your arm, teasing every inch of skin. Then the other strap. You pulled the shirt up, exposing more of your breasts, your belly, the delicate curve of your waist. Your bare skin glowed in the blue light of the room.
Mark’s breath hitched. He was transfixed, speechless.
“You said you’d kiss down my neck,” you murmured, your own hand tracing lightly from your throat down between your breasts, mimicking where his lips would be, eyes fluttering at your own touch. “Then lower. Every inch, right?”
Mark nodded, helpless. “Yeah. I’d take my time. Make you feel good.”
You shifted, propping the phone so the angle caught your entire body, head to toe, stretched out over the messy sheets. Your hand glided over your chest, circling your breasts, teasing your nipples until they hardened under your fingers. Mark’s breath came harder, every movement mirrored in his gaze.
That was when he realized he could just tell you his fantasies and you’d follow without question. So he did exactly that.
“Slowly,” he told you, his voice dropping. “Play with your nipples, just like that.”
Your fingers obeyed, pinching and rolling, your hips shifting in response, breathy moans slipping out that went straight to his cock. Mark palmed himself, focused only on you.
“That’s it, baby. Keep going. Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” you gasped, arching into your own hand, your eyes fluttering as pleasure sparked across your skin slowly.
“Take off your panties. I want to watch you tease yourself.”
You did, trembling a little as your fingers pulled down the thin fabric, your legs parting for him, breath stuttering as you touched yourself just how he’d want.
“Tell me what you feel,” he urged, his voice ragged. “Let me hear you.”
“I’m… wet. So wet, Mark. All for you.” Your hips rocked gently against your hand, every touch performed for him.
He groaned, unable to help it, his own hand working himself inside his sweats. “Good girl. Circle your clit, slowly, just with the tips of your fingers.”
You moaned, your head falling back, thighs tensing under the new sensation. The camera shook, a little unsteady, but still angled perfectly so he could see you spread out, open, desperate for more.
“Go a little faster, baby,” he murmured. “Make yourself feel good for me. Let me see you fall apart.”
You obeyed, your movements turning needy, hips bucking as your pleasure built. “Mark, I—I need you so bad,” you whined, your voice barely holding together.
“You have me,” he promised, rough and loving. “I’m right here. Rub your clit harder. That’s it. Now slide a finger in. Can you do that for me, baby?”
You gasped, doing exactly as he said, your body shuddering. “Oh my god—Mark—”
“Yeah, baby, just like that. Another finger. Stretch yourself for me. God, you look so fucking pretty like this, you have no idea.”
You were a mess now, hips rising off the bed, your hand pumping in and out as your thumb circled your clit, the camera catching everything. Your flushed cheeks, the desperate look in your eyes, the sounds you were making for him.
Mark matched your rhythm, his hand squeezing his cock tighter, his breath coming short. “Don’t stop. I wanna see you cum. I want you to scream my name.”
You were almost there. He could see it in the way your toes curled, your thighs shook, your free hand clutched the sheets. Your eyes found his on the screen, wide and wild.
“Mark—I’m—I’m so close, please—!”
“Let go,” he commanded, his voice rough, eyes burning. “Cum for me. Right now.”
Your body bowed, your mouth falling open in a cry that sounded like his name. He watched you fall apart, every second seared into his memory. It was enough to push him over, his own orgasm crashing through him as he bit back a groan, never looking away from you.
When it was over, you both lay there, spent and shaky, smiling like fools at your screens, still hungry for more.
You broke the silence first, your voice low, sweet, and wrecked. “Same time tomorrow?”
He laughed, warm and breathless, feeling the ache already. “I’ll be there.”
Mark couldn’t stop staring at the coffee in his hands. It wasn’t even the right order—too much sugar, no oat milk—but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, blank-faced in the middle of the rehearsal room, music still thudding from the speakers while everyone else reset for the next take.
“Hyung.” Haechan clapped him on the back. “You good?”
Mark blinked, coming back to himself. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
“You forgot the second count again,” Doyoung muttered, not unkindly, but with that sharp edge he got when he was worried. “You’ve never messed that part up before.”
“I’m fine,” Mark said automatically. “Just tired.”
It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either.
