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setsugekka · 1 year

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❥déjà vu (m)

↳ One year after the fulfillment of a particularly raunchy agreement with your best friends husband, the three of you once again find yourselves together over a bottle of pinot noir, an appetizer, and an unforeseen question laid out on the table:

If you could do it all again, would you?

kim doyoung x fem!reader — friends with benefits, gratuitous sexual content, porn with plot [21k wc] cws: open relationship, alcohol consumption, bdsm-heavy!! dominant doyoung, submissive reader, restraints, impact play, slapping, dom-drop+aftercare, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (m+f), gratuitous dirty talk/degradation/humiliation, cum play/facials/wet&messy, deep throating, safe word usage, ravishment play, infidelity play, spit play, doyoung has a big dick and fucks like a pornstar.

In the dimly lit ambiance of the swanky restaurant that you and your present company currently reside, and over the dull, pleasant hum of the chatter of the surround patrons, you suppose you can't help but reminisce, just a little bit.

One year.

Not on the dot, a few weeks give or take since the beginning of one such agreement, but nevertheless a time in your life that you've found yourself recalling perhaps a few more times than you'd care to admit. Admit to yourself, and especially to aforementioned present company.

You bring yourself back from the thought just in time to make eye contact with the man across the table from you — a knowing collection of features gracing his face, of course, he doesn't know the ins and outs of whatever it is that happens to take your attention in the moment, but rather, just that there had been something to stir you away from the present. The ringing laughter of your best friend just next to him finally coming into earshot to let you know that the two had been engaged in some other conversation that you must have tuned out slightly, you watch her snake an arm around his as his preoccupied one continues to top off your glass of red wine.

Thankfully, third-wheeling with the couple has become far more comfortable, though, you suppose you know what the reason for that may be.

Mina, with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail and a black sweater on — it must have been the evening for couple outfits, as Doyoung sports just about the same, minus the blonde hair, instead sporting his usual black with seemingly no interest in ever changing his look.

"I'm so annoyed I have to go on this business trip at all," Mina huffs, across the table and next to her husband. "But they did say that I would need to be gone like this occasionally when I took it, so hopefully it can be done and over with as quickly as possible, at least."

"How long was it, again?" You ask, fork gently pressed between your lips to clean it off.

She rolls her eyes as the response begins to leave her. "A month. I don't know what he's going to do without me."

Playful in nature, Mina cozies up with Doyoung next to her as she says it, to which he merely offers a roll of his own eyes before audibly inhaling to response. "Surely I can manage."

"He'll probably just work the whole time, anyways," You add. Your friend nods knowingly. "Aren't you writing a book?"

Lips to his glass, he begins speaking into at the tail end of his sip before placing it back onto the table to carry on with the thought. "It's finished. Loose ends here or there but mostly done. Back to the usual workload, now."

Humming, you carefully shovel another forkful of pasta into your mouth before your vision catches on Mina — a certain gleam in her eye that you know all too well by now to mean that the woman be up to no good, you slow in your motions as you maintain your eyes upon her in wait for what it is that she almost certainly be about to unload on either of you in the middle of this far-too-expensive restaurant.

"Actually," she starts with a jingle to her tone. Eyes now averted from either of you, she still maintains the wicked upturn of the corners of her lips as she hesitates only slightly before finishing the sentence with little more presented to either of you. "I kind of wanted to talk to you about something—"

"Who?"

The word drops from both you and Doyoung simultaneously, and as a result, pulls a resonating chuckle from the woman.

"Well, both of you."

Uh-oh.

Doyoung, once having had his head turned towards his wife, now slowly pulls his vision ahead again, but not without narrow, questioning eyes still remaining to his side as if suspecting her being up to no-good. For good reason, as well, because you maintain the same amount of surveillance on her in wait for what it is that she's about to bestow.

Like a villain sitting in her evil, hands twisting within themselves for all of the devilishness that be about to transpire as a result of her.

"I have an idea."

"Well, that much we can tell, you only get like this when you have one of your ideas," Doyoung can't help but quip back immediately. A man lovingly fed up with all of the nonsense that his wife bring to his life, while no doubt being a large part of the reason that he love her in the first place. "So, what is it, then?"

"No fun, as usual." She sighs before taking a hastened sip from her own glass of wine. Then, her attention turns almost exclusively towards you, as if equally fed up with the way that her husband be behaving in regards to her unknown genius. "Since I'm going to be gone so long, I was thinking — why don't you come stay at the house?"

A shocked, resounding ‘what!?’ coming from both you and the husband in question, once again.

Of course, Mina only laughs at the response from you two with a gentle shake of her head to top it off.

You don't entirely know what to make of the offer, and frankly, you're a little bit too afraid to ask. Instead, you're thankful for Doyoung's bluntness, and perhaps also his familiarity in navigating these particular waters with his wife — because you think you know what she's suggesting, but he most certainly will be the one to ask the question out loud.

"Are you suggesting another arrangement while you're gone?"

"Yeah, why not?" She chimes back as if it be the most normal thing in the world. That it be bizarre for anyone to so much as question it further. "It's a whole month, darling."

"Fairly certain I can keep myself busy enough to not die without having sex for a month."

In ways, this conversation not really involve you currently. Should it play out a specific way, suppose then your input be necessary, but for now: this is between the betrothed.

Mina finally turns in the booth to face him better, but Doyoung insists on maintaining his calculated stature in facing forward and staring out towards the nothingness of the restaurant. He's difficult to read in moments like this; unable to discern if he's upset by the proposition, the potential implications of it, or if he's interested and just unwilling to come of all too eager, and especially in front of you.

After all, the last time sure did end off with a bang, of sorts.

"Are you mad at me?" She asks cutely, as if knowing the answer already. A woman who knows her husbands buttons well, as he turns to give her his full, undivided attention almost the moment that the last syllable drops from her mouth.

"No! I'm not mad, it's just," he pauses, thinking through his word choice carefully as a result of present company, you're sure. "I thought we all agreed that it was a one time thing."

"Then say you're not interested and I'll drop it."

For a split second, Doyoung's eyes catch your own, but he pulls them back and away from you nearly just as swiftly.

You don't think you've ever seen him like this. So...flustered?

Swallowing so hard you watch the lump in his throat bob, Doyoung cocks his head to the side once as if stretching for the marathon of a conversation that his acquiescence to this may just result in. A marathon, indeed, because there would certainly be a whole load more negotiations to take place for a month of who-knows-what-really.

Hesitancy to admit that he's interested in the arrangement. Reluctance to admit it outright without seeming all too eager to re-engage. Tricky waters for the husband in question to navigate, certainly.

Eyes fluttering shut, he sighs. "I'm not against it, just...surprised."

And unfortunately, that means it's your turn now.

Both of their attention now turning to you just as the waiter comes and brings the bill to your table, you feel the heat of embarrassment rush to your face — as if this stranger be privy to the topics ongoing currently — you chuckle nervously as you take the paper in hand, only for Doyoung to just as swiftly tear it away from you before you have so much as a second to consider paying it yourself.

"Well?" Mina questions, chin resting inside of her palm as an elbow settles against the waxed wood of the table top.

For whatever reason, you choose not to acknowledge the man any further as you think through your answer. Assuming him far too busy calculating incredibly simple math especially for someone with a career in finance, all you are capable of is simply thinking him all too enamored in that to be paying any interest or mind to what your response to this question could be. So, with eyes glued to the table in front of you, you muster up all of the courage that you can, while simultaneously biting back the bubbling excitement that you're not too proud of having, before finally giving your best friend your full attention and giving the answer that you think be the one that everyone at the table be looking forward to hearing from you.

"Yeah. I'm down."

Three weeks later, you bring your belongings for your extended stay over to the house that you find already to be comfortable.

There's a certain air about it: a place that you've already spent countless days and nights at, but knowing the circumstances under which you're back inside of their humble abode offering a new set of eyes that you have long since abandoned since a year or so back. Kitchen countertops and upstairs walls that serve as reminders of all sorts of goings on between you and the man of the house — perhaps things you may find yourself revisiting as well as new, unexplored areas with him — there's an excitement within you that now takes the place of any uncertainty or reluctance the first time around.

Because you know Doyoung, and you trust him completely.

Dragging a large suitcase inside, as well as an over-the-shoulder bag and a laptop bag for work, you carefully set your belongings down on the white, marble flooring of the home as you listen for the nearing sounds of footsteps hurrying down the upstairs hallway and towards you. Mina tips over the railing with a bright, cheerful smile — somehow the happiest of the three of you about the way that things are going to carry out for the next thirty days.

"You're here! Doie! She's here!"

Of course, you don't hear from the man, and instead your friend rushes herself down the stairs and into your arms with a wide, tight hug.

"I'm also hungry, I hope there's food in this house," You playfully respond, but before Mina has the chance, Doyoung retorts plainly from the same railing that Mina had been lovingly doting on you only minutes before.

"Suppose I'm expected to keep you fed then, as well."

"Yes, dear," Mina dryly answers with a huff over her shoulder. "Feed and fuck her, that's the agreement."

It being so simply discussed out in the open perhaps something you may never grow completely comfortable with, and with eyes glancing upwards to gauge the mans response as a result of his wife’s words, Doyoung's eyes only roll before sauntering down the stairway just the same as the woman had.

"Are you going to make dinner tonight?" Mina questions as he arrives just behind her. Hands in pockets, he shrugs rather nonchalantly, as if it make no difference to him either way. "I could."

He meets eyes with you, a single eyebrow raising. "Should I?"

"Uh, yeah," you hesitate in response, arms still wrapped around his wife as the conversation carries on. "That'd be really nice."

"I'll go prep then while the two of you say your goodbyes."

And before exiting the scene, Doyoung leans forward and around to kiss Mina — her still very much attached from you, it results in a very full, somewhat-intimate moment that you're all too included in. Unsure if they simply not be aware of your proximity or just as much not care, you swallow and glance away until they're finished — Doyoung's eyes once again catching onto your own before he pulls away from the blonde woman and disappears inside of the kitchen just down the hall.

Shortly there after, Mina separates herself from you, as well. Bags already packed and set aside by the door, you ask her if she need any help in bringing her things out to while she protests, and simply tells you to go and enjoy your stay...

...as well as 'all of the things that the stay has to offer.'

You're not sure if you should feel guilty for the amount of anticipation you've been holding back ever since the initial conversation, but you can't help but wishing for the woman to hurry herself out of the residence, even just a little bit.

You love her, of course, and if her being there instead were an option you would happily choose that ahead of your own interests.

But it's not an option, and frankly, you want to fuck her husband again. No real need to beat around the bush about it, this time.

Two hours after the wife’s departure, the scent of dinner brewing emanates throughout the lower level of the residency that you're now expected to call 'home' for the next month. Surrounded by familiar, white walls and granite countertops, the tall man within be laid with the multitasking of dinner-making while you carry out the finishing touches of table setting. One hand carefully cupped around the tip of the last candle, you hold the lighter against the wick for the fire to catch, and pulling away, you glance over the handy work that you've done in the meantime as you wait for the food to finish cooking. With a heavy sigh coming from Doyoung, you glance over only to find him missing momentarily — popping up from his presumed kneeling position in front of the small, compact wine cooler with a bottle of white in hand.

"Are you going to get changed?"

His expression is somewhat deadpan, which you suppose is to be a bit expected of him, but the question definitely coming from out of left field given your lack of knowledge of even being expected to wear something other than what it is that you had arrived in.

Was this...a date?

Stammering slightly, you do some quick, on your feet thinking about anything that you may have easily accessible in one of your bags that not require a whole lot of putting together in the last minute. "Yeah, give me a second."

Nearly jogging out of the dining room, you hear the man loudly and in your direction. "Make it quick, dinner's in ten."

Pulling a loose, casual dress from your bag and quickly bringing yourself upstairs and into the guest bedroom that you're now to call your own, you can't help but divert your attention down the hall to the shared bedroom of the wedded couple, with one, main rule bestowed upon you by Mina days before your arrival. Her only request of the two of you and your adventures together while she be gone:

Never in their shared room.

No interest in breaking such a rule, instead, you think it charming as you disrobe quickly to change into something more fitting for the evening together. That even in all of the things the couple be willing to share in their marriage, some things still remain off limits, and only for them.

As you re-enter the kitchen area, you catch Doyoung as he pull his apron off from around his neck. Long, thin finger deftly working at the tie around his small waist in a way that reminds you of precisely the way that the mans body look: broad shoulders cinching so snugly at the middle — accentuated by the way fitted trousers and belt hug him and pull at the loose fabric of his button down shirt — he catches you looking well before you find enough awareness to bring your eyes away, and a flush of heat settles at just the tips of your ears as a result of being found out in such a way.

He says nothing, however, instead carrying on with the task of setting the discarded item onto the back of a chair and nodding towards the glass dinner table. "It's ready."

Walking steadily behind him, you realize that the close proximity of the both of you in such a way having long since reignited a sort of burning passion within you for the man — with eyes cascading over his shoulders and back as he bring himself forward, you feel the first, all too evident throb of arousal between your legs that you know, for a fact, you can't possibly place blame on anything else.

When the original agreement had come to a close, you accepted as much happily. A good, positive, growing experience for you in so many ways, but more than that, you were satisfied. Not just sexually, but with your relationships, your life, and your choices. Within the closure came a certain kind of acceptance of yourself in ways that you had never had the opportunity to find before, and now with the re-opening of it, what you really hope to find is more of that.

More acceptance, more trust.

In ways the nature of such agreement never truly able to be just about sex. You can't speak for him, but for you, so much more to be learned and experienced.

Reaching the clear end of the table, majority of the things residing atop it placed further down to accommodate the fact that only two people be sitting there this evening, Doyoung stops so abruptly in his tracks that you nearly collide straight into him — hands coming up to steady yourself and set space between the two of your bodies, it turns into a bit of a whirlwind, however, when you feel the familiar grip of fingers coming around one of your wrists and pulling you forward and in front of the man.

You don't get much more time between then and the few seconds following: expertly placed up and on top of the glass with your legs pried apart to make room for the man between them.

The first kiss comes equally hard and fast, as well.

Nipping into your bottom lip, you don't need much help navigating these particular waters as your hands already make quick work of his belt, followed shortly thereafter by the button and zipper of his black trousers — with such little time passed and a palm pressed against the front of his pants, you find only the beginnings of an erection forming, enough to have you groaning into his mouth with promise of what's to come all of the same, however.

A master of his craft, Doyoung having already pressed the majority of the length of your dress up your hips upon hoisting you onto the table, he dips a single finger down the front of your panties and between your folds, as if to test the waters already. From your position, it's easy to feel the ease in which he glides against you due to the slickness already presented to him — your reward thus far? An absolutely wicked groan of his own through teeth that bite down just a little bit harder into your lip.

"God, how long have you wanted this?" He says with a low tone, words delivered directly into your open mouth as you gasp for air at the feeling of him rubbing gentle circles into your clit just the way he knows you like it. "You're so wet already. You still think about it, huh?"

Less interested in playing games and more willing to be a far more active participant this time around — leaving behind the shyness and apprehension that came along with the completely uncharted waters of the first time — you tilt your head back just slightly and grin, taking in the feeling of him all over again.

"Yeah, I do," you answer with airy confidence. "Don't you?"

"Fuck yes I do."

Words coming through in nearly a growl, Doyoung drags his mouth down along your jaw to suck into the skin all of the way down your neck before settling into the juncture of your shoulder. Pointed sucks and nips into the skin there as if a man truly starved for your touch, you feel him pull you forward and tilt you back just slightly — adjusting the angle of your body so that the fingers teasing you can slip down further — middle finger gliding so easily inside of you, he gives you three pumps of it before adding a second to see how much you need to be prepped for him.

The answer is very little.

Barely any resistance brought to him as he fucks you open with his fingers, you lean back with one palm against the glass behind you to remain stable as the other fishes out his length from behind the confines of the fabric holding it. Long and beautiful, just like you remembered, you run the palm of your hand up the underside of his shaft before delicately wrapping fingers around him and offering him a few lazy strokes; for no other reason than to hear the way his breath hitches just beneath your ear as his mouth carries on its journey back up that way.

As the man carefully creates enough space between your bodies to hook fingers into the sides of your undergarment and pull it down your legs, as he quickly presses his own pants down his thighs just enough to not be a deterrent, you can't help but notice the palpable urgency that this instance carries: a man known for his intensity and ability to maintain stoicism even in the face of erotic desire, this time you find him nearly unrecognizable from any of the times before. No roles between you, no power dynamics at play.

Just two people and raw, sexual desire.

Forearms hooked up and under your legs for leverage, you reach down to him to angle and ease him inside of you with one, smooth drive of his hips — sinking into you with heavy, contented sighs dropping from the both of your mouths at the feeling of each other. Rocking into you shallowly two, three times, it's only then that Doyoung reach his hand up to grasp the side of your neck as if to hold you there, in place, and with all eyes on him, as well.

Pulling the leg still in his grasp up and tightly against the side of his body, he offers you a quick, hard, snap of his hips that finally has you feeling exactly how it is that you want him to make you feel.

Crying out, he settles his forehead against your own, looking you dead in the eyes as he offers another hard drive of his cock into you. The angle is just right for him to graze your g-spot with intense pressure, and already, you feel your thighs quaking around him at the sudden onset of it.

He starts slow, but is quick to find his pace against you, all the while holding you firm in his gasp for just the right amount of leverage that every forceful thrust into you be received with the utmost impact.

You had forgotten how easily he's able to have to falling apart under, and around him.

Electric intensity coursing through every nerve ending, toes curling as your moans quickly dissolve into pathetic whimpers, you feel the prickling of wetness threatening your tear ducts as you bite hard into your bottom lip in an attempt to bring yourself back, even just a little bit.

It's the first time, and relatively vanilla, at that. This man can not have you withering like this already, it's humiliating.

With his jaw tight and teeth gritted as he stairs down towards you, you whine out as the hand around your neck snakes up just ever so slightly and into the hair at the back of your head — fist clenching tight within the strands, and it's only then that Doyoung break his gaze with you and trail hot, dry lips down to the shell of your ear.

"Thought I forgot what you like?" He asks with a drop of venom to his tone. "Don't want to ruin you just yet, we still have dinner to eat."

There's that nasty mouth you had grown to love a year ago.

With impending orgasm on the horizon that no doubt that man inside of you can feel, he trades in shorter, quicker drives into you for fuller, longer ones — offering you the feeling of the entirety of his cock with every snap of his hips, and it's really then that you realize that Doyoung have your likes a little bit too under his thumb for your liking.