He was exhausted, but not from practice. It was from the way every night ended with his phone overheating from video calls, his body tight and unsatisfied, his head spinning with flashes of your voice, your fingers, the way you looked when you whispered, “Do you want me to take this off too?”
He had seen everything. He had heard you moan his name, made you come with his voice alone. But he hadn’t felt you. And it was driving him insane.
He couldn’t smell your shampoo, couldn’t taste your skin, couldn’t bury his face in your neck and fall asleep with your heart beating under his hand. He could only imagine it. And imagining wasn’t enough anymore.
“Mark, focus!” Their manager snapped from across the room, already irritated. “We’ve got a full day ahead and you’re drifting.”
Mark nodded tightly. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”
But it would happen again. It kept happening. On stage, during shoots, during meetings—his attention kept slipping. He was caught texting you behind a prop during a promo shoot. He zoned out completely during wardrobe fitting, didn’t even notice when they tried to put him in Johnny’s too big clothes. Taeyong was the first to pull him aside for real.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly in the hallway, concern furrowed between his brows.
Mark rubbed the back of his neck, eyes heavy. “Just… dealing with stuff.”
The leader didn’t press, but his next words were too knowing. “Maybe it’s time you saw her.”
Mark’s breath caught.
He hadn’t said anything about what was troubling him, but Taeyong knew. They all knew. His members had heard the late-night calls through thin hotel walls, seen the way he locked himself away after soundcheck, carrying tension in every muscle. It wasn’t subtle anymore.
Later that night, you received a message from a number you didn’t know.
Hello. I’m from Neo Center at SM Entertainment. I hope it’s okay to reach out. It’s about Mark. He’s not doing great.
You sank onto your bed, adrenaline flooding every limb, heart racing so hard it actually hurt. You were used to texting Mark at ungodly hours, but you had never been contacted by his manager before.
is he… okay?what happened?
The reply was almost instant.
He’s been distracted, keeps zoning out during schedules. He seems exhausted too, but it’s different from his regular self. According to the members, he’s been missing meals as well. Management is worried, the members are worried. Honestly, we were hoping you’d have some advice, or…Is there any chance you could see him soon?
You read that twice, your pulse thudding. The fact that Mark was going through a harsh time and you were too far away to do anything was pushing hard against your heart. But going across the world? It didn’t feel real. Just last month, flying across the ocean for a boy would have sounded insane. But right now, with your own chest feeling hollow from missing him, it felt like the only thing that made sense.
You texted Mark, your fingers flying.
are you okay?i just got a weird message from someone at your company. mark, talk to me.please.
There was no answer. He was probably at practice. You called Jiwon.
She picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“I think I need to go to Korea.” Your voice cracked.
“What? Holy shit!” she breathed, “do you want me to help you look at flights?”
You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “Yes, please.”
For the next hour, you and Jiwon were hunched over laptops and phone screens, searching for anything—standby tickets, direct flights, last-minute deals. Every option was expensive, inconvenient, barely possible.
But still your hands shook as you clicked purchase on the first flight you could actually afford, your heart leaping and plummeting all at once. You were really doing this.
Jiwon grinned at you. “You’re insane but I’m proud of you.”
You almost laughed, except you were terrified. “I’m not sure if this is brave or just crazy.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s the same thing.”
You checked your phone again, but there was still no answer from Mark.
But it didn’t matter. You were going anyway.
i can get on a plane tomorrow.can someone meet me at the airport?
You texted his manager. The reply was instant and full of gratitude.
Thank you, y/n. We’ll take care of everything.
The alarm blared long before sunrise, and for a panicked second, you couldn’t remember why you had set it so early until your eyes landed on the half-packed suitcase perched at the foot of your bed. Right. Korea. Mark. You bolted upright.
It was ridiculous how fast adrenaline kicked in. You showered on autopilot, tossed two extra outfits into the bag (who knew what you’d be dragged to?), then yanked them back out because the zipper wouldn’t close. You ended up sitting on the lid, knees to chest, wrestling the slider across stubborn teeth.
Jiwon texted a string of blow-kiss emojis and a final “give me updates pls!” before you even left the apartment. She had pledged to babysit and water the already half-dead pothos.
You climbed into the rideshare with a jittery stomach, watching the city streets smear into a watercolor of headlights and neon until the airport lights finally swallowed you whole. The last time you traveled internationally had been with your parents on a winter holiday. Your dad had a color-coded folder for every document and even timed your bathroom breaks. Without his relentless organization this time, the check-in process quickly became a nightmare.
The kiosk spat out your passport on the first scan, the second, the third. Each time making you feel a little more helpless. Without your parents, there was no one to save you but a bleary-eyed agent, who finally waved you over, fixed the problem in twenty seconds, and sent you sprinting for security.
You fumbled every step of TSA. First, you dropped your boarding pass, forgot to remove your laptop, and nearly walked off without your shoes. Somewhere between the metal detector and the end of the conveyor belt, you realized you were actually shaking. Not from fear of flying but from the weight of seeing Mark, touching him, after so long.
At the gate, you collapsed into a plastic chair, clutching your phone. Still no reply from Mark, so to keep from spiraling, you texted his manager.
through security. boarding in 20. i should arrive at around 8 am.
He responded with a thumbs-up and a polite “safe flight, i will meet you at arrivals.”
You got a window seat, a bit cramped, but at least sunrise painted the tarmac a pretty gold. You buckled in, stashed your bag, then stared out at the wing while passengers jostled past. The guy next to you nodded politely, pulled a hoodie over his face, and went comatose. Lucky him.
As the plane taxied, your nerves peaked. You pulled up Mark’s last voice note and let it loop in your earbuds. His voice steadied you better than any deep-breathing app.
The engines roared, the cabin tilted, the city slid away beneath cloud cover. You pressed a palm to the cold window and whispered, “Mark, I’m coming.”
The first hour slipped by in a haze as you made a half-hearted attempt to read a book, but after rereading the same paragraph twice with zero retention, you gave up. Resigned, you tilted your seat back and closed your eyes, somehow managing to drift into a surprisingly comfortable sleep. But somewhere high above the Pacific, turbulence snapped you awake with a sharp jolt. You instinctively clutched the armrest, heart pounding—and then your phone buzzed.
Mark:
just finished rehearsal. sorry i didn’t reply, my phone died. are you awake?miss you like crazy tonight.
A soft smile tugged at your lips as you typed back.
keep an eye out for a surprise. i’m closer than you think.
The three little dots flickered on and off, like he was typing, deleting, then typing again.
Mark:
what do you mean???
When the captain finally announced descent, you were hit with a wave of relief so intense you almost laughed and cried at the same time.
Customs felt like purgatory as your rusty Korean tripped over the officer’s questions, your sweaty fingertips smudged the scanner, and jet lag scrambled any coherent thought. The queue crept forward by millimeters, long enough for you to imagine fossilizing right there behind a lady and her kid who kept sticking his tongue out at you.
By the time you retrieved your bags, your phone battery blinked red and a fresh wave of panic swelled as you pictured yourself marooned in this cavernous airport with nothing but anxiety for company.
Then a familiar-looking guy waved a sign bearing your name. Recognition clicked when you remembered him as one of the staffers from the last time you saw Mark. “Y/N? I’m Jiwon,” he said, bowing with effortless grace. You bowed back clumsily.
“This way, please. We’re so glad you made it.” Relief flooded through you as you trailed after him.
The car ride was quiet. You stared out the window, trying to rehearse what you’d say—what you’d do—when you finally saw Mark.
You arrived at the SM building, and it looked so much bigger and more imposing than in the pictures. Jiwon guided you through a warren of gray hallways where muffled music thrummed beyond a set of double doors.
“Wait here,” he whispered. “He’ll be out soon.”
Your pulse hammered everywhere at once. You smoothed your shirt, swiped under your eyes, though it didn’t help the puffiness.
Footsteps approached and then a door swung open. Mark burst through, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead, water bottle in hand. He was talking with a tech when his eyes met yours.
His mouth fell open and the bottle slipped, clattering to the floor and rolling away unnoticed. He looked at you with wide eyes and trembling breath—which was exactly how you felt, mirrored back at you.
“Y/N?” It was a croak, disbelief cracked right down the middle.
You tried to answer, but your throat folded in on itself. So you nodded, stepped forward, and watched relief crash over his features like sunlight breaking through a storm.