But only as far as ego goes. Physically, you already find yourself lamenting the day in which this must once again come to an end.

Walls clenching down around him, Doyoung hisses into your ear as you bite back the full, long moan of an orgasm that's soon to shake you, and dipping down only long enough to nip and suck into the skin below your ear, he brings his mouth back up to it right as you're on the verge of your release.

"How about you make me come, so that I can lick it out of you for dessert."

And that will certainly do the trick.

Yelling out so loudly that you're happy to know that the two of you home alone and on a plot of land large enough that neighbors not be a concern, your orgasm rips through you, so desperate to grip onto something that one hand come up to curl fingers into Doyoung's forearm as he hold you by the hair in place for him to fuck into. Bringing his head up to look at you, as if the unsure about the motion and having to check in on the goings on visually — happy with the scene as your eyes roll back into harshly knitted eyebrows, you hear him groan from the chest — full-bodied and throaty as he comes as well with only a handful more drives into you before burying his cock entirely to empty his load inside of you.

The familiar twitch of him as he comes — mouth delicately hung ajar and looking down at the place where he disappears inside of you — a simple man who enjoy all of the carnal pleasures that sex offer him as much as any other. Prim, proper, put together on the outside but when given the chance, a man willing to say and do the the nastiest, filthiest things to and for a partner...for the both of your enjoyment.

The wetter, the messier — the better it is, for you and him, alike.

And as the two of you sit together for dinner only moments after, discussing the trials and tribulations of adult, workload life — with his cum dripping from your cunt and soaking into your panties, you know one thing is for sure, and that is that whatever is left of it inside of you by the time you two are finished here, he most certainly will be making good on his promise of dessert.

Waking up in the morning feels strange, even under the circumstances of a fake-dating agreement.

On one hand, it makes sense: preferring to sleep in the comfort of ones own bed, but as you lie awake, staring at the while ceiling above and listening to the hum of the dehumidifier that stand tucked away in the furthest corner of the room, you can't help but feel something. Some way about it.

However, it is early into the scenario — only day two, so perhaps it best to allow these feelings of uncertainty lie dormant for just a little while longer — given time to manifest into something if they ever are to, before bringing it to the attention of the man of the house.

Would it be a strange request? All things considered and through all of the other goings on, could something as quaint as the request to be slept next to be one unspoken hard limit for the husband in question?

A single, hard blink has you putting the thought out of your mind in exchange for rolling over to face the window as the delicate blanketing of morning rays wash over your frame. Snagging your phone from off of the nightstand, you check the time only to be be shocked by how early it is — only a bit past six — you come to realize that it explain the sound of rustling from downstairs that you originally thought to be nothing but the typical sounds of a house in the night.

For a moment, you contemplate attempting to go back to sleep, rolling onto your back once again and sprawling across as much of the expanse of the much-too-large furniture as you can possibly manage. Instead, it's the sound of the espresso machine ringing loudly through the residence that has you reconsidering your options.

Footsteps climbing the stairs, you can't help but listen in on the way that the man moves about when not in the company of you or others. Sounding as if he is, however, you hear him on the phone to someone or another — displeased at best, as well, given the strength to his voice despite being unable to make out the words. Shuffling around his office briefly only to disappear back down to the lower level, you decide then that you much too curious about Doyoung in a way that you hadn't quite expected: him as a person, him as an employee, him detached from sexuality almost entirely.

Feet into slippers and a light robe over your shoulders, you quietly tip-toe your way down to the kitchen where it seem that the majority of the early morning happenings be taking place — as you make your way closer, the distinct scent of coffee brewing and and continued sounds of an irritated man, none too thrilled about the conversation taking place, but it's only when you reach the nearest entryway and your presence demands his attention, that you feel as though you may have been walking into more than you had thought to be signing up for.

Black hair styled and slicked back with a gray suit adorning him — it would appear normal, given his occupation, if not for one, glaring, difference to the typical business attire.

No shirt worn underneath the jacket, instead, you find yourself faced with the expanse of smooth skin that you're already well acquainted with, sure.

But not like this?

Your being there appears to fluster him slightly as he turns his back towards you quickly and cusses under his breath despite still being on the phone. Informing the person on the other line that he'll call them back, you watch with a sort of innocent enjoyment as Doyoung pulls the jacket closed before turning to face you again.

"What are you doing awake?" He all but stutters out, a good attempt at maintaining his vocal balance through his embarrassment, you have to give it to him.

With a single eyebrow perked upwards, you offer him nothing more than a gentle grin at first, slipping through the doorway finally and pulling a mug down from one of the higher cupboards to pour yourself a cup of coffee. "I don't sleep so well in new places, it'll take a couple of days to get used to a new bed."

You can't be sure if ignoring the elephant in the room be what he desire right then and there, or if instead it only lending to more awkwardness — so, you make a judgment call then and there as you turn to seat yourself at the kitchen island and hopping into one of the tall stools that reside there.

"So—"

"Don't." He immediately interjects with screwed shut eyes and a palm up towards you.

A small giggle escapes your mouth at his insistence, but beyond that, you choose to let it lie as you quietly scroll through your phone. Doyoung, however, not as easily placated — shuffling around nervously in place, and if you didn't know any better, you might think him to be irritated at your lack of insistence further.

"It's not what it looks like."

Glancing up towards him, you blink once. "I assure you that I have no idea what it looks like."

It's the truth, because after all: what the fuck?

Rolling his eyes and accepting defeat, the man grabs his mug from behind him and seats himself across the way from you with phone in hand as if waiting for a call that he intend on answering the absolute second that it begins coming through.

"So, you know I wrote a book."

You nod.

"Publisher wants me to do some promotional photos for it, now I get word last minute that the photographer isn't coming and they're having a hard time finding someone who can make it all of the way out here in time."

"Is there a reason that they want you to be dressed like a Chippendales dancer for a book about business and finances?"

Groaning and tossing his head back so abruptly you think he might send the entirety of himself barreling backwards and out of his chair, when he comes back upwards, he looks approximately as pained about the whole ordeal as you might expect him to.

"Something about selling more books."

A questioning hum into the rim of your mug, you would be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy having a bit of the high ground over the man for once. Tables turned briefly as he sits across from you nearly nervously sweating the wax out of his perfectly styled hair — when the call begins to come through finally, Doyoung jumps up and out of his chair to answer it — hurried and excited at first, only to find himself sounding just as annoyed and despondent as you had heard him earlier on.

Guess it's not going well.

Turning to you once again as he ends the call and setting his phone onto the granite countertop with a heavy sigh, he tilts his head backwards with eyes closed as if in silent prayer for some sort of answer to this conundrum from some sort of higher power above.

Luckily for him, the answer only need fifteen more minutes to wake up and another cup of coffee, first.

"Did Mina ever tell you I got pretty into photography a few months back?"

"I'm sure she mentioned it."

Slow on the pick-up.

"I brought my stuff with me because you guys live in sort of a good area for landscape photography," you continue on, and thankfully by now the mans eyes start to pick up and raise towards you as you speak. "I don't really do people but it doesn't seem like you're in much of a position to be all that picky."

Quietly taking another sip from your cup, you sit by and wait for the reluctant acceptance: because he's a man out of other options, and you don't really have anything better to be doing this early in the morning, either.

"Fine." Doyoung sighs, tipping his own drink all of the way back to finish it off as if downing a shot of liquor to prepare him for the morning going forward. "Just make sure I look pretty, would you?"

"Of course, darling."

Snapping a few test shots, you pull your camera down from your eye and take a look through the display to check the turn out — given, it's a bit of a rough shoot with no lighting equipment and not much else to help you along your way, but you figure with what you're getting here currently that someone far more talented than yourself be capable of fixing anything decent you get in post.

Looking upwards again and towards your subject: laid out on the white flooring of an otherwise unfurnished room that the happy couple haven't had the time to get around to just yet, Doyoung keeps his attention turned well away from you as you cycle through the photos to determine any better way that you can make this work.

You think, perhaps, that he's still a bit bashful of the circumstances.

Leaning back against his elbows and forearms, you watch him glance towards the ceiling just briefly before finally looking at you.

"Well?"

It's a little bit funny how little he wishes to be doing this right now. Karma, perhaps, for years of subtle torment.

"They look good enough," you admit with a slight nod, sounding almost surprised at the fact. "I think we can get a few good shots pretty quick and have you back in your office writing boring reports, or whatever it is that you do, in no time."

"I'd much rather be doing that." He huffs, turning his attention away again. The movement gives you an excellent shot of the angle of his jaw, however — thus, you bring your camera back up to take a few more pictures before gracing him with a reply.

"I've never met a man so dismayed by being attractive."

"You think I'm attractive?"

You bring the camera down again, a slightly annoyed but playful cock of your head to the side that silently says 'really?', because frankly, it's a stupid question. This is a fact that Doyoung knows, as evidenced by the smirk that takes his lips as a result of your reaction to it.

"It's not the 'being attractive' that's bothersome," he continues on with the thought, offering you an honest response now. "Just don't really need or particularly enjoy this kind of attention on myself. It feels bizarre, especially as someone in my line of work."

It makes sense, and snapping a few more shots, you opt out of a verbal reply and only hum of acknowledgement, instead.

"I'll be happy to have it over with, and now I know, no more books."

Without pulling up from the camera, you carry on with your direction. "Look towards me."

Head turning slowly and eyes settling deeply into your own even through the lens, Doyoung settles into his new pose — a smoldering look to him that really would have you thinking that something like this be his chosen line of profession after all, but shaking it off, you press a few more clicks of the button and check in the view finder once again for how the photos are turning out thus far.

Doyoung's gaze, however, remaining firm on you as you do.

Jacket open again and chest fully on display, you make a good effort of attempting to ignore the flesh before you. Of course, it's far from the first time that you've seen him — and really, you've seen him in far less clothing and far more intimate scenarios, but something about this, you find, doing a little bit extra for your visceral attraction to the man.

Even worse, it's about seven in the morning. Who tries to fuck their best friends husband at seven in the morning?

You do? Maybe?

Mind wandering to the thought of whether or not it's something that is also on his mind, you figure it not too far from the realm of possibility: after all, the relationship between the both of you be almost strictly a sexual one, what else is there for either of you to be fantasizing about whilst in each others company like this?

"Is it good?"

The wording is a little strange, and that's because you know it to be a question with a hidden agenda behind it. A question he often asks you while buried deep within your body, as your eyes fall to his and your camera falls away from your face just a bit, you can quite easily see the sinister curl of one corner of his lips. Knowing, playful, a man with an agenda, indeed.

"Yeah," you answer cooly, not willing to allow him the satisfaction of knowing about your growing arousal. "They look good."

It's then that one of Doyoung's hands slowly glides up and to the front of his trousers — watching on as he expertly unbuttons and unzips them all the while maintaining perfect eye contact with you — there's a part of you deep down that is pleased with the non-verbal communication between the two of you and how far that it has come, even with so much time between the last time and now.

There's also a part of you that's willing to beg to have him in your mouth right now, but you'd rather not make that one so obvious just yet.

"Why don't you come get your reward then?"

Well, so much for the 'not making it that obvious' plan.

Slowly and gently setting the camera down on the only, lone dresser in the entire room, you just as carefully shrug off the robe you had been wearing — long, loose sleeves tending to be a bit of a detriment for these sorts of activities, best to be nimble and able to do whatever it is that you need to do.

The fact that you don't know what that is yet quite possibly the most enticing part of it.

Spending more time with the man in casual settings, you find it charming as well as that much more sexy to see the way he so easily slips into that dominant role. Not that long ago flustered and shy about you catching him in the kitchen in the same open suit coat that he adorn now.

Closing the distance between you and carefully settling down onto your knees between his legs, you watch as his hand slip down and beneath the fabric that still offer coverage from your sights — palming his growing erection just under, and worse than that — still maintaining that devilish eye contact with you like nothing capable of pulling his vision from yours.

"What do you want?" He asks with a sultry groan to him.

And still maintaining that initial desire to not completely give in to his whims, you instead decide on a bit of turnaround. Biting your lip, you look him straight in the eye to deliver your reply. "What do you want?"

It does give him a bit of pause perhaps — a single eyebrow perking up at the slight bit of defiance you dangle before him, but rather than deter him, he leans into it in full.

And you had not calculated the risk of being told precisely what it is that he wants from you accurately, either.

"I want you to spit on my cock, and then I want to watch you gag on it until I come."

It's a total knockout of a response, just like that. Throat running dry and heart thumping hard in your chest at the promise of exactly that, Doyoung's eyes remain on you as he offers you nothing more than a small shrug at your inability to properly digest the information.

"You asked," He adds with a much too sly smirk.

Hand shifting to be removed from his pants, Doyoung runs his thumb over the tip of his length to gather the bit of precum that's since gathered there, and upon its exit, he whispers a simple "come here" as he extends it towards you and presses the digit between your all too accommodating lips to suck him clean. Wet and wrapping around it, you run your tongue around him and offer a gentle suction before the man hooks into the corner of your mouth with a deeply wanting groan.

"Get what you want, then."

Taking his hand back from your face, you waste little more time before hooking your own fingers into the sides of his trousers and giving them a tug — hips lifting off of the flooring for just a moment to allow for the shift — you bring the fabric down just enough to be out of the way, watching as his cock springs free and the tip of it lie against his exposed abdomen. Perching over Doyoung's hips, you take him into one hand, a few languid strokes to feel just how hard he already is before dipping your head down and taking him into your mouth with the swirl of your tongue.

Breath hitching in his throat at the feeling of you, it's one of your favorite things about sucking him off — always just a little bit on the verge of falling apart beneath you entirely as you do so.

Pulling off of him for a moment, you glance back up the length of his body to make eye contact with him once again before allowing the lewd display of saliva to fall from your puckered lips and messily onto his shaft in hand. Then, it's back to business, taking him deeper and fuller into your mouth with light suction and long, slow bobs of your head around him.

"Yeah, just like that, baby," Doyoung whispers out, head falling back to take in the feeling just briefly before bringing his gaze back up to watch the way you work him — not wanting to miss a moment of the show. "Love my cock, don't you? Can't get enough?"

Moaning around him in affirmation, the words cause you to stroke him just that much faster — enjoying the way he sounds when you have him like this.

"Think you can take it all this time?" He asks, voice slightly broken already. "Bet you practiced while we were apart, didn't you? Sucking other cock just in hopes that you can take mine that much better if you were to get the chance."

Throbbing between your legs far from dull at this point with a man never relenting in the dirty talk, you once again groan around him as you also feel yourself falling apart despite being wholly untouched thus far. You can't see him, but you feel the shift of his weight to free one of his arms for movement, followed by the familiar feeling of his fingers collecting loose strands of hair as he intertwine them into the collection of it at the back of your head.

Leverage.

There's truth to his words, though. Not so much about sucking off ever Tom, Dick and Harry in town just to practice for the inevitable resurrection of your sexual relationship with Doyoung specifically, but you had seen other men since then, and you had sucked some of their dicks.

You're a little proud of the progress made, sure.

Bringing yourself up enough that only the tip of him remain between your lips, you take a deep breath in preparation for what's to come — the gentle, careful press of his hand down against the back of your head to force more of his cock into your mouth...slowly, inch-by-inch and with no rush to have you take the entirety of him in one go, when he reaches the back of your throat you focus on steadying and relaxing yourself for him. Hissing through his teeth at the feeling of burying himself so deeply within your mouth and throat, as he ventures further, you feel the welling of tears in your eyes at the light discomfort of it.

It's not bad, and far from enough to not want to keep going — rather, the excitement of having so much of him far outweighing those things, anyway.

Slipping into your throat delicately, Doyoung instead opts for short, shallow thrusts into you for the rest of the way, and once he feels your nose against his pubic bone, he can't help the breathy moan that escapes from his lips.

It's heavenly, hearing him so desperate beneath you.

Pulling you back up and off of him slowly, the two of you look at one another — you with teary, wet eyes and swollen, red lips — you think that the darkness in his eyes deepens just that much more at the sight of you destroyed on his cock before him.

"Think you can take it again?"

"Yeah."

"Such a good girl. Go ahead then, swallow me down."

Repeating the previous motions, before your nose settles against his skin, Doyoung instead opts for slow drives of himself into your mouth — gently throat fucking you with dizzying, incoherent sounds melting from his lips as you take just about all of him inside of you like this. It takes very little time before you hear and feel the familiar notions of him reaching his peak, a few harder, deeper drives of his cock up and into your mouth through his attempt to maintain his composure that have you gagging around him ever so slightly, and just as promised.

"Fuck, you take it so well now," he all but whines, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows knitted tightly together as he shallowly bucks his hips up into your mouth to chase his release. "Wanted to earn my cum, didn't you?"

You can't grace him with an answer, and he knows it well enough — the dirty talking is for you, really, knowing the way that every word pools between your legs — an unrelenting throb there now and unknowing if you'll be offered the same release that the man under you be about to experience.

In a way, you almost don't even care if you cum.

Suddenly, Doyoung pulls your head up and off of him completely to instead replace it with his hand — quickly stroking himself to completion only to empty his load on the expanse of exposed skin along his abs and sternum with a hot, heavy, whiny vocalization.

Catching your breath for only a second, in one, fluid motion you dip your head down to lick the white-translucent fluid off of his body as his chest heaves just above where you work.

Turning your head to grant you the ability to look up at him, the two of you make eye contact once again as your tongue dips out to collect his cum. Head falling back, he lets out an exasperated moan at the sheer sight of your desire for him.

"Ride my face," he suddenly demands, hands reaching down for your arms and already pulling you up and towards him. "Now. Come on my face."

A dizzying request from him and not one you had factored into the potential possibilities, you don't bother inquiring further as you struggle to your feet and discard your garments as quickly as possible before wobbling over to him and kneeling above his face with creeping uncertainty.

Doyoung wastes no time, however, digging fingers into the flesh of your behind and pulling your soaking cunt flush against his mouth — digging his tongue firmly into your clit and offering you the much needed relief you had been hoping for. Whimpering in his grasp, he goes at you hard and fast straight from the get go in a way that has you reeling with the threat of an orgasm that you knew wouldn't be all that far off from the horizon, anyway.

"Doyoung, fuck—"

Moaning against you, the vibration tickling your sensitive nub just that much more as he quickly circles over it with far more than just expertise, you find yourself thankful for the close proximity of the wall just behind him as you fall forward slightly and find leverage against it. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—"

You sound somewhat surprised by the fact, large in part because you are. Not that you anywhere near able to follow the flow of time, rather, you know that it certainly hasn't been long since having made your way up here, and already Doyoung is having you tumbling over into orgasm.

In the last moments before you cum; grinding down hard against the mans mouth as he groan up into you and fingers digging into you flesh to hold you in place — you look down ever so briefly to find his eyes — narrow, lustful, and with a job to fulfill right before you come with an embarrassingly high pitched shriek, thighs quaking around his head as you bite the tail end of your yell back and indulge in the feeling of him sucking any coherent thought that you could ever possibly have in that moment straight out of you through your pussy.

And as you wind down from the exhaustion of your early morning escapades, you shakily crawl off of him, clumsily falling to the floor next to him and heaving in the afterglow of ecstasy. The two of you enjoy the silence for just a moment before Doyoung turns his head lazily to allow his eyes to fall upon your weary form.

"Breakfast?"

Huffing out an exhausted laugh, you can't help but smile at the nonchalance of it all as you grant him a nod. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Cool," he says, bringing himself up and to his feet to shrug off the suit jacket entirely and leaving it bunched up on the floor next to you. "You suck my dick like that again and I'll cook you a six course meal every day until Mina gets home."

"Good to know."

With your nose buried in your laptop and comfortably sat in the lavish living room with no company other than yourself, you tab away at your keyboard to answer work emails and respond to other such employment related inquiries. Approximately a week into your stay at the current residence, you find yourself quite easily settled in by now: the two of you working on your own for the majority of the day, occasionally meeting in the kitchen or the hallway as either you or Doyoung come to and from your standard whereabouts, and, if given the free time at a whim — a quickie where ever either of you wish to have the other.

The entire circumstances fundamentally erotic — your entire being there at all deeply erotic in a sense — but with a week down and more rounds under your belt than days spent there already, you can't help but find that the simplicity of domesticity already setting in, in a way.

When Mina had suggested a sort of 'fake-dating' scenario, you hadn't anticipated it being so on the nose.

Because it truly does feel as though you and Doyoung are dating: engaged in a relationship beyond just the sexual, despite being intensely sexually charged and the entire surroundings of it being build off of that. You eat together, you chat together, you shower together occasionally — for all intents and purposes, you are, as Mina had suggested, dating; in some way, shape, or form.

It's not boring, but a sense of excitement and luster has already worn off in a way that you can't help but acknowledge. Of course, you still desire the man viscerally just as you always had the very moment you began your physical relationship with him...but the fact of the matter is just that: it's different now.

Upon sending out your last email at just before four in the afternoon, you shut your laptop in tune to the sound of Doyoung treading down the upstairs hallway and making his way down the stairs. Glancing up towards him, the two of you make eye contact, giving him pause for just a second before he continues his way down to the floor level of the home.

"What do you say about ordering in tonight, I don't feel like cooking again."

Dramatically throwing yourself back along the length of the couch, you swing your arm up and across your face like a damsel in distress at the mere thought of not being personally catered to. "What ever will I do? What's the point of even being here?"

He rolls his eyes at your overacting. "I'm going to order a pizza. I'll order two so that there are leftovers for tomorrow, then I can really punish you if I have to."

"Kinky," you quip back playfully as you bring yourself back up to a sitting position on the black leather. "Then what?"

Bringing his hands to settle on his hips, Doyoung simply stares at you with his head cocked to the side.

"If you think I'm going to be your tough, hard dominant boy-toy your whole stay then sorry to disappoint, but I'm only one man, I need some rest too, you know."

Of course, the banter is part of the fun of it. Something that the two of you have always engaged in, but as of late with the comfort of living together established, a new level of it unlocked. Easier and more fluid. Where once upon a time there be perhaps more truthful venom behind comments or words, instead now rest an adoring familiarity between the new faux-couple.

"Endlessly disappointing, aren't you?" You sigh in response, unable to fully hide your grin.

"So I've been told," he's quick to admit. "But if you're good tonight then there is something you might be pleased to discuss over dinner."

An intriguing promise of what's to come, and entirely unknowing of what it is that he be referring to, you find your curiosity to most definitely be piqued. Eyebrow quirking upward at the sly comment, you're mindful of the mischievous glimmer in his eye that you know to only present itself when the man have something very particular, and particularly raunchy, at that, in mind.

As the both of you settle into the smaller living room area just next to the dining room — fireplace lightly crackling in the not too far off distance and a cheap bottle of white wine opened and set on the tiny coffee table, as the television in front of you sounds off to fill the room with sitcom chatter and laughter, you glance over to the man just next to you: sitting with legs crossed in front of him and his plate balanced onto his lap as he bite into a slice of cheap, cheese pizza. It's a sight that you come to realize in the moment that you're unfamiliar with, all things considered: a particularly raw and true level of domesticity where Doyoung exist as just some guy, in the best way possible. You realize in this moment as well, that it's times like this that are likely cause for Mina's falling in love with him. A good man, after all — and more than that, seemingly perfectly well-rounded in all ways, as well.

Even so, as the flicker of illumination dances across sharp, pretty features — round, framed glasses perched upon his nose and rather unkempt hair in the front from a hand running through it numerous times that day — the conversation mentioned earlier weighs the heaviest on your mind with promise of, well, you don't quite know yet; but you sure would like to find out.

"So," you chime, semi-awkwardly on purpose and for effect. It's enough to garner his attention already, a man not all that wrapped up in the show carrying on before him to begin with. "About that talk."

"Right," he quickly responds with a single nod, setting the food down onto the plate in front of him and bending forward to set it onto the table between the both of you. "About that. I was curious how much of this...arrangement you were looking to explore in our time together."

The inquiry brings pause, finding the wording of it slightly difficult to navigate, because what does he mean by that?

You suppose your hesitancy is telling, however — Doyoung chuckling lightly under his breath before rephrasing the question more clearly.

"I mean...the first time we started sleeping together you were interested in exploring a rather dominant and submissive power play scenario. I'm wondering if you're wanting to explore that further."

'Further,' you think, being the operative word, and yes, yes you do.

Reaching forward for your glass of wine, you take a sip before answering him confidently. "Yeah, I've thought about it. I had done some exploring this past year but—"

Hesitating to think through your words carefully, Doyoung interjects with the thought you had been leaning towards anyway, and in a way, it proves your point just that much more.

"—Haven't established that level of trust with anyone?"

"Yeah, that."

He nods, finally spinning himself in place on the couch to fully face towards you. In a way he appears particularly earnest, as if even now still vying for that level of trust necessary to engage in the even harder, darker sides of BDSM as implied.

"Then," he says a bit more seriously than you would have ever really expected. "Tell me what you want."

You suppose that as far as situations that require a more serious touch, this be at the top of his list.

It's not something that you've spent all that much time thinking about, however. No list of 'things to try' on hand or a bullet pointed note on your laptop of all of the ways in which you wish for him to have you. Rather, they be fleeting, passing moments that you find yourself fantasizing about in private, discarded just as quickly as they find themselves making way into your mind.

But you do know that they still lie embedded in there somewhere, you just have to dig them back up.

As well as relay them to him in plain, simple words. It's not only an admittance of desire, but one of confession: 'this is all of the ways I've wanted you even since then.'

You swallow down the bubbling humiliation though, knowing that if not capable of bestowing upon him precisely what it is that you want of him that he be in no position to grant it to you.

He needs to know everything, because he has to have a plan.

"Restraints," you begin, inhaling deeply after the word leaves your mouth. "Orgasm control, impact play...basically all of the same but turned up a notch."

Doyoung nods, reaching towards his own glass of wine and sipping from the rim. Then, after thinking through your words, he offers another nod of understanding.

"Okay, then here are my rules: first, the same safe wording system will remain in place, we both know it and are familiar with using it so I think that's best. Second, no renegotiation mid-scene, it makes it difficult for me to be able to have an understanding of where you are and also gives me cause to have less trust in your word—"

Pausing again and with his head tilted down towards his lap, he glances up through his eyelashes at you for explicit eye contact in that moment.

"—And if I'm going to hit you, I need to be able to trust your word of when it's just enough, or too much."

"Yeah, of course."

"Cool," he finally sighs, dropping the tough and serious exterior to once again fall back into the Just A Guy role he had previously been enjoying. Doyoung slumps to the side and against the back of the couch with a contented grin as he finishes up his thought. "Tomorrow evening, then? Doesn't have to be then—"

"No!" You nearly shout, already thrilled with the thought of all that's soon to come to you. "No, tomorrow is good, perfect."

Standing to his feet, the man reaches down to take both of your plates into hand with intention of heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to head to bed then. Long day, tomorrow will be longer now — try to get some good rest tonight."

Needing no verbal response, you sit back comfortably against the large cushions of the couch as he begin to head towards his exit — it's then, that a sudden thought comes to mind in an instant, and before your window for negotiation truly closes, you have to put it out there, now or never.

"Oh! Doie? One more thing about the scene tomorrow?"

He hums in acknowledgment of your words, merely glancing back and over his shoulder at you in wait for what it is that you wish to add.

"When you hit me...leave your wedding band on."

Snorting through his nose with a chuckle, the man playfully shakes his head at the thought and the implications behind it — just as quick on the uptake of one of the joys of kink exploration within the confines of this arrangement.

No one is cheating on anyone, doesn't mean we can't pretend, though.

"Kinky minx," He responds coyly, dumping the dishes into the sink and disappearing into the darkness of the otherwise unlit household.

"Shall we?"

Doyoung's voice is calm and pleasant when he asks the question. There's a hint of knowing within it, a playful nuance in regards to what's to come from here on out that already has anticipation pooling between your legs in a relatively unexpected way. You were excited for tonight, of course, but a physical response as a result of him merely alluding to it not exactly something you had foreseen in your future.

You recall Mina telling you how good of a dom he is a year ago.

The evenings festivities call for a one drink maximum: a rule implemented by the man himself to ensure that the parties involved be well aware of themselves and within the grips of their own feelings and boundaries enough to ensure safe play. One drink offering plenty to take the buzz of nervousness edge off, after all.

Dinner is light. Enough to keep the both of you fed and fulfilled without weighing either of you down, especially when you can't be sure when or if you're to be gagged — and beyond that, on what, you'd rather not take the risk of throwing up all over him — at least, minimize it as much as possible.

None of this is all that new to you, though. You've played before, partaken in kink and gone to parties before. Engaged in such things with people who are not Doyoung in between then and now — but as you quietly follow him downstairs and into the basement below, you find yourself so much calmer with him that with any of your previous play partners before.

It's not a matter of poor vetting and even poorer partner choices: you've had fun, it's been safe, and everyone has left satisfied. However, there just be something special about your play partner now — a level of trust and understanding between the two of you that takes an edge of uncertainty from the back of your mind and discards it entirely.

You don't have to worry about him, not even a little bit. As a result, you don't have to worry about you, either.

"I can't believe you two have a dungeon, how cliche," You sarcastically quip as your foot lands onto the floor at the end of the stairs.

Doyoung glances at you briefly from over his shoulder and shoots you a roll of his eyes. "It's not a dungeon, we just wanted to keep the upstairs bedrooms available for guests. We had no other plans for the basement, so—"

"—So, you turned it into a dungeon," You finish for him.

Walking over to a small, unceremonious table, Doyoung pulls out a tube of hand lotion from one of the old, brown drawers and squeezes a small dab of it into palm. "If calling it that gets you off, then by all means."

As the man settle in and begin preparing for the activities, you take it upon yourself to glance around and take in the sights. Truly, it's nothing like the fancy, mommy-porn movies: no huge rigs or handcuffs hanging from the ceiling. Rather, it's sort of just a regular room — obviously re-done since moving in to serve this purpose specifically, you take notice of the king sized bed off at the furthest end of the rather small underneath of the home — satin, royal blue sheets and a single pair of restraints hanging from one of the golden bedposts there.

"Have you ever played submissive?"

It's a question that's rattled around your brain for a while now, suppose now is as good a time as ever to sate the curiosity. Doyoung comes up from behind you so quietly that it nearly startles you with another pair of wrist binds in his grips, and as you glance back and the two of you make eye contact, he reaches out for your hand — slowly fastening one of them to your wrist before answering the question.

"If you must know, yes," He says, tightening the restraint against your skin just firm enough for a good hold, and without causing pain. "One of those...'you gotta try it once' sort of situations."

"How did that go?" You ask further as he spins you in place to face him, fastening the other half of the tan leather to you. Doyoung offers you a sly grin first, slowly stepping you backwards on your heels and towards the bed, before gently tipping you and causing you to fall flat on your back to the mattress below.

"Didn't take."

While restraints, you find, aren't typically your thing, it's a situation in which you feel comfortable with him. You question momentarily if there be any other person in the world that you would be willing to be in this current scenario with: bound and laid out against the sheets of someone's basement bed, and the answer is a quite easy and resounding 'no.'

"Recite back the safe word system," He demands, tone dropping in a way that you know this be the beginnings of the scene at hand. You watch him as he rolls up the sleeve of his white, button down shirt — more or less still dressed up from the work day just before — sort of the archetype of the CEO dominant man that while typically you don't find yourself creaming yourself for...this time, it's sort of working for you.

"Green is good to keep going, yellow to slow down and lighten up, red is full stop to the scene. If unable to speak: two taps to someone's body is effectively a yellow sign, and three is a red sign."

"Good girl," he chimes, squatting down to the edge of the bed between your legs and hooking fingers into the sweatpants you're wearing. "Scene renegotiation?"

"Only to lessen, never to strengthen."

Pulling the fabric down your legs, panties and all, you feel the rush of cool air against your flesh in a particularly stark way — your body temperature seemingly already flaring up at just the mere discussion of the rules from here on out, you find this to also be an unexpected turn out of tonight's engagements.

"Sit up," He then requests; a near impossible task for you alone given your bind. He knows this, naturally, and reaches for the center of your restraints to pull you upwards and seated just as he desires.

Cold fingers just grazing the flesh of your torso as he grabs at the hem of your shirt and brings it up over your head, it's electric — felt through what you think could be every nerve of your body with barely any physical touch at all.

A worrying trend for your resolve tonight.

With you fully disrobed, Doyoung pushes you to lie back again, dipping down into his previous position and hooking his arms under your legs to pull your bottom to the edge of the bed. It's exciting already: the anticipation of what's to come and what he will do with you — relinquishing all power and ability to be an engaging participant in your activities in a way not yet engaged in since your time arriving in the home.

It's then that he dips a single finger between your folds — the touch is delicate, barely offering you any sort of stimulation at all, and as a result, you're already keening and attempting to melt yourself into his touch. This, of course, gives him great pleasure at the sight of you already so needy and wanting for him — evidenced on his face as he looks up at you from between your legs and gives your clit the lightest feathering of a swirl with the tip of the digit present there.

"In a rush?" He asks teasingly, still circling the collection of nerves between your thighs.

A dizzying offering of almost nothing to your body despite knowing how you crave his touch.

"What do you want?" Doyoung questions as if speaking to no one in particular, finger dipping down towards your opening and shallowing pressing inward as if intending to penetrate you. "I take it you want me to fuck you open with my hand?"

With a small whimper dropping from your mouth, he hums inquisitively. "Feel my tongue on you? Taste you like you have the last cunt on earth?"

"Yes," You finally whine in reply, but the response from you garners nothing from the man in question.

Instead, and in a rather surprising turn of events, Doyoung gives you just that: carefully slipping a single finger into you, slowly fucking into you with ease as a result of the ample arousal already having pooled there. It's shallow, slow, and far from enough to get you anywhere you're wanting so desperately to go, but better than nothing — a moment later, you feel the heated waves of breath across your labia as he brings his mouth mere centimeters from your mound.

Nearly instinctually you attempt to grind yourself down and against his hand and face, but it results in little given your lack of mobility. A light chuckle offered from him as a result of your wanting, you feel him press his lips lightly against your lower ones, but only to speak.

"You think I'm going to let you come?" He questions, offering one, long, stripe of his tongue through your slit finally and giving you the warm, wet, contact that you've been silently begging for. "You still want it even though you know I won't, that's how desperate you are for me, isn't it?"

Whining out a breathy affirmation of the fact, he serves you another press of his tongue against you for what you can only figure is 'good behavior.'

"I can always make you come so quick like this, can't I? Like your pussy was made for me—" He carries on the thought, pausing long enough to drag his tongue over you languidly and pulling from you the most desperate whines each and every time. "Body made for me, isn't it? Your mouth, your throat, your cunt, your ass...all mine for the taking, aren't they?"

The moan that tears from your throat at the words is nothing sort of humiliating.

"Answer."

"Yes, they are," You force yourself to reply through a breathy, broken voice.

"I know, you're so good for me. What a perfect little toy for me to come inside and toss aside until next time, aren't you?"

You don't have a chance to respond before his mouth is attached to you, tongue digging firmly into your clit and the sound of him sucking into you resonating through the otherwise empty basement. Eyes screwing shut, you only have a second of self-awareness to realize that he really might be able to make you come in record time at this rate. Curling his fingers up into you and running his tongue across you in just the way that he knows gets you there, you whine out loudly — back coming up and off the bed as he seemingly tries to get you there already.

"Fuck, fuck—" you breathe out as your body finds itself on the precipice of orgasm, but as a man all too good at what he does; expert hands and mouth bringing you just to the brink before pulling back from you entirely and watching your body tremble at the feeling of the loss. "—Doyoung please, please please."

"And what have you done to earn it, hm?" He asks, leaning forward and over your body to take your bound hands into his grasp and sit you upright at the edge of the bed before him. Still shaking lightly from the feeling of a ruined orgasm, hair strewn about your face and eyes glazed over from the need — Doyoung looks down at you with a gentle cock of his head as if charmed by the sight of you already so fucked out with so little having taken place yet.

Hands reaching down for his belt and subsequently releasing his erection from the confines of his black trousers, you're forced to watch him lightly palm himself just in front of your face.

How familiar a sight it is.

"You know how to earn it, don't you baby?"

You nod, although it's not enough for the man before you. "Answer."

"Yes, I can earn it."

"Good girl," he says, angling the tip of his length down and to your lips, only lightly dragging across before gently tapping you with it as a signal to open your mouth for him. "Though, suppose this is a bit of a reward in and of itself, isn't it? You love my cock, isn't that right?"

With only the tip of him presented between your lips, you're able to still speak around him. A simple "I do, please let me earn it" falling from you before you're able to even register the words and the meaning behind them.