He crossed the space in three strides, hauling you against him. That familiar cologne and a tinge of sweat overwhelmed you; all of him suddenly real and solid after countless pixelated nights.
His voice was a hushed, broken mantra in your hair. “You’re here. You’re here. You’re really here.”
You melted into his arms and said the only thing that mattered.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“This way,” Mark murmured after a few seconds, his fingers wrapped around your wrist.
You followed him down a narrow hallway. Staff voices echoed somewhere behind you, but he didn’t slow. He pushed open a door marked STANDBY – DO NOT ENTER and pulled you in behind him, locking it with a shaky breath.
Once inside, he cupped your face with both hands like he needed to confirm you were real. His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes, fingertips pressing into your jaw softly. “You came,” he said again, hoarse. “You’re actually here.”
You nodded, hands slipping under his open jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through the soaked t-shirt. “I was told you needed an intervention.”
“You have no idea,” he admitted, laughing breathlessly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
You reached up, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “So you decided to spiral instead of texting back?”
He groaned. “Don’t call me out when I’m this emotionally compromised.”
You smiled, but your chest ached. “You scared me, Mark.”
His eyes softened. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I missed you so much, and the calls weren’t enough anymore. I need you. I need—”
You kissed him before he could finish.
Months of longing folded into one desperate press of lips and hands, his mouth opening under yours instinctively. He exhaled your name into the kiss softly. Your fingers tangled in the back of his shirt, tugging him closer, while his hands slid down to your waist.
He walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the dressing table, then lifted you effortlessly onto the edge. Your legs parted, wrapping around his hips, and he stepped between them, lips never leaving yours.
“How long do we have?” you asked against his mouth.
“Not long enough,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw, down your neck. “But I don’t care. I just need you close.”
You tilted your head to give him access, fingers raking through the damp strands at his nape. His hands moved under your shirt, palms warm and steady against your ribs. “You kept me sane,” he said softly. “Every night.”
Your throat tightened. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“I know.” He kissed you again, slower this time. “And I’m not letting you go now, either.”
His forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath, limbs still tangled. It was quiet here—just the sound of your heartbeats finally in the same time zone.
A knock jolted both of you.
“Mark, two minutes!”
He groaned, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I have to go.”
You nodded, smoothing his hair, your shirt, anything to make this moment last one second longer. “Go be amazing.”
He lingered by the door. “I’ll see you after?”
“Of course. I’ll be waiting for you.”
He grinned like he was seventeen again, slipped out the door, and left you breathless in a room that still smelled like his skin.
The ride through the city was quieter than you imagined. You expected to have a million things to say, stories to spill, jokes to catch up on, but nerves kept you both a little quiet at first. Mark’s hand found yours in the backseat, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your knuckles. Every now and then, your eyes met and you laughed quietly, overwhelmed by the reality of just being together again.
He pointed out little things as the car moved through Seoul—the café where he liked to write lyrics, the corner store where he got snacks after late practice, the street where he once lost his keys and had to call Haechan at two in the morning. You listened, smiling, letting his voice fill in all the gaps you’d only ever imagined during your calls.
When the car finally pulled up to a nondescript building on a leafy side street, he squeezed your hand once before letting go, glancing around out of habit to check for fans or cameras. Then he waved you through the entrance.
His apartment was nothing like the dorm. It smelled faintly of clean laundry and something familiar you couldn’t name. There were stacks of books on every surface, a guitar leaning against the couch, and a chipped mug with faded writing beside the sink. The windows let in soft city light, making the space feel open and quiet, almost suspended.
“It’s kind of messy,” Mark said, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I don’t get to stay here much. Sometimes I just come here to nap or write when things are too loud at the dorm.”
You stepped out of your shoes, smiled at him, and shook your head. “It’s perfect. It feels like you.”
He grinned and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over a chair. “You want water? Tea? Ramen? I probably have… one of those weird vitamin drinks left, too.”
You laughed softly. “I just want to sit with you for a minute, if that’s okay.”
Mark nodded and followed you into the living room. You both sank onto the couch, sitting close but not quite tangled up yet, knees bumping together.