It never gets old the way this man can have you falling apart with ease.

Hand dipping to the back of your head, Doyoung pulls you forward and sheathes as much of himself inside of the warmth of your mouth as he comfortably can at first — just like the last time, there's no aim for discomfort or pushing any particular limits this time — rather, he understands yours and your abilities well enough by now to know precisely the best way to go about having you, and equally as much, allowing you to have him.

Lips firmly wrapped around him, with each pulling back of your head, you look up at him to meet eyes — narrow, dark ones staring down at you to watch the way his cock disappears inside of your body.

"Fuck, that's it baby," he whispers out as he begins to gently drive himself into your face. "Such a pretty face, just made for me to fuck."

But for as much as Doyoung knows you and your body, the same can be said for you and his — you know this sort of engagement to be his weakness, and for all of the chiding he does at your inability to hold out on him, the very same can be said for him in these situations.

Bringing his hand forward and from the back of your head, he instead grasps your jaw, prying it open forcefully so. "Open, swallow it down. Take it all."

Giving you little time to adjust, you feel him press his hips forward and as a result, begin the drive of his cock down into your throat. Gagging around him, he pulls off quickly. "Color?"

"Green."

And with that, he serves you another, direct press of his length down into your throat. Easier this time, but the sound of your heaved breaths and gurgling around him as your nose meets his flesh going straight to that place deep within him that you can tell makes him want to come at a moments notice. As a result, he pulls back and from your mouth entirely — giving you a moment to catch your breath before grabbing at your chin once again and forcing your mouth open for him.

"My little cockslut has gotten so good at that. You sound so pretty when you're gagging around my dick."

Leaning forward, he allows a small dropping of saliva to fall from his mouth and into yours before once again pressing his length between your lips and shallowly fucking your mouth with a few, quick, thrusts.

"You want my come?" He asks firmly, stepping away only enough for the tip of him to rest against your mouth.

"Yes."

And then it comes: one light, open-palmed snap of his wrist against the side of your jaw.

"I don't believe you, make me believe it."

"Yes! Yes, please come in my mouth, please let me taste you, Doie."

Tightly gripping your jaw again, he holds you in place to rub the mess of saliva and precum thoroughly around your face — so wet that it's nearly dripping from you — Doyoung smiles down at you at the sound of the pet name leaving your mouth.

Because that's when he knows you're really fucked up for him.

Another, slightly harder tap of the inside of his fingers to your jaw — it doesn't hurt and it's far from jarring in any way, but the implications of it within the scene driving you absolutely wild in the moment, you're happy you asked for this in particular.

The glimmer of his wedding ring still present on his hand, all the while.

"So nice of my wife to offer me such a compliant play-thing to use as I wish while she's gone," he says, finally dropping his pants to the floor entirely and beginning the unbuttoning of his shirt as if to soon discard it entirely. "Suppose now I get to decide which hole I want to take, don't I?"

You nod, and as a result, Doyoung lands the hardest connection of his hand to your face that he's given you thus far. This time, enough to actually cause your head to move a bit, as well as the slightest sting to the skin.

"How many times do I have to instruct you to answer? Are you already so fuck-dumb that you can't remember one, single rule?"

"No! I know it, I'm sorry!" You quickly amend with a shake of your head. "You can have anything you want from me."

"I know," he plainly responds, as if already grown tired of the discussion at hand. Simultaneously, Doyoung pushes you to the side and back against the bed, only this time pulling you up by the hips and displaying you bent over and lewdly spread open for him at the edge of the bed. "I'll take what I want, that is your purpose here, after all, isn't it?"

"It is," You quickly answer this time as to avoid punishment.

Feeling the tip of his cock pressed against your opening, you hear the man chuckle from behind you at the sight before him. "Your messy little cunt is practically dripping. Begging to be filled with me. Pathetic."

The words garner a whimper, and pathetic is correct as you feel him drag the length of his cock up and down your folds in a simulation of fucking you. Slow, concentrated drives against you, but not into you, that have you keening and attempting to push back and onto him in a way that is far beyond humiliating — a new low for you, even given your previous encounters. You don't think you've ever needed to feel him this badly, and worse than that, you know that he knows it, too.

You're thankful when he readjusts his position, feeling the tip of him pressed at your opening again followed by the smooth, easy glide of his full length into you. A dizzying feeling of being so full of him after what feels like an eternity of being denied him in so many ways, Doyoung sinks into you from behind and sits flush against your ass for only a moment before leaning forward and harshly gripping his fingers into your hair.

Followed with a hard, rough, snaps of his hips into you that has you nearly toppling forward at the momentum of it.

"You thought I was going to fuck you for you?" He breaths out, venom lacing his tone as he delivers another, harsh, thrust into you. "You're nothing but a hole for me to fuck, and come in."

Pressing your face into the mattress, the man then focus entirely on his own pleasure: chasing his release as he fucks you hard, quick, and selfishly. No concern for the proximity of your orgasm as a result of him.

The irony being, of course, that after so much lead up to this moment, you're just about there, anyway.

Stopping briefly and much to your display, Doyoung comes around to the side of you to release you of your restraints, but as he settles in behind you and sinks into you all over again, you feel him lean forward to retrieve both of your wrists and twisting them behind you — new, better leverage for him to use your body with like this.

"God, your cunt feels fucking heavenly," he groans through rough drives into you and over the sound of your pathetic, fucked-out babbling just below. "Useless bitch not good for anything but taking my cock, guess you're good for something, after all."

"Fuck, Doie—" you whine out at the culmination of words and the feeling of him relentlessly pounding you.

"Yeah? Is the little whore gonna come anyway? Even when I just try to use your body to dump my load in, it still gets you off, that's how much you love it, huh?"

He's right. This one might keep you up at night in the future.

"Yes—" you whimper breathlessly, dangling on the edge of your now inevitable release. "Yes, yes, yes, please I'm gonna come—"

"Fine," he hums, similarly close to his own peak. "Come then, want to feel you milk me when I fuck my load into your messy little pussy."

And so you do. Your orgasm ripping through your body hard and quick — shrieking loudly against the mattress as Doyoung continues to pound you through it — shaking and clawing at nothing attainable as it tears through every inch of your body. You're barely aware enough to hear him groan out from behind you as his own takes him: cock deeply buried into your walls as he unloads inside of you — cock so hard and deep that you feel the pulse and twitch with every rope of cum that he delivers to your insides.

Slowly, carefully pulling from you, listening for the way his breaths are heavy and worn from the scene having just played out to perfection, as you fall to your side to lie flat against the bed to catch your own you feel the gentle, careful dip of the mattress from just beside you as he settles in just the same.

Silence blanketing between the two of you, you inhale to speak — only to be cut off by words of his own in an entirely unsurprising and frankly, shocking way.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

The snap question comes out before you have a second to even really mull over what it is that he could be apologizing for, because frankly, everything went on without a hitch. It was everything you had wanted and maybe even more, and now he's apologizing for it?

Arm slinging up and over his face as if to hide himself from you in a way, Doyoung sighs. "You know I don't mean that stuff right? About this being the only reason you're here? I feel kinda..."

"You're dropping right now," you interject suddenly, reaching over to take his hand into your to offer him some seemingly much needed soft, physical comfort. "What do you say we head up to that big tub you guys have in the upstairs bathroom and take a nice, cozy bath?"

With a delicate squeeze of your hand, you take it as an accepting of terms — not even bothering to dress before escaping the basement and wobbling yourselves up to the next scene on the agenda: aftercare.

"When did you know you wanted to marry Mina?"

Sat up against one end of the tub with Doyoung's back to you, you run soapy fingers through messy, black strands — nails gently grazing the flesh beneath in such a soothing way that you all but feel the man melting into you presence, he hums at the question before sighing to answer it.

"Quite early in our dating, actually," The man replies confidently, head tilting back so that you can lather him up better. "Maybe three, four months in I felt like she was going to be the woman I spent the rest of my life with. Of course, we were kids so we dated for a long time before taking the step, but I knew."

A charming side of him that you typically find yourself unfamiliar with — listening to him muse about the love of his life, your best friend, and the ease in which he does so even in the most intimate company of yourself.

"Cute," you whisper from just behind him, wetting your hands again before setting them back within his tresses. "Who knew you were such a soft romantic?"

"Hey! I have many sides to myself!"

Happy with your cleansing, you take the shower nozzle into hand and instruct him to dip his head back towards you even more to gently rinse the suds from him, and once rid of them entirely, you delicately press his head back upwards to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

Planting a kiss to an exposed shoulder blade, your lips linger there as if to speak directly into his skin. "Have you ever dropped like that before?"

Doyoung chuckles at the question, as if slightly humiliated by the answer as he nods his head in affirmation of it. "Yeah, Mina could tell you plenty a story about coddling me after a particularly rough dom drop."

But rather than shameful, you find it adding a new level of humanity to the man that only allows for you to appreciate him and the role that he take on just that much more.

"You did well," you offer him in solace with a squeeze of your arms that encompass him. "It was amazing. I couldn't imagine playing like that with — well, anyone who isn't you, I suppose."

Reaching to find your hand, he takes it into his and presses the back of it to his lips for a small peck.

"Good, I'm glad. I had fun, too."

After drying off and heading back down to the kitchen for a late night, before bed snack, as the both of you head into your separate directions for sleep, it crosses your mind to ask him to spend it with you.

You find in the next two weeks that the majority of the time is spent much like the first: working from the home and occasionally meeting with your live-in partner for silly activities when the time should meet and the interest strike: the occasional blowjob in the kitchen, or being eaten out against the upstairs railing of the hallway — and if time really permits, bent over the back of the couch where you typically work from. Suppose it can be chalked up to the excitement of a sort of honeymoon phase shared between the two of you, after all, this just be yet another arrangement with an end date, and if the effort is to show, then you both have every intention of getting your proverbial moneys worth.

In the midst of a particularly slow work week for you, and a much heftier one for Doyoung, you find him out and about much less — earlier so offering you the handling of his credit card to order food to the house as you see fit on account of him having little to no free time to do any of his usual cooking — you accept it with a bit of a dropped heart. Sure, there's joy in having free reign of a rather full bank account not belonging to yourself, but more than that; the enjoyment of spending time with him now cut incredibly short and on a whim.

Your relationship together has shifted. It's not necessarily just sex (although that still be a large portion of it), but rather, the two of you melding together in a way that you figure neither of you had really seen coming. Enjoying the company of each other in non-sexual settings — in fact, you come to realize that dinner be one of your favorite times of the day as you wind down from working hours and instead just chat about normal, everyday things. Goings on in the world, work, maybe even some gossip about friends — a bizarre realization, and so far into your time spent here now: you and Doyoung are friends.

Sure, friends that viscerally enjoy the body of the other, but still just friends aside from that.

Waking late one night on account of what in particular — you can't be so sure — you grab your phone from next to you to read the time: a quarter past three in the morning. Having grown accustomed to the bed in which you currently lie, you settle your head back into the pillow to once again meander off to dream land; that is, before you hear the familiar clattering of keyboard typing from down the hall.

It's not that you can't sleep through it, you most definitely can — the sound not carrying far or loud enough to disturb you all that much — rather, it's the thought that Doyoung be up still, this late at night, and to work, at that.

Kim Doyoung is many things. Workaholic high on the list, certainly.

Slipping your robe on over your shoulders like so many times before, you once again carry yourself down the hall quietly — as if meant not to awaken anyone despite being the only two people in the home — as you reach the doorway where his study reside, you listen in for the sound of the keyboard again before entering and disturbing him in full.

But instead, you're met with silence.

You know what you've heard, though, and turning into the door, you suppose you can't be all that surprised by the sight that greets you: a man slumped back in his chair, head tilted back and against the headrest, utterly unconscious as the bright, blue light of the monitor before him illuminates his handsome features.

At the very least you're happy to find him comfortably dressed for late night engagements like this — gray sweatpants and a matching gray pullover sweater with the name of the widely regarded college that he had attended years back — you take it upon yourself to step towards him and with a gentle hand pressed to his shoulder, you slowly shake him back to his senses.

"Doyoung," you whisper, an attempt to pull him back into a conscious state with as little startling as possible. "Doie, wake up."

Thankful for the ease in which he comes to, picking himself back up to sit straight and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, Doyoung blinks hard towards the screen before glancing up and towards you. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you," You quip back, hands into your hips like a disappointed mother figure. "Let's get you to bed, Mister."

"Mom—" he drawls, playing along with the scene, but saving his work and shutting the machine down all of the same as he stands to his feet. "I don't wanna."

You sling an arm around his waist as his finds your shoulders — realistically the man have no problem walking, of course — but you find the scene charming all of the same. As you turn to your left in an attempt to take him to his bedroom, he fights the movement, instead pushing towards the right and down the hall towards your own bedroom.

"Lemmie put you back to bed, first," Doyoung insists, still motioning that way with his body weight against you. "It's the least I can do for you saving me from the grips of Excel spreadsheets."

A bit of a charmer.

Relenting, the two of you make your way down the darkened path and back into your bedroom. He lags behind you next to your bed, nimble fingers reaching into the neckline of your robe to help remove it from your body as you once again lie yourself in bed and cozy up within the sheets — still warm from your presence just earlier in the night.

Doyoung kneels down next to you, arms crossed against the edge and chin pressed into them as he gazes up at you.

"You're the most boring man I know," you start with a breathy chuckle. "Staying up late to do spreadsheets."

"Yes, I know," He willingly admits with a pleasant cock of his head. "Do you want me carnally?"

Reaching over your own body to playfully slap his arm, you opt out of answering the asinine question. Largely due to your awareness of it being rhetorical, but also in part to the both of you knowing that yeah, obviously you do. Embarrassing.

"Get some sleep." He finally says with finality to his tone, standing to his feet with intent to leave.

You figure, now is as good a time as any.

"Actually—" you start, the word coming out a bit more meekly than you had hoped when thinking it through in your head. You suppose it's the possibility of rejection that has to reeling with this sort of lack of confidence that is relatively unfamiliar to you. Still, you push forward with the inquiry; a disservice to yourself not to. "Would you sleep with me? Like, spend the night with me?"

The question gives him pause, and as a result, has you second guessing yourself, too.

"You don't have to, I mean, I don't know if you're not allowed or just don't want to, it's just—"

"—I'm allowed to sleep with you," he interjects suddenly to cut off your anxious word-vomiting, a small smile pulling at his lips as he continues the thought. "The only rule is we can't do anything in the shared bedroom, but yeah, I can spend the night with you."

"Oh," you whisper, perhaps the largest part of you not having anticipated this response after all. "Okay."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, kind of." You answer with a tiny nod.

Instead of engaging in the conversation about it any further, Doyoung takes it as an opportunity to accept your terms and disrobe for the evening: you watch him intently, taking in all of the ways that his body move as he pull the shirt up and over his head to toss it aside — toned chest that you've seen so many times before now only visible through the slivers of illumination granted by the moon through your blinds — it feels intimate in a different way this time: like normal lovers. People not involved in an 'arrangement,' people who are simply dating and might even have sex with each other because often times, that's what people who are dating and attracted to each other do. Falling asleep in one another's arms in the afterglow of it, or maybe just falling asleep in one another's arms as the grand finale of the evening together.

His pants go next, and before you have much of a chance to think further on it, you feel the man slip into your bed and under your covers as you scoot across the mattress to the other side to accommodate for his figure.

"I picked out this mattress," he proudly chimes. "Good, right?"

"No wonder I sleep so well here, thing probably costs an arm and a leg."

"Yeah, it kind of did." Doyoung chuckles, turning to his side to face you.

Silence blanketing the room, with such little light shone in you find it difficult to keep track of where he is, or what he's doing whilst beneath the sheets with you. A gentle rustling of the fabric, you can't tell what he's doing until fingertips feather across the skin of your face to brush stray strands of hair from you.

He must have better night vision than you, and with even more of a shift of his body, you're met with the feeling of warm, minty breath on your face as he dips further into you for a kiss.

You meet him eagerly, maybe even too much so with teeth lightly sinking into his bottom lip and eliciting an ever so slight groan from him at the feeling. He's happy to meet your advances, however, mirroring the motion before parting lips and pressing his tongue into yours.

Barely creating space between you, he instead opts to speak directly into your waiting mouth. "This why you asked me here? Doesn't seem like you're trying to sleep."

You had been originally, but plans do change.

Rather than offering him a verbal reply, you slip a hand down and between your bodies to wrap fingers around his length — already attentive to the stimulation in part — and pumping him gently, you revel in the way his sighs into your mouth; choked and broken groans caught in a dry throat at the feeling of you palming him so deliciously like this.

You're thankful for your night vision finally coming to you, and allowing you to take in the sight of half-lidded, wanting eyes staring back at you.

"It's late," Doyoung whispers first, a lazy reasoning as to why you shouldn't be wanting to partake in such lewd activities currently. But rather than engaging in the banter with him, you bypass it entirely with the one thing that you know will make the man putty in your hands.

Firm, long strokes of his cock in your hand, you once again bite into his lip with a breathy moan against him. "Doie—" you all but whimper into his mouth. "—please."

You get little time between the moment the word drops from your lips and when you find yourself pressed back against the mattress with him hovering over you. A grin of victory splashing across your features as you feel him tug your panties down your legs and toss them aside without much of a care, just as quickly coming back up to bring his mouth to your own with a bit more hungry intent behind it than before.

Reaching down between both of your bodies to position himself to enter you, Doyoung drags fervent, hot kisses down your jaw and to your ear that bring the temperature of your body up just that much more. A once dull throb between your legs now impossible to ignore and full of want as he rub his cock up and down your slit to spread your wetness around before attempting to penetrate you.

"You drive me crazy."

As his hips press forward and his cock begin to sink into you — with a lack of foreplay you find a particularly pleasurable burn that come along with the resistance he's met with upon entering a body not quite made to be ready to take him. Jaw hung ajar at the feeling of him prying you open slowly with shallow, timely thrusts, you exhale heavily against his face as he once again meets you eye to eye.

Seated flush between your legs, he pauses for a moment to kiss you deeply — rocking into you with little withdrawal in a way that has his pubic bone continually bumping against your clit — you whine into his mouth as he drinks it down between dips of his tongue into you.

Cock nearly fully buried inside of you at all times like this, you feel impossibly full of him as he grinds against the apex of your thighs. One hand brought down and gripping firming into your waist as if to hold you perfectly in place to take him, he feels suffocating in a whole new way that you find you've never quite experienced before: in the absence of immense dirty talk and power play — sex with Doyoung be just as intense and enveloping, all the same. A man all too in tune to the needs of your body and mind.

"Feel good?" He finally whispers against your face. You think him to be well aware of the answer already, though.

"Feel so good, so good," you whimper in an airy, stifled tone. "You feel so big."

"And you take it all perfectly."

The words send your brain buzzing, the coiling of release beginning in your abdomen as a result of the relentless pace he has set against your clit — thinking of how far, how deep his cock is buried within you a dizzying thought as he continues to rock against you with just the right rhythm that can have you sent over the edge in no time.

"I want to feel you come around me, baby. Can you do that?" Doyoung asks in a whisper against your cheek as he trails pecks of his lips across your hot skin.

Teeth pulling at your bottom lip as you try to bite back the sounds that threaten to rip from your throat as your orgasm looms on the precipice.

Nails digging into the flesh of your waist as he attempts to drag you down harder against him for more friction, it's just enough while his lips and teeth simultaneously suck into the skin of your neck to decorate you with pretty marks to send you barreling over the edge. Doyoung feels it more than anything as a hedonistic groan drops unexpectedly from his mouth at the feeling of your walls gripping down on his cock still buried well within you as you come.

A chanting whisper against the heated skin of your neck, "Fuck, that's it, just like that."

Riding you out properly through your orgasm, it's only then that the man release his grip on you: opting now for long, fluid drives of his cock into you to bring him to his own end. It doesn't take long after the feeling of you all but milking him for everything that he's worth only moments before — once again burying deep inside of you with the twitch of his length to release warm, wet, ropes of cum deep inside of your now dripping heat.

Head coming back up from your neck to gaze into your fucked-out eyes, his vision dances over your features for just a moment — taking in the sight of you before once again greeting you with a deep, adoring kiss.

Wincing from the stimulation of having just come as he drags his softening cock from you, Doyoung flops to the side of you with a heavy exhale — a hand mischievously finding itself between your legs once again to play with the mixture of cum and other such wetness left behind in the aftermath of your unplanned rendezvous.

"So," he sighs out as the tip of his middle finger drags up and against your all too sensitive clit. "Those spreadsheets, huh?"

How cruel the world is — the most exquisite cock being attached to the most insufferable man you could ever know.

As the last day at the residence finally comes around, you spend the days just prior expecting it to be bittersweet, in ways. Naturally, you're thankful for Mina's return as well as yourself reentering a life of normalcy compared to the rollercoaster of a getaway as you've spent the last few weeks — rather, you're none bitter and all sweet for all of those aforementioned reasons.

Of course, your relationship with Doyoung has reasonably shifted. A man that once only served as a mark of unappreciated and relatively unwelcomed contention, now having morphed into one of your most trusted and perhaps even in ways, adored, people in your life.

You contribute it mostly to the little things. The ins and outs of living an everyday life alongside the man — allowing to view him in a new way, and maybe even the way that Mina does — that casts him in a brand new light. Hardworking, thoughtful, and above all else: trustworthy.

Putting your care and well-being: emotionally, mentally, physically — in his hands, and not only coming out on the other end just as well as you had gone into it, but in ways, even better.

But don't tell him that, it'll go to his head.

On the last evening and after that aforementioned six course meal that you had never actually expected to come to fruition, as you find yourself comfortably seated on the loveseat in front of the television and just next to the warmth of a crackling fireplace, you gaze over the back of the cushioning: watching the man with rolled up long sleeves as he pop a last bottle of some expensive wine he got from who-knows-where as a sort of parting gift only shared between the two of you.

Two glasses in hand, Doyoung hands you one and you share a light tapping of rims before taking your first sips as he sits down next to you.

"Excited to get back home?"

Mulling over the question momentarily, you hum into the edge of the glass before taking another, small sip and setting it onto the table just in front of you.

"Yeah, I feel like I've been on vacation too long being here, it feels weird."

Chuckling, he matches your action before leaning his head against the couch to look at you. "You've been working this entire time, hardly a vacation."

"That's true."

"Imagine my surprise finding out that you do have a job that isn't simply being friends with my wife!"

Tossing your head back as if in utter disbelief that he really be bringing this joke back, you whine out your response to him. "Are you really going to do this again?"

"Have to keep things interesting still," he starts with a sly grin, reaching for your arm and lightly taking it into his hand by the wrist. "If I'm too nice to you, you won't want me viscerally anymore."

The physical touch serving as a motion to have to closer to him, you follow his lead — pushing yourself across the furniture and pressed up against him with your side. Playing mad, you choose to ignore the way his fingers feel against your skin, but harder than that: ignoring his breath against your ear as his face dips down and closer to yours.

More than aware of his ability to feel your skin raising beneath his touch, you instead make an attempt to bring attention away from it.

What's the harm in a little hard to get fun on the last night, anyway?

That is, if you can hold out long enough to make it such.

"Am I supposed to still want you after this is all over?" You ask firmly, as if none too affected by the proximity of his body to your own. "Like knowing that your wife’s best friend desires you sexually or something?"

"Sure," he admits without missing a beat. "Doesn't everyone like feeling desired?"

You opt out of responding, but your lack of one does not offer the reprieve you had hoped as he continue on with the thought.

"The taboo nature of the husband and the wife’s best friend—" he whispers into you, hand on your wrist now long since abandoning its position and moving across to your thigh.

Yes, you had worn a skirt on purpose knowing the plans for the evening. Plans to only play hard to get, after all. Not actually make it all that difficult to acquire.

"—Plus, you already admitted you still thought about it long after the first arrangement ended. Am I supposed to believe you just needed a month to get it out of your system and thus you've now grown tired of me?"

"I could go off it just fine," You continue the ruse, tone pointed and unaffected as his fingertips feather up and under the hem of the garment laid across your legs.

As the tip of his middle finger edges just up against the front of your panties, you delicately attempt to squeeze your thighs shut, only for the man to take notice and disallow it immediately.

"Spread your legs."

Of course, you do as you're told. Not yet relinquished from the grip that he has on you.

The problem lie in how electric his touch is — knowing just the right way of engaging with you physically, pressing all of the correct proverbial buttons that time and time again has to coming undone for him as quickly or as slowly as he would like, depending on the circumstances — with his hand curling into your underwear and a single digit pressing against your slit, you can just about feel the way his lips turn upward at your compliance for him even now. Until the very end.

"Is that so?" Doyoung finally says in acknowledgment of your obvious lie. Eyes thin and intent on you as you try your best to not make your want for him so damn obvious. "Well, you're going to have to, after all. I can't help but wonder, though—"

Pausing the thought as he gently penetrates you with a single finger and you subsequently melting in his grasp at the feeling of it — you know you've lost, but suppose even in that there is victory.

"—Who's going to make you come the way I do? Who's going to have you a whimpering, begging mess for them the way that I do? Who will you be able to relinquish all power and control to the way you do with me?"

You know that he's using it as dirty talk in the present moment, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been asking yourself the very same questions these last few evenings spent at the marital home.

Who is going to replace Doyoung in your life?

"We'll have to find you someone nice to play with," he begins again, pulling from inside of you and turning his attention to your clit with the very same finger, instead. "Well, not too nice."

'We.'

The idea that Doyoung will be by your side, aiding you in finding and vetting any future play partners because not only is his safety important to him, but your enjoyment, as well. The idea that although it brings him great pleasure to be that sole person in your life capable of bringing you to that level of sexuality, that he knows your arrangement unsustainable long term, and him not wanting you to miss out on it just because of his unavailability.

Guess you really do have to hand it to your bestie, she really landed a keeper.

As the first, small, whimper drops from your lips, the familiar feeling of Doyoung smiling against you returns again as he meets it with praise, as always. "There she is," he says, as if having been working to summon the version of you that lie dormant and waiting to fall apart for him as he see fit.

"Come here," he whispers against your ear, low and up to no good, you're sure. "Why don't you come sit on it?"

So much for playing hard to get, the promise of being full to the brim with him one last time all too enticing to play games with, Doyoung pulls his hand away quickly to shove his pants down his legs and out of the way as you bring yourself to a knelt position atop the cushions. Turning to face him, it's a sight that you think may never get old, and that you'll likely have carried with you forever should you be able to maintain it: Doyoung's slanted lean against the back of the couch in wait for you to straddle him — long, beautiful cock in hand as he lazily strokes himself in preparation to penetrate you, and eyes gazing straight up and into your own — always granting you his full and undivided attention.

Wobbling slightly as you position yourself over his thighs and gently bear down against him, the man angling his length just right for you to impale yourself upon him, as you begin your descent and enjoy the barely-there string of his stretch, Doyoung brings his other hand up to your face to pull you down and close to his own — lips just lightly meeting — as he speaks in hushed, hidden, words.

"Sit on it before my wife gets home, yeah?"

It's something that the two of you had ballparked playing with the entire time: the infidelity that not be taking place, but rather, the illusion of it. Roleplaying.

Vaguely dabbled in at the end of your first arrangement, you suppose it only fitting to close off this one, as well.

Sinking down on him slowly, you whine into his mouth at the words. Kissing you delicately at first — more teeth and tongue added to the mix with every inch of him you bury inside of your heat — as you comfortably settle down and into his lap in full, the both of you let out an exhale that neither had been aware of your holding as your eyes meet once again before resuming any movement.

"Good?"

You nod.

Lips grazing down your chin and jaw as he sucks gently into the skin just below, Doyoung barely presses his hips upwards and against you, only enough to pull a threatened hiss from your mouth at the feeling of him almost too deep inside of you.

"Gonna have to be quiet," he whispers into your skin at the reaction of feeling him. "We don't want the missus to hear, now do we?"

"God, you feel so big right now," you say, unable to help breaking character in the moment at how impossibly full you feel. The commentary pulls a breathy laugh from the man beneath you and a small shake of his head in reaction.

"I'm trying to do something new and you just want to default back to that old shit, huh?" He jokingly chastises, hands snaking around to grasp onto your hips as a silent beckoning to begin moving. "Yeah, I get it, it's big, can we move on!"

With the both of you laughing now, the mood feels a tad bit lost — perhaps the initial one, but not the whole mood entirely. Instead, it feels perfect an ending for such a long, sexually-charged, exploratory month — full of growth and understanding and...maybe even some love there, yeah.

Maybe it's not impossible that there be space in your heart for love for him, given everything. Not romantic, or platonic, or familial — but somewhere in between. All of them and none of them simultaneously.

"Fine, geez, never met a man so upset about hearing how big his dick is," You respond with playful annoyance, finally grinding your hips down and against him to garner just that right amount of friction from inside of you that has you both groaning out in tandem at the feeling.

Bringing one hand up from your lower body and making quick work of your blouse, Doyoung palming the mound of flesh that sit eye level with him as you ride him steadily — leaning forward, he wastes no time circling one of the sensitive buds with his warm, wet tongue before fully clasping around it with his mouth and continuing the motion as you fuck him from what might typically be considered for the majority of your engagements: switched positions.

Groaning into your flesh as you find the perfect rhythm for yourself — fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip as he desperately attempts to fuck up into you and match your movements, as he pulls his mouth away from you and you both make eye contact, you realize that perhaps for once you're not the one at the mercy of the other this time, and rather, it's him.

Whining out with eyes clenched shut and dropping his back down against the sofa again, it's a simple "fuck" that escapes him, and nothing else.

But you're pretty sure you know what that means, and for once, you're not even close.

"Already?" You ask, somewhat curious, but somewhat with intent to be a little bit annoying, as well. It works just as expected, eyes flashing open and at you with the most despondent expression you could have imagined.

"Don't be like that, God."

With his jaw clenched so tight you can nearly hear the sound of his teeth gritting, you bear your weight down onto him harder — taking his cock as deeply as you can before switching to full, lengthy, bounces of your hips atop him. The switch immediately has the man beneath you moaning, and with a little bit too much proverbial pep to your step, you lean down to close to distance between your mouth and his ear just as quickly as the thought comes to you.

It's not a whisper, you don't bother making it such: really, who is going to hear?

"Gonna have to be quiet, don't want the missus to hear, do we?"

"Hear what?"

The sound of a third voice feeling a bit like how time feels the seconds before a car crash happens — the sounds of tires screeching before the crunching and clanging of mangled metal — you can't even help the shriek that resounds from you as your eyes immediately pull up at glance over at the entrance to the kitchen from the doorway hall.

Throwing yourself off of Doyoung in a fit of humiliation of also due in part to feeling as though you've been caught fucking your best friends husband (for good reason, you suppose), the man only flings his arm up and over the back end to grant himself enough leverage to turn himself to look at the sight you've only just laid eyes on.

"Saved by the bell, welcome home, honey."

"You guys are so fucking weird!"

The screech coming from you, obviously. Pulling your clothing back into place hurriedly as Doyoung does the same in a much more lackadaisical fashion, you hiss towards him as if still trying to avoid allowing the missus to hear the both of your goings on. "Did you know she was coming home tonight!?"

"No," he chuckles. "But thank God she did, huh? Things were getting a little out of hand!"

With a light tap of your ass, Doyoung stands to his feet to go greet Mina — bags still in hand as she stand with a wide, adoring grin splashed across her face.

"Have fun while I was away, darling?" She asks knowing all too well the answer. Of course, Doyoung happy to play along. "She's incorrigible, my love. Not a moment spent free from her evil clutches."

"I'm sure," Mina replies, kissing him lovingly as he walks past her and into the kitchen, all the while feigning his dismay.

"Are you going to come say 'hi'?"

"Ideally if I wait here long enough I will simply melt into the couch cushion and cease to exist."

Mina rolls her eyes at the dramatics displayed by you. "You do know I already knew you were here fucking my husband all month, right? Like, it was my idea and everything?"

Sighing, you flop around on the sofa like a child throwing an uncontrollable fit. "I know! But it still feels so weird that you...saw it! Why do I feel weird and you don't?"

"Because standardized monogamy and societal assumptions and traditional versus non-traditional relationship models; I don't think you actually want me to explain to you why but — it's fine. I caught an earlier flight in, I kinda knew there was a chance I might catch you guys. I had texted him but you know how he is with his phone."

Silence. Mina sighs.

"Can you say something? Please don't melt into that loveseat it was almost ten thousand dollars."

That being the thing that has you jumping up and off of the furniture in shock and horror, you finally look up at your best friend from across the room — taking in the sight of her gentle and loving smile and in that moment, you accept this snapshot in time for everything that it is, just the same as all of the previous ones this month.

A reminder to take people at their word. To believe what they tell you if there is love between you. To have the bravery and respect to trust someone when even in the shroud of doubt — they tell you that it's okay.

And so, you run your palms over your blouse and skirt in a rushed attempt to clean yourself up ever so slightly, and with one footstep towards the woman that you've held dearest to you for so many years, you swallow down all of the nasty feelings that no one but you and the heavy weight of unrelated parties expectations cast upon you: because after all — that has nothing to do with the three of you, right here, and right now.

"Welcome home, Mina."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is part 2. part one [here].

#doyoung smut #doyoung x you #doyoung x reader #doyoung x y/n #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct x you #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfic

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rosietaeyongswife · 3 months

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shameless | kim doyoung

AU: angst, fluff, drama, cheating au, readerxtaeyongxdoyoung SYNOPSIS: Marriage was supposed to be your dream. You were in love with Taeyong, until you came to realization that maybe he's not the one. Thankfuly, his best friends was there for you when you needed him the most. WC: 8k TW: cursing, cheating, mentions of sex AU: i do not support any kind of cheating. never. it's a pure fiction. yall i think i've improved my english lol one day i'll fix all my works because lmao yeah enjoy this pls:P

Marriage. How foolish of you to think it's going to be a dream come true. Well, everyone else stated that fact. According to them, marriage is one of the best stages of life. You've reached a certain point in life - perhaps an achievement. Too bad none of them said how much of a burden it can be.

Of course, the first few months were perfect. Dates, flowers, and affection. Isn't this what every woman craves? Kisses, gifts, and affirmations from your loved one. Those things blinded you. Only if you knew back then. Maybe then you would've left. It was your choice to ignore all the red flags. It's been a year, and it's a nightmare.

"Baby, can you do laundry?" You were running late, yet Taeyong does nothing. He could help you, at least. "I have to leave already. I showed you the other day how to do it. Will you do it for me, please?"

Taeyong was playing Call of Duty on the PS4 you've bought for him on his 27th birthday. He was focused on the game.

"Sure. I'll do it."

Without any other word, you left. Sometimes you'd like to smash that PlayStation into pieces. Taeyong does nothing around the house besides playing that damn thing.

It was a late call meeting with your work team. You couldn't focus on the words of your co-workers due to that weird gut feeling. Something deep down felt like something would go wrong. Ignoring this wasn't helping at all.

"Y/N, we want you to manage this project with Chaeyoung. Is that alright with you?" Your boss asked while you were drifting in your thoughts. "We believe your reviews and suggestions would make this successful on the market."

"Of course, I'll handle this."

"Thank you." He looked at the watch. "Okay, it's 9 p.m. We're done for today. I'm sorry we had to hold a meeting. It was a surprise to us too. You can go all home now."

Everyone left in a hurry, and so did you. The weather got worse, and it was raining. You couldn't get cold, so you called your husband. Silence. Again silence. He didn't pick up your calls. All you could do was run and pray that a bus would arrive.

"I called."

"Sorry, baby. I was too busy with the game. Look, I ranked up."

"That's amazing, but it's pouring outside, and I had to walk there by myself." You rolled your eyes at your husband's ignorance. "I'm fuckin tired. I just want to take a shower and go to sleep. Have you done the laundry like I asked you to?"

"Yes. It wasn't that hard." He laughed and turned the PS4 off. "I'm heading to sleep. Waiting for you in the bedroom."

At least he did what you had asked for. Walking in the bathroom was hopeful for you. Little did you know how much anger it would bring you.

"Taeyong! What the fuck have you done?!" Your husband was quick to run back to you. He was looking at you confusedly. "How could you ruin my white shirt for tomorrow? Why would you put red socks together with white laundry?"

"My bad. I'm sorry, honey." He looked at you with his doe eyes. "I didn't notice, sorry once again. I'll give you money to buy a new one."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" You scoffed. "I needed that shirt for work tomorrow. It's past 10p.m, what am I supposed to do? I asked you for one thing, and you managed to fuck it up."

"It's just a shirt, Y/N. You're overreacting. You can buy another one."