He glanced at you sideways. “I kept thinking about what I’d say first, you know? But now that you’re here, it’s like… none of it feels big enough.”
You leaned until your shoulders touched, warmth blooming where you met. “You could quote the back of a cereal box and I’d still be happy.”
Mark’s smile curved. “Do you remember that night we talked until sunrise? I don’t think I ever told you, but that was the night I realized I was falling for you. You were going on about constellations and whatnot, and I just kept thinking that there’s no one else I’d rather listen to at three in the morning.”
For a second, you were flooded by this dizzying joy. You had waited for this, wondered about it in the quiet hours, but nothing prepared you for hearing it out loud.
You took his hand, feeling the comfort of his fingers wrapping around yours. “Can I tell you when I fell for you?” you asked, heart pounding.
Mark blinked, a little startled. “I mean, I always thought it was before we even met. You know, with the whole fan thing.”
You shook your head, smiling. “Back then I was dazzled. I admired you, but it was different. I fell for you the day I realized you remembered everything I ever told you… all the little things no one else cared about. My coffee order, the name of my childhood dog, the fact that Tuesdays freak me out because my dad always traveled on Tuesdays when I was a kid. You’d ask about each one with so much interest. That’s when it hit me that I mattered to you. All the tiny details you could have forgotten but you held on to them. That’s when I knew.”
Mark’s eyes widened, soft with wonder. “I—wow. I thought those details were just… basic boyfriend homework.”
He grew quieter, gaze dropping to his hands. “I was anxious, you know,” he admitted, voice thick with honesty. “That this wouldn’t work… that I was losing you. I kept thinking you’d wake up and realize all this was too much.”
You touched his cheek, your thumb brushing the shadow there. “I was scared too. But I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever, if you don’t want me to.”
His expression softened, a smile breaking through as he leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Please stay as long as you want. Move in, for all I care.”
You both laughed. For a few minutes, you just sat there together, talking quietly about nothing and everything—the different times he messed up the choreo, tiny disasters in the kitchen, the way you both missed each other in the strangest, smallest ways.
Eventually, Mark shifted closer, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. He pulled you in until your head was tucked under his chin and his hand was smoothing gentle circles on your back. His lips pressed soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your cheek.
“I missed you,” you whispered, letting yourself sink into the feeling.
He hummed, words warm against your skin. “Missed you too. Every single day.”
You pressed your forehead to his, feeling his breath mingle with yours, utterly certain for the first time that you were standing on equal ground. You tilted your head and found his lips. The kiss started unrushed and tender, just the two of you relearning what it meant to be close again. You moved together easily, his hands slipping up to cradle your face, your fingers twisting in his hair.
The moment stretched, deepening into something needier as you shifted, pressing closer, wanting to memorize every bit of him, not just with words but with touch. When Mark finally pulled away, breath short and eyes shining, you saw everything you’d been missing in his expression.
“Come with me,” he whispered, leading you down the hallway to his bedroom.
Mark’s bedroom was quiet aside from your breathing and the muted hum of the city beyond his window. You sat perched on the edge of his mattress, watching as he approached you slowly, his gaze heavy but gentle. When he settled beside you, his knee brushed yours softly.
His eyes held yours, questioning. “You sure you’re okay?”
You smiled a little, nerves fluttering warmly in your stomach. “Yeah. Just nervous, I guess.”
“Me too,” he whispered with a small laugh, the sound soothing your nerves instantly.
He lifted one hand carefully to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively. Your eyes slipped closed when he kissed you, slow and gentle at first. His lips parted yours gradually, and your breath escaped in a sigh that he swallowed eagerly.
You raised your hands to his hair, threading your fingers gently through the strands at the nape of his neck. Mark leaned into your touch, deepening the kiss just slightly, careful not to rush. He was savoring every second of finally having you here, close enough to touch, close enough to taste.
His hands traveled from your jawline to your shoulders, fingertips leaving a trail of warmth as they skimmed your skin. He guided you gently down onto the bed, following until his body hovered carefully above yours.
Mark pulled back for a moment to study your face. The tenderness in his gaze nearly broke your heart. He ducked his head slowly and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheekbone, then lower, just beneath your ear.