"It's not just about the shirt, Taeyong. You don't understand." You went next to him. "I don't have any clothes for work. Fuck."

Taeyong apologized once again and went back to the bed. He didn't really care about the fact that he ruined your shirt and left you alone past 10 pm, looking for clothes for work. He difted away to sleep while you had to hold your anger in yourself and calm down.

Your husband and you both work for the same company. You work in different departments and both of you start work at different hours. Taeyong got up and left an hour before you. As usual, you woke up to dirty dishes on the table and a cup of coffee on the counter. He didn't respect the fact that it was you who was cleaning the whole apartment.

"Look there. I guess you could've described another problem here, and we would put it together." Chaeyoung was taking notes on your words. "Do it, then send me the rest of the thing. I'll try to finish it by Friday."

"Thank you, and of course, I'm doing it."

Mark Lee was sipping on his coffee when he approached you. He was your best friend and best colleague from the company. Both of you go along pretty well.

"Someone's not in the mood today, huh?"

"Mark, please." You stopped on your way. "Don't get on my nerves today. It's not funny at all."

"Sorry, Miss Not in the Mood." He chuckled. "You slept on the wrong side, or what?"

"I slept on the right side."

"Then what happened?"

"Taeyong happened." Mentioning of your husband made your head hurt. "I asked him for one simple thing. Do laundry. That's all! Guess what." Mark was waiting for you to finally tell you the tea. "He ruined my shirt for today. I was tired, hungry, and annoyed, and on top of that, I had to find myself clothes for today."

Mark could only laugh. He was aware of your husband and how clumsy he can be.

"How did he even do it?"

"He put red socks and underwear together with white clothes. The majority of clothes were pijamas, but still. I didn't ask for much. I explained how the washing machine works about ten times!"

"Everyone makes mistakes, but your husband is crossing the line, Y/N. I'd be mad too. Yesterday was a horrible day."

It's almost the end of the month, so everyone is worked up. Every project needs to be finished ASAP, clients are waiting and aren't patient, and on top of that, your boss is scolding you for every little mistake you've made.

"You should be thankful you don't have to deal with it."

Another day went the same way. Today was another hard day, and the only thing you wished to do was fall asleep, but it seems like you won't be able to do that.

"Honey, I missed you."

Taeyong was looking at you with lust in his eyes. Deep down, you knew what he was about.

"Not today, sorry. I had a rough day, I'm exhausted."

"C'mon. I missed you and your body so much." He began to kiss down your neck. "I want you."

Anger was boiling in your veins. It's like you're talking to a wall.

"I told you no, why don't you give up? I'm not in the mood, I had a tiring day, and you expect me to fuck?"

"Fuck, Y/N." He stopped and put his hands into his hair. "We haven't had sex in months, alright? I have my needs, I'm fuckin horny, and I want to fuck my wife. I want us to feel good, yet you're always too busy to do so."

"I fuckin told you I'm tired. You're so, so.." His gaze went upon you. "Pushy. Leave me alone."

"Great."

The last thing you've heard was a door shutting. He left, and God knows when he'll be back. Like a kid. Your husband behaves like a spoiled child. Nothing ever satisfies him, and he wants things his way. Nothing in between.

Once you've been reading about all those unhappy couples who have sex once in a while, don't talk too much, or don't even know too much about each other. They're just together because they get used to each other and are way too comfortable to let go and leave. Little did you know you were going to face the same fate.

"Fuckin hell." You rolled your eyes. Taeyong wasn't picking up your calls when it was an important matter. "Boss, can I go into the marketing department to meet my husband? It's urgent."

He didn't even look up, but he nodded. Men.

The marketing floor was only three floors higher. Of course, you've known the majority of people working there thanks to Lee Taeyong. A few employees passed and greeted you.

Johnny was sitting by his desk, probably busy with his tasks that needed to be done by today.

"Hi, Johnny." He sent you a smile. "Do you know where Taeyong is?"

"Oh, hello, Y/N. Shit. I think he might leave for a lunch break with Jaehyun and Yuta."

"He did."

The voice was familiar to you. Turning your head, you saw no one else but Kim Doyoung. Your husband's co-worker and best friend.

"Fuck. Thank you, guys."

"Something did happen?"

"I wanted to ask him to drive me to Kun's bakery. It's Jaehyun's birthday in two days, but they need me there today. I guess they couldn't find a sample?" Doyoung was looking at you with his soft eyes, while you were stressed. "Nevermind. I'll go."

"Wait." Doyoung grabbed his coat. "I'll drive you. It's no problem for me. I'm on the break anyway."

Your whole body relaxed at his words. Somehow you felt different, because Taeyong usually rejects your requests, but Doyoung? He agreed right away.

As both you and Doyoung were on your way to Kun's bakery, Taeyong called you a few times. Asshole.

"Thank you, really. You have no clue how much this matters to me. You saved my day, Doyoung."

"No worries, I mean, I'm just driving you to the bakery. It's not hard, or something."

"I fear some people wouldn't agree." Doyoung glanced at you for a second. "Nevermind. Thank you, again. I bet Taeyong doesn't even remember we booked a cake at Kun's."

Both of you laughed at your remark. Doyoung was aware of how clumsy and nonresponsible his best friend can be.

"It wouldn't be Taeyong if he didn't forget about such a thing. But hey, look at you. You're about to solve a problem with Kun and come back to work, and you didn't need Taeyong's help."

"Wow, I'm so independent now. Not like you drove me there, at all."

Kim Doyoung was a year younger than Taeyong. Both of them have known each other since high school. Then they applied to the same business school where you met Taeyong. Both of them graduated and found a job at Lee Sooman's company. Like you did. Doyoung was different than Taeyong. He was clean, tidy, and he could cook. Everyone could depend on him when needed. He never let any of your friends down. Never. If you needed help, you should've called Doyoung. He was stylish and looked like an old-money guy. None of your friends, nor you, have seen him date. He probably had a few girlfriends, but they weren't serious, as you guessed.

"Well, I can pay you for-"

"Y/N, please." He stopped you mid-sentence. "Don't pay me at all. I had a great time picking a cake with you."

"Me too, Doyoung. Again, you're wonderful."

Taeyong was looking at you through the window of his office. He was calling you for an hour, and he had no response from you. He was a bit worried, but as he saw you with Doyoung.. He was relaxed.

Mark was smiling from ear to ear. He saw you coming into the building with Doyoung from the marketing department.

"What were you doing with Kim Doyoung?" He was moving his eyebrows in a funny way. "He's cool, right?"

"I had an emergency at Kun's bakery, yet my lovely husband wasn't picking up my calls." Mark scoffed. "He gave me a ride, and yes, he's a cool guy."

"Jaehyun's birthday, right?" You nodded. "I bought him a watch, and what about you and Taeyong?"

"I don't know. I was supposed to buy a cake, Taeyong is going to buy a gift. Please, I wish he had already done that."

Jaehyun's birthday is always a party at his house. He invites a whole friend group on the weekend, and makes a dinner. Everyone is drinking and having fun together. It was supposed to be an amazing day, but only if your husband didn't ruin it the day before.

"What do you mean you forgot?" Taeyong was stressed too. He knew he was meant to do something, but he had no idea what exactly. "Taeyong, you promised me you're going to buy him a gift!"

"Fuck, I forgot! Couldn't you do it? I'm busy with work, so it wouldn't hurt, Y/N."

"Are you kidding me?" You put on your coat. "I'm also working, I'm cleaning and cooking, I ordered the cake for Jaehyun's birthday, and both of us agreed that you're going to buy a gift!"

Every favor you're asking Taeyong for, ends in the same way every, fuckin, time. You can never depend on him.

"I help you too! Don't make me look like I'm some kind of lazy jerk. I simply forgot, things happen, okay."

"And what are we going to do? Are we going to show up with a cake for his 27th birthday and say sorry, but Taeyong fucked up once again?" The sarcasm in your tone was noticeable, and your husband wasn't a fan of it. "Do you even know what he likes?" Taeyong couldn't answer as he had no thoughts. "I knew it. God."

"Where are you going? It's past 8pm, and it's freezing outside?"

"None of your business. Clean after dinner. That's the last thing I'm asking you to do."

Cold February nights like this make you wonder about your life. Lately, both you and Taeyong have been fighting. You couldn't even remember when the last time both of you exchanged "I love yous". Are your friend's marriages the same? Do they fight a lot? Do they fight every day? Do they overcome it? To you, it seems like an endless circle.

Luck was with you tonight, because the old vinyl shop was open until 9. You made it on time to buy a jazz vinyl record for Jaehyun. He was a huge fan, everyone knew it, except Taeyong.

"That's a hundred dollas, mam."

The last shop you're going to visit is one owned by Haechan's uncle, who sells prestigious wines from all around the world. It was just a few blocks away.

As you were looking for a wine thatJaehyun hasn't tried yet, you've noticed familiar sillhouete.

"Doyoung?"

"Y/N?" He turned back with a gummy smile. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Emergency. Again."

"Mark mentioned that Taeyong was supposed to buy a gift, right?" He was visibly confused. "Then why are you here?"

"Key word 'supposed'."

For the first time ever, Doyoung felt bad for you. He always thought that you're a couple goals. Back in the day, you couldn't shut up about Taeyong. Either of you, were talking about each other, still in love. Taeyong never complained, nor did you. To be honest, every single one of your friends thinks you and Taeyong live your dream lives. Only Mark knew it was total opposite.

"I mean, maybe he was tired? Everyone works hard these days, people tend to forget things at times."

"Doyoung, please." You laughed sacristically. "I agree, but Taeyong always forgets about something. Doesn't matter if he's tired, or not."

For the time being, Doyoung had no explanation, nor could he defend his friend.

After a few minutes, Doyoung helped you pick a wine and took you home. It was another time he saved you. He was kind enough to drive you home.

"See you tomorrow, Y/N."

"See you too." As you were about to go into the building, you turned around. "Again, thank you."

Taeyong was asleep in the living room with a TV on. Typical of him. You looked over, and once again, Lee Taeyong disappointed you. The dishes were in the sink, not washed. You put the gifts down and did the dishes yourself.

Morning was a tense one. Neither of you speaks to yourself. The only thing you said was that you're going to pick up the cake by 5 pm. It was Saturday, and both you and your husband had a free day. Taeyong was probably waiting for you to make a lunch or something, but it wasn't your plan. You made yourself some waffles and ate them by yourself.

"Where's some for me?"

"Don't you have hands? Do it yourself."

He was looking at you in disbelief. Taeyong was used to you cooking and serving him food.

"Why are you bitching? I've already apologized. What else am I supposed to do?"

"I'm not bitching. I just made lunch for myself." He was getting annoyed with you. "It seems like I'm some kind of housewife to you. I'm not. Learn to do things yourself."

By 5pm, both of you were getting ready. It's been a long time since both of you went together somewhere. Taeyong stopped asking you on dates long time ago. Of course, you missed those silly dates. Your husband doesn't put effort in.

Taeyong was waiting for you in the car, while you put everything into a bag. One last look into the mirror, and you were looking pretty. In your eyes, everything seems fine.

"What are you wearing?" Taeyong almost burst laughing. "Honey, go change yourself, I don't think you look the best in such a dress."

For a moment, you felt stupid. Your own husband laughed at your look, even though you thought you looked great. A knee high, black dress and boots with a coat. Everyone was wearing that. It was a cute look.

"What do you even mean?"

"It's not made for you, I guess? I don't know, I just want to help you to not get emberrased."

"Oh, fuck you, Taeyong."

There was no time for changing, besides, you felt cute. A month ago, you would've run into the apartment to change but not today. You tried to ingore peaks Taeyong took. He hurt you. You thought you could ignore it, but as soon as you arrived, your self esteem was six fit under.

"Hey guys! Wow, Y/N, you look stuning!" Jaehyun welcomed you with a kiss on the cheek. "Suit yourselfs."

Jaehyun complimented you, but inside of your head there were Taeyong's words.

In the living room, everyone was waiting until Haechan would arrive with his fiance, Jimin. Johnny was sipping on a coffee with Sooyoung. Taeil was taking photos with his wife, Joohyun. Yuta, Jungwoo and Jaehyun were making food. Mark was laughing with his girlfriend, Soyeon. Doyoung was looking at you and Taeyong, when both of you arrived. Doyoung couldn't stop himself from looking at you. This dress complimented your body and your bueaty the best.

"Everyone let's drink. It's our Jaehyun's birthday." Johnny stood up with a glass of champagne in his left hand. "I can't believe you're already 27. We're all happy to be here and celebrate with you, dude."

The party was going great, everyone had fun, and none of the guests seem to be annoyed, or not having fun. Taeyong found himself sitting with Yuta playing games and drinking beer.

"Men are like children." Joohyun sat down next to you on the coach. "I can't believe they're almost in their 30s."

"Don't tell me that. Look at them, they're playing on the PlayStation as if they were teenage boys."

"At least we can have some time to ourselfes."

Joohyun was right. She was with Taeil since freshman year of the college. She was three years older than Moon Taeil and she was one of your closest female friends. Everyone looks up to her, since she was the oldest one in the friend group.

"Can I ask you something?" Joohyun looked at you waiting for your question. "Do you fight with Taeil often?"

"Hell yes! We fought in the morning because he didn't clean the bathroom like I asked him to."

"Did he do it after you had scolded him?"

"Of course. What kind of question is that?" She laughed at you, but you were dead serious. "Wait. Doesn't Taeyong do the same? You know, if you scold a man, then he's kind of irritated, but do it anyway out of respect for you."

"He doesn't. You see, I asked him to do something. I show him how to do things properly, so he won't have to need my help. I explain it like I'm speaking to a child. I do it about ten times per chore." You giggled at yourself. "Guess what. He doesn't do it. No matter how much I ask for, he either forgets, or doesn't do it at all."

Joohyun, for the first time ever since she has met you, felt bad for you. For the first time ever, Taeyong doubted her.

"I have no idea what to say, Y/N. It's not supposed to be like that. You're a duo after all."

"I don't think we're a duo, Joohyun."

For the rest of the night, Taeyong didn't give you attention, which you were thankful for. He got on your nerves enough. He was hanging out with his homeboys, enjoying himself, not worrying about you. In his mind, both of you have a perfect life. You are happy together, and you're madly in love. Maybe love is starting to be a too strong word for your feelings towards that man.

"Are you fine, Y/N?"

Doyoung smiled at you when you were sipping on a lemonade made by Johnny and Mark.

"I'm just tired after work and all this shit. And you? Are you fine?"

"It could be worse." He chuckled. "I see Taeyong isn't with you."

"Thank God. He's busy playing games."

"Still. I haven't seen you talking yet."

"We had a small fight before."

A reminder of that situation from before made you self conscious again. Your husband's words aren't supposed to make you feel the way they do.

"Was it serious or?"

"Not really. It was about my outfit, so nothing extreme."

"What do you mean by your outfit? You look stunning, I swear to God."

"Doyoung, can you be honest with him? We've known each other for almost ten years. We're friends." The man was busy thinking about what might come next out of your mouth. "Do I look bad? Be honest. Do I look worse than before? I don't know, am I not taking care of myself?"

It was a question directed at Doyoung because he was a person from a friend group that you've known for the longest. Actually, it was Doyoung who introduced you and Taeyong to each other. He knew him from high school, and he met you during the same classes at the business school. Kim Doyoung was a lovely nerd. Interested in Star Wars, books, and business. He used to collect plushies, he even gave you some of them. You always have wondered how Doyoung's world crushed with Taeyong's. Lee Taeyong was a popular jerk, interested in tattoos, rock, and trouble. For quite some time, you had a small crush on Doyoung. But then, you met Taeyong, and you fell head over heels over him.

"I don't see the point of this question. Isn't it obvious? Many guys from the department have a crush on you. I saw multiple strangers turn their necks when you passed by. You've always been pretty, Y/N."

"Now I feel better. Thank you, Doyie."

He was looking at you, once again, with his soft eyes. Sometimes, he wonders why you work him up so much.

"No problem. Remember, you're that girl. Don't let anyone say otherwise."

As you were about to respond, Taeyong showed up. He was drunk, and he could barely stand on his legs.

"Did you just call my wife pretty?"

"I did. We're friends, though. It's not that deep, Taeyong."

"I don't know, maybe you want to do something with her?" He was approaching you and Doyoung. Embarrassment fed your whole body as he got closer. "I don't like the way you talk to her."

"What's your fuckin problem, dude? I complimented her, since no one else bothers to do so. Like her husband, for example. Get it together, man."

You wish you could be gone for a second. Taeyong was drunk, and he had no clue what was going on.

"Shut the fuck up, Doyoung. You don't know shit."

"Calm down. You're wasted as fuck."

Everything that came after is now the past. The next thing you knew was Taeyong punching Doyoung straight into his nose. Blood was dripping on his shirt, and guys tried to grab him. You were shocked, and all you could do was scream at your husband. He was never that aggressive towards someone.

Jaehyun and Yuta were holding Taeyong, while Johnny and Haechan held Doyoung. Both males were calling each other names, while you wanted to disappear. Everyone was stunned. They had no idea such a storm was coming tonight. Best friends fighting over nothing.

"I'm leaving."

You got up, took your purse and coat, and left. Sooyoung called after you, but you were done for tonight. There was nothing you could do with your stupid husband. Leaving seemed like a good option.

"Get in." After a five-minute walk, a black Mercedes parked by your side. It wasn't your husband, though. "I won't let you go alone on a cold, dark night. Get in."

"You don't have to, Doyoung. I really -"

"I won't repeat myself."

Even after such a fucked up night, Doyoung had to be the one to take you home, not your husband. Does he even love you?

A week passed by, and nothing has changed. Both you and Taeyong would only see each other in the morning. Not even a simple "Hi" was exchanged. He was too embarrassed after what happened at Jaehyun's birthday.

"Y/N, we would love to move you a bit higher." Lee Sooman, your boss spoke to you. "We found your results to be the best out of the whole company. I want to promote you to a higher position and move you to the International Marketing department. Are you in?"

It was the day that would change your life the most. Working schedule was tighter, and you had to spend more hours weekly in the company. Chaeyoung was moved into the marketing department, so she was working with Taeyong. Everyone in the new floor was a stranger to you. These days, it's hard to find friends. Especially from work. Mark would always pass by your floor to say hello, though.

"Can I talk to Y/N?" Yuta's voice echoed through the office of the international marketing floor. "It's urgent and we need her. I'm from the Japanese unit."

Na Jaemin, your new co-worker, asked you to come. With a smile on, you saw Yuta waiting for you.

"What do you need, Yuta?"

"Are you the one who is in charge of France and Italy's orders?" You nodded at his words. "Well, I think that someone messed up and their orders came to Japan, and Japan's order came to France. Can you check it out with me?"

Both of you came to your desk and typed out the information about the order. Someone from the delivery unit must have mistaken the orders, that would have cost millions of dollars.

"I think you should call the international shipping floor, there's Seulgi. She may know what to do before the boss finds out."

When you were on your way back, Chaeyoung stopped you. She was smiling a bit.

"Can you help us, Y/N?"

It turns out that marketing and international marketing are supposed to make an ad together. You were picked as a person from the international floor, and Doyoung was picked from marketing.

"I'm glad I'm working with you, Doyoung."

"Me too. I would cry, if I had to work with Jeno or Xiaojun. They're a bit weird."

"I don't blame you." You laughed when you opened your laptop. "I think we should start today, and it would take about a week for us to finish. What's the theme of the ad?"

Doyoung took a look at his papers and then answered you.

"Youth. Progression. Victory."

"How the fuck are we supposed to do it?" In your head, you saw how much of a struggle this ad would be. "Any ideas?"

The time went by so fast, none of you noticed it was past 8 pm. Both of you got to work to make the best project you could ever do. Doyoung was a smart guy, and he knew exactly what to put in an ad to make it interesting.

While both of you were working, Taeyong didn't call you at all. You were supposed to be at home at 6, yet he didn't even care. He's probably still mad at you because of the fight.

"I'll drop you at home." Doyoung put his coat on, and looked at you to check if you're ready. "C'mon, Y/N."

"I feel bad. You're doing too much for me, Doyoung." It was truth, Doyoung didn't mind but to you it was wrong. Taeyong is supposed to help you, not his best friend. "Let me call Taeyong, he would pick me up."

"Waiting for his response, then."

It's ben almost 30 seconds and he didn't pick up. Another call. And another. Nothing. He wasn't going to pick up your calls tonight.

"I'm sorry. It's going to be the last time you're dropping me at home. For real."

Doyoung didn't answer but rather smiled at you. It was cute how much you didn't want to depend on him, but you did anyway.

Both of you were in a car talking about the details of the project when suddenly your stomach made a noise.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"Lunch. Sandwiches."

"Y/N, it was at 1. It's 8. Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm fine." Another noise came from your stomach. "Okay, maybe a little."

"We're going to eat something. I'm hungry too."

When you were about to protest, Doyoung shushed you a bit. He parked by a restaurant next to the company. Both of you ordered the same thing and enjoyed the meal together inside.

"How much am I supposed to pay you back? I wasn't looking at the price."

"Don't worry, it's on me."

"Doyoung, I can't-"

"I said it's fine." He laughed. "Enjoy your meal and stop being so annoying."

It was the first time since you could've remembered when you were in a restaurant. The last time you were in a restaurant was with Taeyong on your birthday a few months ago. You couldn't explain why, but you felt the warmth you hadn't felt in a long time.

"Doyoung, I really want to thank you for everything you're doing for me." He stopped eating and focused on your words. "I have shitty time with my husband, work is getting on my nerves, and you're too nice to me'' It felt as almost you were crying. "You have no idea how much it does mean to me."

"Y/N, stop. I do it, and I'm not complaining at all. I like to spend time together, and it's not your fault that Taeyong is such an asshole. I wish he was a better husband. You deserve someone who will love you unconditionally."

After that, your evening got better. Doyoung took you on a small car trip around Seoul. He showed you some streets you hadn't seen before. Deep down, he knew you didn't want to come back home as soon as possible. He parked for a minute by the Han River.

"It's an amazing place. I feel like I'm 17 again, me and my friends go on trips here to follow our crushes from school."

"I did the same thing with boys. Me, Yuta, and Taeyong with Jonny would be here every day after classes because of Taeyong." He was laughing at himself. "Because of him and Kang Seulgi, we were here every day for hours. He wanted to look at her and ask her out. It never worked though, because she left for some time, then we were in business school, and he was dating you."

Kang Seulgi? Seulgi from the delivery department? From you company? Taeyong had crush on her? Suddenly you felt lightheaded, your vision became blurry, and tears appeared on you eyes. You had to take a few deep breathes to calm down.

"I've never heard about Taeyong and Seulgi? Why?"

"Fuck. I wasn't supposed to tell you then." It was an accident. Doyoung believed you were aware of Taeyong's first love. "I shouldn't tell you. Sorry, Y/N."

"It's too late, can you tell me more?"

"I shouldn't. I already have said too much."

"Doyoung, please. Taeyong never told me about Seulgi. I had no idea about another girl."

You felt hurt a bit, not because you were jealous. You were hurt because Taeyong was probably lying to you for these years. Was he in love with a girl that got away? That's why he doesn't care. You're not the one Lee Taeyong loves.

"They were seeing each other for months. He always had a thing for her. She rejected him a few times because she was supposed to move to Daegu for some time." Doyoung was looking far ahead, he didn't dare to spare you a look. "Seulgi left, he was depressed for weeks, then I met you. I introduced both of you to each other." Boy, how much does he regret that. "He was focused on you, then Seulgi came back. I guess they tried to talk, but he was dating you already."

"Now it all makes sense to me. Fuckin asshole." You weren't even hurt anymore. It seems like all the feelings for Lee Taeyong are gone. Even hate. "We've been together for the past 8 years. I've focused on him. I was like a maid! He was never there for me when I needed him the most, but I forgave him. I always did. I did this all to find out he was never truly in love with me. Bullshit." A sarcasstic laugh left your mouth while Doyoung was observing you. "Why would you ever introduce him to me? I would've dodged the bullet, Doyie. I wish you didn't."

Doyoung felt guilty, even though he shouldn't. In his eyes, Taeyong was a good man. He was sure his friend was treating you like a princess.

"Sorry, I felt he would be a good party for you. I don't know. But you can't say he doesn't love you. You don't know that."

"I think we both know that."

Awkward silence occurred between you.

"Listen, I do believe you deserve better. Don't mind him, maybe one day he will see what he has lost. Look at you, Y/N. You can't get such an asshole like him to make you feel bad. I love him, he's my best friend, but you're my friend too. I wish you would be happier."

His words were true and meaningful. Doyoung was right. You deserve better than that. In the heat of a moment, you turned your head towards him and kissed him.

"Fuck, sorry. I shouldn't, I don't know what I was thinking-"

He stopped you with a kiss. Much stronger kiss. It was like your mouths knew each other well. As if they were missing pieces together. It's been a long time since you've been kissed.

Best friends don't kiss each other's partners, and a wife doesn't kiss her husband's best friend. That was the truth. It's been a few days, and it was awkward between you and Doyoung. Taeyong apologized to you, and he tried to be a better man for you. Somehow, you felt a bit guilty because you were married, but honestly? You wished to wake up to Doyoung every day instead of Taeyong.

"I made you breakfast."

Taeyong got into the bedroom with a plate of toast and scrambled eggs.

"Thank you."

"That's it?"

"What else am I supposed to say?" You popped your eyebrow. "I've done breakfast for you for the past 8 years, give me a break already. It's the bare minimum, Taeyong."

"I thought you'd be happy."

"I am. Okay?"

It's too late to fix things now. Breakfast in bed won't fix the damage that has already been done to you. Deep down, you wanted to feel guilty, but you just couldn't.

In the company, everyone was busy. It's April. One of the busiest months for the company. You had hopes of passing by Doyoung. Your project got accepted, whichh made your comapany's saels higher. Mark would drop by to talk shit about your co-workers. Johnny bought you a coffee, and Sooyoung called to go shopping with you. Everything should go fine.

About 7 pm, when the company was almost empty, you saw a well known to you figure. He was putting his things together, probably about to leave the building.

"Can we talk? Like adults, please? Ignoring each other won't turn back time, Doyoung."

"It's not the best time for this conversation, the building is about to close down."

"Then let's talk somewhere else. Even at the stupid bench in the park."

He took a second to rethink his life decisions.

"Let's talk at mine."

After 15 minutes, both of you arrived at Doyoung's apartment. It was located in the center of Seoul. It was maybe the fourth time you've ever been there.

"I know it's bad and awkward. I'm married to your best friend, and we kissed each other, making out even." You chuckled because of your nerves. "I shouldn't have kissed you, I guess. Sorry. But please, let's talk. I kinda miss you." He looked at you, a bit shocked. "As friends, of course."

"Well, I really want to say I regret kissing you. Really." He was pacing around the living room. "But it would be a lie. Honestly? I enjoyed it, and I would do it again, and again, and again. I don't give a fuck about Taeyong now."

His statement made you blush. He was confident in himself and sure of what he was saying.

"Fuck, me too. I know how wrong it is, but I can't help myself."

Nothing else needed to be said. Doyoung dropped everything he had held. He was kissing you like a starved man. As if he hadn't been able to see you for ages. It's a forbidden romance, and you're enjoying it.

Next thing you knew was you being in his bedroom. He was slowly kissing you down your neck, while his hands were taking off your clothes. Everything felt magical.

"Can I?" He asked with hungry eyes, his fingers on the hem of your pants. "Please?"

"Please."

It was the best sex you've ever had. Taeyong usually didn't pay you much attention. He wanted to cum and he could care less if you did. Doyoung paid attention to you, and only you. He was focused on making you feel good. He loved your body and moans you left out your mouth.

"You're amazing. I wish it was me who dated you back then." Doyoung was holding you in a spoon. His fingers were circling your shoulder. "I like you."

"I like you too."

Since then, it has become a routine for you. Taeyong wasn't suspicious of anything. He was busy working with Seulgi. He couldn't lie, but he preferred to stay at the company until late hours to finish tasks with her. He thought you were having fun with Joohyun or Sooyoung. You and Taeyong barely talk to each other, but none of you seem to mind. This marriage was meant to fail from the beginning.

"Y/N." Mark touched your shoulder. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure?"

"What were you doing at Doyoung's apartment last night? I was there to drop him off his laptop, but I saw you coming in."

This question made your heart drop. Romance between you and Doyoung was supposed to be a secret until you'd be responsible enough to divorce Taeyong.

"We're friends? And co-workers? I was doing research with him." You giggled. "What are you even thinking of?"

"Fuck, sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He was a bit embarrassed. "You wouldn't do anything harmful to Taeyong. I thought you were doing something weird with Doyoung."

"Mark, please. How could you think about it?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen you talk in weeks. He's always around Seulgi, you're meeting with Doyoung a lot, and both of you leave at different hours." He was a bit confused. "Are you guys fine?"

"Yes, we are fine, Mark. Don't worry too much."

The thought of being almost caught scared you. Your friends wouldn't understand you. They would blame you for cheating on your lovely, hardworking, and amazing husband. Especially, if you're cheating on him with his best friend. You were lonely, and you lost feelings for Taeyong long ago, he himself probably had lost them first, a long time ago.

"I know." Joohyun's word made you stressed. "Taeyong called asking about you. I covered for you every single time. You're cheating on him, right?"

It was supposed to be a chill meeting at your apartment with a coffee and cake. Joohyun loved you as if you were her sister.

"Before we go any further, don't judge me, please." You couldn't look her in the eyes. "I'm ashamed of myself, but I think that's how it was meant to be. You don't understand how it is to be with Taeyong. How is it to be unloved and ignored."

"Y/N, I'm not judging you at all. Me and Johnny support you. At first, Johnny was furious, and he couldn't believe it." She chuckled. "I guess, me too. I wasn't ready. But look at this. After Taeyong? I really admire you, and how you were able to move on with life.

"I know I'm the worst person on earth because of that. I'm ashamed to face him and tell him I want a divorce."

"Well, it's not a surprise. It's a tough topic. Let me ask you another question. Is it Doyoung?"

"How do you know?"

"It's obvious. Every time we've been gathering together, he could never take his eyes off of you."

After that, Joohyun and Johnny promised you to keep a secret. They didn't support cheating, but they couldn't blame you. Everyone thought you were living a great life with Taeyong, only to turn out it was the total opposite.

"I'll divorce him."

Doyoung was sitting on the chair on his balcony with you on his lap. He was finishing his glass of wine. As soon as he heard that, his eyes met yours.

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you into anything." He said, slowly carrasing your back. "I fear that Taeyong won't forgive us. I may lose my best friend."

"At first, I thought the exact same thing." You kissed his cheek. "But now, I completely hate this guy. I lost my femininity, myself, and energy because of him. I can't look at him, because all I see is how much he hurt me and me cheating on him."

"I'm here. I'm going to support you no matter what."

Both you and Doyoung told your friends you needed to go on a trip to Jeju. You had the time of your life there. Taeyong was texting you once in a while. Doyoung made your life interesting. He gave you something Taeyong could never.

Dark nigths going on a walks on the beach. Singing songs in a karaoke bar or in your room. Doing stupid teenagers shit. Life with Doyoung was different. You felt loved.

Joohyun invited everyone from the friend group to a BBQ. It was a usual Friday. Mark was in charge of drinks with Jungwoo. Johnny was in charge of the music. Taeyong was busy with his phone, while you and Doyoung cut fruits like Joohyun asked you to.

It should be a peaceful night. Only if Seulgi didn't show up. After she came, the atmosphere tensed. Jaehyun felt uncomfortable, so did Yuta and Taeil. You tried to ignore it, but Seulgi was all on Taeyong. In public. In front of everyone's eyes.

"Why is she here?"

"I don't know. Joohyun probably invited her." Doyoung sipped on his drink. "That's wild."

"It is. That's why I hate him. Look how shameless he is."

After some time, everyone was busy with something. Some were dancing, and some were singing old hits. You were on the coach, looking at your friends having fun.

"How are you, Y/N?" Jaehyun and Jungwoo sat down on both sides of you. "We saw you're sitting like a potato here."

"I'm not drunk enough to go up and dance."

"Then drink more!" Jungwoo handed you another drink. "We're having fun tonight!"

"Exactly. You can't be depressed or something."

They were right. Soon after, you had almost five different drinks, most of them being mixed with vodka. You were dancing with the girls, then with Yuta and Doyoung. You really had a lot of fun. Until Taeyong turned the music off.

"Everyone! Can I take a second of your time?" Everyone was confused. Your heartbeat was faster, and your hands started to sweat. "I'd like to share the wonderful news with you!" He was drunk. Drunk like on Jaehyun's birthday. It means trouble. "I don't know if any of you are aware of me and Y/N. My lovely wife."

You were quick to stand up and grab Taeyong.

"Let's go. Get yourself together you're embarrassing me."

"Let me go." He got out of your hold. "As you know, we've been married for 8 years! That's a long period, right? Well, I think someone might get bored of one another."

"Taeyong, please. Stop it."

Tears came into your eyes quickly. Everyone witnessing the scene was confused. Joohyun was fast to send Johnny to get Taeyong somewhere else.

"Johnny, leave me alone! I'd like to share something with you! Our lovely, sweet, and faithful Y/N is a cheating bitch! That's right!" He was laughing devilishly, while you were on a verge of a breakdown. "Isn't it crazy? We all think about her as of an angel. Look at her. She's not all that."

"I don't think you should do it, man." Jaehyun tried to get Taeyong's attention, but he wasn't listening.

"I should. My wife is fucking my best friend, and I should stay quiet? No way! Tell us, Y/N, how long have you been fuckin Doyoung?"

People left gasps. They all turned their heads towards you. Johnny and Joohyun felt anger. He should never done this to you in a public.

"Let her go, man. I'm not kidding." Doyoung stood up and pushed Taeyong. "Are you crazy? Did you forget about fuckin Seulgi? You're not saint after all."

It felt like a nightmare. Everything was going so fast, and you could only stand there shocked.

"I was faithful to her for the longest time ever! And look how did she pay me back."

"Don't be funny, Taeyong." You managed to say it, while wiping the tears away. "How can you do this to me? After what I've done to you. I never told anyone how much of a burden living with you was! Not even once! I was there with you when I was doing every chore for you! Every little thing you needed! I let you fuck me when I wasn't in the mood, because I cared about you!" You were screaming on top of your lungs. "Y'all can judge me. You can throw names at me, I don't care! I've never been happier. None of you understand what I went through."

Your friends were in shock. They never would guess what was coming. You and Taeyong fighting in the Johnny's backyard with a people around. All the dirty things you've ever done were mentioned.

"Don't act like a victim."

"Am I not? You were using me for everything. I lost my will to live, Taeyong. You're a selfish motherfucker, who had never loved me. You've been in love with Seulgi since the beginning. You lied to me, ruined my life and I wasted all those years."

"I want a divorce."

"Me too. I hate you, Taeyong."

With that, all your group friends were confused. Joohyun, Johnny, and Doyoung gave you support. Taeil and Sooyoung reached out to you too. Mark,Haechan, Yuta and Jungwoo were confused about what to do. Jaehyun had no idea what to think, until Johnny changed his mind. They were uncomfortable with everything that'd been said that day.

Taeyong blocked your number, packed your things, and threw you out of your shared apartment. You had no choice but to move in with Doyoung.

"I love you, Y/N. I think I always did."

"I wish I had married you first." Both of you chuckled on the way to the court. "Imagine what we would have done in these years. I'm grateful we have so much to explore about each other."

Doyoung never let you down, or doubted you, or your trust. He gave you loved, you were craving for. He was a missing puzzle to your life. He helped you understand yourself, and improve yourself.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lee, oficially you've been divorced. Mrs. Y/N, succesfuly, you dropped Lee from your last name. I wish both of you happines on a new life's path."

It would be the end of the chapter titled Taeyong, now you're beinning a new one with your true love.

94 notes · View notes

justwritedreams · 1 year

Text

Yours | Doyoung

Husband!Doyoung x Reader, mafia au! Word count: 2281 Genre: smut. Warning: Rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), no protection (don't do this at home), praising, riding, cum eating, swearing, like pretty explicit words, nicknames (angel, baby girl), jealous Doyoung, Johnny being a little sassy, me putting a ridiculous gang name. MINORS DNI!!! THIS IS A 18+ STORY Author: Maari Note: Soooo hehe this is really filthy and I'm proud of it!! Since you wanted a smut with a jealous doyoung so badly, I decided to combine all these requests into one. So enjoy! Requests: can i ask for nct husband!doyoung + jealous, nct doyoung + praising, doyoung x praising x riding, jealous!doyoung smut

⪢ NCT Masterlist

You weren't stupid.