Your breath caught as his lips brushed softly against your throat. He paused to press a slow kiss to your pulse point, lingering as your heartbeat quickened beneath his mouth. His lips parted, and you felt the gentle scrape of his teeth followed by the warmth of his tongue soothing the spot. A soft moan slipped from your lips as you arched your neck further, silently begging for more.
He chuckled quietly against your skin, pleased. The sound vibrated down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Mark continued his slow path along your collarbone, kissing each inch of exposed skin he found. His hands slid up your sides beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your ribs gently, reverently.
You lifted your arms to help him remove your shirt, feeling the cool air kiss your bare skin. He tossed the fabric aside carefully before leaning back to look at you. The hunger in his eyes made your pulse race and your skin heat under his gaze.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered softly, almost like a confession.
You tugged gently at his shirt in response. He sat back just enough to pull it over his head, letting it join yours on the floor. His skin was warm as you touched him, tracing your fingers down his chest and across his stomach, memorizing the lines and planes you’d only admired through screens before tonight.
Mark dipped down again, his mouth finding the sensitive hollow between your breasts. Your breath hitched softly, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. He placed gentle kisses along the curve of your breast, deliberately avoiding where you needed him most until you arched upward with a quiet plea.
He finally gave in, lips brushing your nipple softly before taking it gently into his mouth. You gasped softly, your back curving off the mattress. Your fingers gripped his hair tighter as he drew careful circles with his tongue, driving you slowly toward blissful frustration.
He repeated this on the other side, taking his time, his touch patient and unrushed. By the time his lips started to drift downward again, you were trembling softly beneath him, needing more.
His fingers slipped carefully beneath your waistband, tugging your remaining clothes down your hips until you kicked them off completely. Mark paused, sitting back to take in the sight of you, completely bare and vulnerable beneath him. The look on his face—adoration mixed with desire—made your cheeks warm and your heart race even faster.
He lowered himself again, placing soft kisses along your stomach, lingering at your hipbones and leaving careful marks with his mouth. Your fingers threaded through his hair as you tried not to squirm impatiently beneath his touch.
“Mark, please,” you whispered, your voice quiet but needy.
He smiled softly against your skin before finally giving you what you were asking for. His mouth was gentle but insistent, lips and tongue moving carefully, building your pleasure slowly. Your hips shifted beneath him as your breath came quicker, louder, his name escaping your lips in soft gasps and whispered pleas.
He took his time, watching every reaction, listening to every sound you made. You finally shuddered softly beneath him, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as pleasure washed through you.
Mark crawled up your body again, kissing you deeply as your breathing slowly calmed. You felt his warmth pressed against you, skin to skin now, and your heart stuttered gently in your chest.
“Still okay?” he asked softly, his lips brushing your forehead.
“More than okay,” you whispered, pulling him closer. “I want you, Mark.”
He reached for a condom quickly, his movements still gentle as he settled back between your legs. Your eyes met again as he lined himself up, slowly easing forward until your breath caught again and your fingers dug into his shoulders.
He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust. Then his hips rocked into yours steadily. Each thrust was deep and careful, pulling you closer to him, his breath warm against your neck as he held you tightly.
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper still. Your movements became synchronized, bodies perfectly attuned to each other as you moved toward your shared orgasm.
"So fucking good" he groaned.
Your nails scraped softly down his back, drawing a quiet moan from his throat. He kissed you again as his pace grew faster, more urgent as you both neared the edge. His fingers intertwined with your fingers as he pressed your joined hands into the mattress beside your head.
“Look at me,” he breathed shakily. You did, and the intensity in his gaze finally pushed you over the edge. Your body tightened around him as you whispered his name again, soft and desperate.
He followed moments after, breathing ragged as he clung to you, face pressed into the curve of your neck. For a while afterward neither of you moved, content to remain tangled and breathless, your heartbeats gradually syncing into something slow and peaceful.
Eventually he lifted his head just enough to kiss your lips softly. You smiled into the kiss, fingers brushing his hair away from his face.
“I really love you,” he whispered, lips barely brushing yours.
“I love you, too,” you whispered back, and it felt like the simplest truth in the world.
You woke slowly, and you weren’t sure where you were for a moment, but then you felt the weight of Mark’s arm draped across your waist and his breath warm against the back of your neck.
You shifted carefully, looking over your shoulder. Mark was still asleep, his hair a mess, lips parted in the faintest snore. His face was relaxed in a way you’d never seen before. He looked younger, softer, as if the weight of the world had finally eased for a few hours.
You let yourself watch him for a little while, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the moles on his cheek, the way his fingers flexed gently against your stomach even in sleep. You turned to face him, noses almost touching, and whispered, “Hey. Wake up.”
He mumbled something incoherent, brow creasing as he tightened his hold. “Five more minutes,” he pleaded, voice thick with sleep.
You laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “C’mon, you promised me breakfast.”
That got a smile out of him. His eyes blinked open, unfocused at first, but when he saw you he grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
Mark leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. His hand slid up your back, thumb tracing lazy circles. “You’re still here.”
“Where else would I be, silly?” you murmured, letting your forehead rest against his.
You stayed like that for a while, tangled in sheets, trading gentle kisses and sleepy jokes. Eventually, the rumble of Mark’s stomach broke the spell, and you both started laughing.
“Okay, okay,” he said, untangling himself and rolling out of bed. He padded over to his closet, grabbed a t-shirt, and tossed it to you to wear. You slipped it on and it swallowed you whole.
You watched him move around the kitchen, hair still sticking up, humming quietly as he started coffee and pulled out bread and eggs. You leaned against the counter, grinning at how domestic it all felt. Mark caught your eye and winked.
“What?” he said, brandishing a spatula. “Never seen a master chef at work before?”
“Pretty sure you’re known as the worst enemy of eggs.”
“Hey, that was one time.”
You hopped up onto the counter and stole a piece of toast from his plate. He playfully tried to swat your hand away, but you were faster.
You ate on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets, plates balanced on your knees. He kept reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear or to press quick, silly kisses to your shoulder.
When the dishes were rinsed and stacked to dry, Mark stretched, muscles flexing under the thin fabric of his T-shirt.
“Wanna shower?” he asked, his voice still a little husky.
You nodded, happy to follow him down the hall. The bathroom was surprisingly wide, clean white tile, soft towels folded neatly, the scent of his shampoo lingering in the air.
Mark twisted the tap, checking the temperature. He peeled off his shirt first, glancing over his shoulder with a shy grin when he caught you staring. You tugged yours off in response, then stepped under the spray together.
Warm water drummed across your shoulders. Mark’s hands settled at your hips, guiding you under the stream until your hair slicked flat against your neck. He reached for a bottle, squeezed shampoo into his palm, and started working it gently through your hair. His fingers massaged your scalp in slow circles. You closed your eyes, the simple touch turning your knees to jelly.
“Lean back,” he murmured. You did, letting the suds rinse away. When you opened your eyes he was smiling, foam clinging to his own hair like a crooked crown. You laughed and swiped bubbles from his forehead. He tried to retaliate, streaking soap across your nose, so you flicked water at him in defense. The playfulness echoed off tile and glass, louder than it probably should, but neither of you cared.
Mark grabbed body wash next, lathering it between his palms before running his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, across your back. The touch was slow and steady, more patient than the night before. You mirrored him, sliding your soapy palms over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, head tipping back into the spray.
“Turn around,” you whispered. He did, and you trailed suds across his spine, mapping each vertebra with your fingers. You pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder blade and felt him exhale.
The water started to cool, so Mark reached around you to shut it off. Droplets clung to his lashes while he grabbed a towel for you, another for himself. He patted your hair dry, then wrapped the towel around your shoulders like a cloak before tending to his own. There was no rush. The morning belonged to both of you.
Back in the bedroom, the mid-afternoon sunlight sat warm on the sheets. You dropped onto the edge of the mattress, towel still wrapped snug around you. Mark pulled a clean sweatshirt over his head, then rummaged for one of his spare shirts and a pair of soft shorts for you. He tossed them over with a gentle, “Here, these should fit.”
Once dressed, you crawled to the middle of the bed where he was already propped against the headboard, legs stretched out. You curled into his side, damp hair spreading across his shoulder. He threaded his fingers through the strands, combing lazily while the city hummed beyond the window.
“You know,” he said after a while, “I never thought a quiet morning could feel this big.”
You shifted to look at him. “Big how?”
“Big as in… everything I wanted, but simple too.” His thumb brushed your cheek.
You smiled, letting your eyes drift shut. “Simple sounds perfect.”
Mark pressed a slow kiss to your temple. You breathed him in, warmth and clean laundry and his addictive natural scent.
His fingers were combing lazily through your damp hair when he asked, “Do you have a Seoul bucket list?”
You tilted your head up from where it rested against his chest. “Bucket list?”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning a little. “Stuff you’ve always wanted to do if you ever came here.”
You thought for a moment. “I mean, I always wanted to walk around the Han river.”
“That’s it?” he said, faking offense. “What kind of tourist are you?”
You laughed. “Fine, I also wanted to visit a traditional palace. And maybe try street food from a cart like in the dramas. Oh, and take one of those cheesy photo booth strips. Happy?”
“That’s better,” he said warmly. “Get dressed. I’ll be your tour guide for the day.”
He took you everywhere.
The first stop was the Han river, just before the sun dipped too low. He rented two bikes, insisting on racing you down the path even though his legs were still sore from rehearsal. At one point, he lost control, swerved into the grass, and tumbled off earning a chorus of startled gasps from a family nearby. After making sure he was okay, you laughed until your sides hurt and promised to never let him live it down.
Next, you stopped at a food cart and got odeng, tteokbokki, and a hotteok that was almost too sweet. Mark bought way too much and insisted you both finish it, grinning through powdered sugar and spice.
He took you to Changdeokgung Palace, where you borrowed hanboks and wandered the quiet paths, giggling when Mark kept bowing to strangers like a royal guard. The afternoon was warm but breezy, the light gentle and soft on your faces. Everything felt impossibly light.
Later, he dragged you into a photo booth in Hongdae. You took one serious shot—both of you trying to look hot—and then the rest were silly. Tongues out, bunny ears, noses squished together, a kiss that took you both by surprise because it felt so natural in that moment.
“I’m keeping all of these,” he said afterward, shoving the prints into his wallet.
You nudged his side. “I better be in there for life.”
He looked at you, something soft passing through his eyes. “Deal.”
As the sun dipped lower, Mark brought you back to the Han river because he insisted the view was better at sunset. He was right. Everything was tinted gold, the water shimmering and cool. He bought two convenience store beers, and you sat on the grass sipping and watching the light change.
“I used to come here when things got too loud at the dorm,” he admitted, watching the horizon. “When we debuted, I didn’t know what I was doing.”
You rested your head on his shoulder. “Does it still feel like that sometimes?”
He nodded. “But less, now that you’re here.”
You stayed there long after the sun had set, city lights flickering on around you, breeze tugging at your clothes, his fingers laced tightly with yours.
This wasn’t the Seoul you had imagined. It was better, because he was showing it to you, because you were seeing it together.
Later that night, Mark led you up a narrow stairwell, fingers still laced with yours. You could see how the city stretched out in all directions from there. Seoul glittering below and the Han river in the distance tracing a silver ribbon through the darkness.
He looked at you, a little shy even now, and tugged a tiny Bluetooth speaker from his jacket pocket. “Wait here.”
You watched as he set the speaker on the concrete, fiddled with his phone, and then a familiar melody floated up, soft at first, then swelling. His song. Not the demo you’d heard the other night, but the finished version. His voice was clearer, more confident, full of everything he’d been holding back.
Mark stepped closer, pulled a slightly crumpled Polaroid from his wallet and pressed it into your palm. It was your favorite from the photo booth, both of you making ridiculous faces, happiness written all over your features. Scrawled on the back in his messy handwriting We’ll keep adding frames.
He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gaze serious and gentle all at once. “I wanted you to hear it first. And I want you here for every song, every stupid photo, all of it. Okay?”
You nodded, tears threatening even though you were smiling. “Okay.”
He took your hand and slow-danced you in a tight circle under moonlight, the music washing over you both. You could barely hear the city anymore, just his voice in your ear, singing a promise he’d already made you a hundred different ways.
When the song faded, Mark leaned his forehead to yours. “I don’t want to lose you. And now, I never will.”