Your husband's business dinner had only one purpose, intimidation and your company mitigated that a bit, but the glances Johnny cast at your bust was dangerous. Mainly because your husband had also noticed, after all he wouldn't have gripped your waist so tightly if he hadn't noticed.

And the more ironic Johnny was, the more your husband clenched his jaw and laughed sarcastically.

While you were quiet, not afraid to say something, but because there would be nothing you could do to convince Johnny to go over to the side of the Neo gang.

Deep down you knew that Johnny was doing that to try to convince himself that it wasn't the best option, but he wasn't helping Doyoung to stay calm at all. And it made it worse when Johnny brought his attention to you.

"I'll come to your side if I have a beauty like that waiting for me." he said, looking straight at you.

Your response was to take a deep breath and look away at your husband. If Doyoung could kill Johnny with just his eyes, he would. Because the way he was staring at the man sitting across from him was like he could torture him, and in a way he could.

"Be careful if you want to keep your head on your neck." Doyoung spoke softly but in such an intimidating way that you felt every hair on your body stand on end. After that, dinner got even more tense. If Doyoung didn't keep his hand on your waist, he certainly had it on your thigh. Though you should have been scared of him, because seeing him mad wasn't the best thing in the world, the heat his hand radiated on your bare thigh might have sent a few shivers up your spine. And well, remembering what those hands, but specifically those fingers, were capable of doing to you was making you a little dizzy. It wasn't just the wine.

He was so close, if he went up a few more inches...

But Doyoung's hand stayed there, just squeezing your exposed skin, the whole dinner as if it was some kind of torture. Until finally he and Johnny agreed on something you didn't even pay attention to. And neither could you, because even looking at Johnny was a dangerous game you weren't going to fall for.

You were past the stage of being the bad girl. Your black wedding ring on your finger indicated as much. But Johnny wasn't done with the teasing yet, he made a move to say goodbye to you with a hug but Doyoung, seeing his intentions, pulled you by the waist and positioned his body in front of you in a protective and possessive way. Making Johnny laugh. “Don't worry, I don't intend to steal your woman.” “My wife. Remember that next time." Johnny raised his hands in surrender and you just took your hand to your husband's arm that was holding you by the waist, in a weak and failed attempt to make him calm down.

The way to the car and the journey to your house was in pure silence except for Doyoung's heavy breathing, you could see his fingertips turning white from how tightly he held the steering wheel and however much you wanted to say or do something to help him, you knew that at that moment the best thing to do was just remain silent.

His eyes scanned the street as if his thoughts were wandering on the myriad ways to torture Johnny. When you arrived and he opened the door for you, standing behind your body, you only managed to take a deep breath before Doyoung dropped the keys on any piece of furniture in the room, grabbed the back of your neck and made you turn so that the lips collided. The kiss was hurried and careless, his fingers tangled in the strands of your hair as his tongue thirstily sought yours. Doyoung tasted like wine but that wasn't the only thing that intoxicated you, it was the way his other hand held your waist with possession as he brought his body close to yours and felt the heat. He then abandoned your lips, trailing wet kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck. Where he didn't stop at just kisses, with goose bumps all over your skin and your head tilted to the side giving him full access, Doyoung preoccupied himself with sucking, biting and licking your skin. Every tiny inch he could mark and feel. Feeling his furious teeth against your skin was enough for you to start moaning low and grinding your hips against his, bringing your hands to his back and being prevented from leaving scratches all over the place thanks to his clothing. But it didn't stop you from digging your nails in any way.

The fact that you felt that he was determined to leave more than one mark on your body that night was enough to make your heart pound in every inch of your body and your panties start to get wet.

The heat and the need to have him had been there since the restaurant, but now a pool formed in the thin fabric.

“You’re mine, angel. Fucking mine.” he spoke close to your ear before biting your lobe and you just sighed, eyes closed and completely surrendered to him.

"Only yours."

Another kiss ensued as he walked with you across the room, taking your hands to his hair where you squeezed the dark strands as he bit your bottom lip, soon you were on the couch with him on top of you. You felt his erection and your body responded, wrapping your legs around his waist as your wetness welcomed his hard cock. Feeling your heat there made him growl and scramble out of your dress underneath, tearing the thin straps.

“So beautiful.” he whispered admiring your bust, taking his fingers to caress the skin firmly and you just moaned at the feel of his fingers on your hard nipples. And you gasped for air as he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it so hotly your legs were weak. You cried out for his name, it was the only thing that came into your head as you felt like you were going to combust, your body too hot as his saliva ran down your skin. He paid due attention to the other nipple as his fingers teased the other one, making you squirm beneath him. All you wanted was to feel him inside you, the muffled dreams of his moans were carrying vibrations that went straight to your panties, directly into your soaked pussy. He bit into your belly, making you open your eyes to stare at him and have the most pleasurable sight of him settling your legs between his shoulders to get ready to eat you. “Babe, please.” you pleaded, seeing him smirk.

He took a finger to your pussy, an almost imperceptible caress that didn't match the fire you felt, making you moan a little louder. Your panties were so wet that you would have been embarrassed if not for your husband's words. "I'll give you what you want, you know why?" he asked and you shook your head, trying to sway for him to come closer but his hands holding your hips on the couch prevented it. "Because you're a good girl. So good you deserve to have this pretty pussy eaten by me." You squirmed, his dirty words were making you even wetter and it bothered you not to have his tongue or fingers there. “Please.” “What do you want, hm?” he pushed your panties to the side and your pussy fluttered from the inside. “Tell me and I will give you, angel.” “Your tong-” your words caught in your throat before you could even finish because that's exactly what he gave you. He slowly licked your soaking pussy, making you whine louder, his skillful tongue explored from bottom to top, in a sensual and torturous rhythm, he was hungry for you but he didn't stop eating your pussy in the way he knew drove you crazy. He thrust deep into your velvet flesh and then back up to your clit, he didn't want to waste a drop, an inch of your pussy. He wanted to remind you that he was yours and you were his, to make you forget any trace of Johnny's eyes on you though none of that was remembered now. The only thing you remembered was moaning his name over and over again like a mantra. Your body temperature rose even more, that famous knot in your lower abdomen was there and you were closer to coming, noticing that Doyoung stuck two fingers in your pussy while his tongue took care of your swollen clit. “Oh my god.” “Come for me, baby girl.” groaning loudly, all you could do was obey and you came hard. He didn't waste your cum, swallowing everything while you tried to somehow regain lost air. He lifted his torso, letting your limp legs fall to the couch as he took off your panties completely. You breathed heavily and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time a little slower to share your own taste. You responded, taking your hands to the shirt he was wearing and started to pull it up, he laughed low against your lips and helped you take off the useless piece. It was your turn to kiss his neck, licking every bit of skin and his Adam's apple, which grew more prominent as he tipped his head back as your hands deftly went to the zipper of his pants. You both moaned as you also reached for his hard member, which practically begged to be released from those tight pants. And that's exactly what you did, with his help, the pants ended up somewhere in the room while you groped his hard member over his underwear. Moaning very close to your ear, Doyoung held tight to your waist and sat on the sofa, bringing you to sit on his lap, you helped him take off his underwear and was going down to return the pleasure when he stopped you.

"No." he spoke in a low voice and you looked at him confused. "Today is all about you, baby girl."

"But I want to return the favor." you pouted and he fit you better in his lap, smiling sideways.

"You can do that later." he winked and you reluctantly agreed. "Now I want you to ride me."

You bit your bottom lip, hearing it so down and dirty was just as pleasurable, not as much as actually riding him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he gripped his hard member to fit your pussy. "Keep being that good girl." that's what he said before you went down so he could enter you at once. Closing your eyes at the feel of him erect and pulsing inside you, you began to ride at a slow pace. He held your hips tightly, lost in how perfectly you fit together.

"Open your eyes, angel." he asked, then moaned, and you did so to find his eyes as lost in desire as his were. "Look, watch how you ride me, how your pussy was made for my cock, how your pussy swallows my dick perfectly. No one will ever fill you up like that.” And you could only nod as you moaned, up and down his cock. But he was impatient with your pace, so he grabbed your hips with both hands and made you ride even deeper, in and out faster of his cock. You then rested your forehead on his shoulder, the loud moans mixing with the wet sound of bodies moving together. Your pussy tightened every time his hard cock hit your g-spot, making you see stars even with your eyes closed. He went steady, deeper. He hadn't just marked your body on the outside but he was determined to mark the inside as well and it was all too pleasurable. Sweat trickled down your back, his short nails dug into your skin as he filled you in an intimate way and he would say the sweetest dirty words you had ever heard, he would praise you amidst the suffering moans of someone who was so close to coming but didn't want it to end yet, just like you. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, babe.” you said in sobs as you rode him even faster, listening to the couch creak. “Right behind you, angel.” The ecstasy and anxiety of knowing he was about to come with you flooded through you and you lifted your head to rest your forehead against his and look him in the eyes.

“I want you to cum inside me, please.” you pleaded so softly he rolled his eyes peacer before putting his tongue into your mouth once more, your thighs trembled and he held you even tighter practically merging your bodies together.And then that whole wave of pleasure hit you again, moaning even louder but being muffled by Doyoung's mouth glued to yours he moaned together and came on you as you released your come. You still continued riding him at a slower pace to try to catch your breath while he hid his face in the back of your neck, without undoing the firm grip on your waist. “That's the sexiest sex we ever had.” he spoke, breathless against your skin and you chuckled softly. "Well, I guess we're not done yet, if I remember correctly I need to return you a favor."

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misted-dream · 2 months

Text

🦢 A WALTZ IN THE DARK ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆ ⟢ ballet dancer!doyoung & fem!ballerina!reader

author's note . . . this was first released as a 4.5-part series that i never finished. i finally decided to finish it and put them all together and upload it separately as a oneshot just for convenience's sake. the series info can be found here!

content&warnings . . . eventual smut, forced proximity, enemies to lovers if you squint, mentions of injury, profanity, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex, oral, slowburn (idk if it counts?)

word count . . . 28k (i'm insane abt dy)

synopsis . . . the first and last time you and doyoung danced together was 5 years ago. 5 years since the mishap that founded your mistrust of him, at least as a duet partner. with the annual swan lake showing rolling around, you think you finally stand a chance to audition for the leads: odette and odile. it's every ballerina's dream to play this role at least once in their career. little do you know, rumour has it that kim doyoung just so happens to be auditioning for the role of prince siegfried this year.

ACT I THE ROLE

Truthfully, it’s claustrophobic out in the hallways. Despite it being well-ventilated and well-lit, there’s a stuffy feeling of being cramped into a space that crawls up onto your skin, pricking up goosebumps along with it. You prop one leg up on the barre that lines every inch of every wall within this building, bending your torso at your hip and pushing towards your knee in a straight line. The other dancers around you do the same. The energy in this corridor is unspoken, but there’s a shared feeling of anxiousness. It’s been at least 20 minutes since the last dancer was called into the audition room; no audition needs to take 20 minutes. Unless, they’re so spectacular to the point where the directors have forgotten they were still auditioning people for the roles.

Not just any role though. The role. The role of Odette, and by the same token, the role of Odile. The lead female role for the Swan Lake Ballet. It’s been regarded as one of the most difficult roles to play because of how stark the contrast is between these two characters that are supposed to look the same, so naturally, logic suggests that the same ballerina must dance these two, so very different characters.

You set your back upright again, feeling an adequate enough stretch in your hamstrings. The dancers amongst you are all individually in their own worlds. Last year, you didn’t even sign up to audition for the lead. Though, not many people did. It was pretty much guaranteed that the prima ballerina would get it. This year, however, she opted out of auditioning and suddenly, there was an influx in interest for the part. Your whole life, you’ve been training for such an occasion—you can’t let it slip past you now.

“Y/N!”

A voice calls out. You turn your head in the direction of the voice. A pretty ballerina slips by the woman with a clipboard in her hand. The dancer’s light brown hair is pulled back perfectly, a full bun sitting in the back of her head. She waves a quick goodbye to the people inside the room before she steps out into the hallway.

“Yes, that’s me.” You say before bending down to pick up your dance bag, swinging it onto your right shoulder.

The woman doesn’t say anything else, she simply rotates her body sideways to allow some space for you to step in through to the room.

As soon as you’re inside the audition room, you see a seated panel of four people, two of whom you recognise: the company’s director and the choreographer. Both the pride and joy of the Paris House of Ballet. There’s an air of iciness that surrounds them. You set down your bag by the edge of the wall and saunter towards the spot marked with masking tape in the middle of the room.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the director, Colette, beams at you.

You purse your lips together, kneeling down in front of the tablet set out for auditionees to put on the music they’ve chosen for their piece. A soft piano melody begins. The panel immediately recognises it as the Dying Swan. The melancholy tune floods the square audition room, and you let the music overtake and guide your every movement.

The piece is beginning to come to an end. You’re sat on top of your heel with one leg pointed straight out in front of you. The swan’s final moments, she’s still fighting for her mortality. With one last flare of her wings—your arms—you envelope yourself. Arms crossed at the wrist resting on top of your ankle, and you bow your head, your forehead touching your shin. You wait a few seconds before uncrossing your wrists and getting up onto your feet, as gracefully as you can. Looking up at the panel, you’re met with satisfied smiles. Internally, you release a deep sigh.

Colette looks to her sides, and then she begins, “Your grace is incomparable. Truly, very well done.”

One of the people whom you don’t recognise chimes in, “One of the best we’ve seen so far.” He nods, looking pleased with you and himself.

Colette’s smile is sturdy on her face. “Now, how are your fouettés?”

As soon as you step one foot out of the audition room, someone is already there waiting to pounce. “How was it?” Karina asks ecstatically.

Your shoulders jump up a bit at her excitement, “-You scared me.”

She widens her eyes expectantly, waiting for you to answer her question.

“It was alright. I did well enough on Odette’s part.”

Karina rolls her eyes, “Is that what you think? Well enough?”

You’re eyeing down the water fountain at the end of the corridor, someone stood right in front of it as they’re filling up their bottle. A tall man waltzes past, his head turning towards you for a brief moment. As quick as he came into view, he leaves all the same. You’re stuck looking at where the outline of his body was, eyes boring holes into the beige-painted walls of the corridors.

“Hello?” Karina’s voice brings you back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

Monday mornings are never usually too bad. This Monday morning may prove your hypothesis wrong, though. The casting of the characters for Swan Lake were said to be posted up today, up on the bulletin board. They could just send out a mass message but your company insists on doing things the conventional way, only like back a decade ago. It’s tradition, they’d said, dancers all huddle up to hopefully find their names next to the character they auditioned for.

You’re hoping the same as you begin your commute to work this morning.

You swipe your ID card against the reader and the glass doors click open. Already, you can see a group of people, some wearing their practice outfits whilst others look they they just walked in with their jackets still on, all crowded around a rectangular pillar that stands in the middle of the staircase—separating the stairs that go up and the ones that go down.

Curiosity spikes within you, an unease settling in the pit of your stomach. This is it. You walk over to the crowd that’s garnering more people by the second.

“Y/N! Here!” You hear Karina’s voice from somewhere in the horde, and then a hand tugs at you. She pulls you through the mob of dancers, all eager to find their names plastered on the wall, until you’re stood next to her. You’re about two people away from the bulletin board, and once they move out of your way, it’s blatantly in your face. The plain piece of paper is titled: ‘Swan Lake Showing Castings.’

Your eyes skim past the castings for the male dancers and straight to the bottom half for the female dancers. You land on where it says ‘Odette/Odile’ and the name next to it: Juliette Martin. Not yours.

“Look!” Karina points at the paper, index finger underlining the role for Odette/Odile’s understudy. And there it is. Your name printed out next to the role of the understudy. Karina is visibly shaking with excitement, definitely more so than you. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d probably think that your name was Karina’s.

“Oh my god!” She flings her arms around you, and in her embrace, you shuffle out of the mob of people together. “You got it!”

“The understudy,” you remind her lowly. You attempt to soften your tone with a light, “Well,” and a shrug.

She’s not phased by your disappointment. “Still. You should be proud of yourself,” she leans her head forward, “I am. Proud of you, I mean.”

Her words force a smile onto your face and you manage out a quiet, ‘thank you.’

You’re in the middle of the barre routine, foot pointed out to second, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Thinking that it’s your mentor’s way of telling you to fix something—it could be anything really, straighten your back, tuck in your pelvis, turn out, point your toes more—you settle for standing up taller and rolling your shoulders back. She taps you again, in the same spot. This time, you turn to look at your mentor; maybe she’ll feel like actually specifying her request, unlike usually. Her coarse, grey hair frames her face in artistically messy strands, the rest of it pulled back into a quick bun, unlike the neat, meticulously combed ones that ballerinas normally gravitate towards wearing. Once your mentor has your attention, she signals towards the door to the studio. You drop your arms from the barre, eyebrows raising at your mentor with your fingers pointing to your chest. She nods. This whole interaction is carried out in silence, as to not disturb the rest of the dancers going through the routine. You half-walk, half-jog on your tiptoes towards the studio doors, and the director is waiting by the frame.

She steps out and you follow her into the hallway. Finding a nearby bench, she sits down and prompts you to do the same.

The cold from the metal bars of the bench is insulated by your joggers, one leg pulled up to above your knee exposing the tights underneath, while the other sits where it’s supposed to.

You breathe in, “What can I do for you?” You try to put on a convincing smile.

“Did you see the castings this morning?” The director begins.

You simply nod, not knowing where this conversation will go.

“Well, Juliette dropped out of the show this morning.”

“Oh,” you voice. And then the revelation hits you. You repeat, “Oh,” this time with full understanding of the director’s implications.

“So…” Colette’s lips are slow to curve into a smile, “You’re our lead.”

Your stomach flutters upon hearing those words, your mouth hung slightly agape. An excitement inches up to your face, the muscles in your cheeks spark up. “I mean, yeah. I’d love that. But why?” Colette notices the tiniest sliver of hesitation in your tone.

“Personal stuff—she didn’t know if she can stay in Paris for the next 2 months to train.”

You nod in understanding. “That’s a shame.”

“Some things can’t be helped,” Colette responds. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great!” The director’s face lights up as she puts her own hand over yours. “Training should start as soon as possible, so…” she looks down onto the floor to think, “The day after tomorrow?”

The way this conversation happened, it’s like you’re continuously a beat behind Colette. “I can look over the routines by myself tomorrow, no problem. Wouldn’t that be better? So we don’t have to wait an extra day?”

“Oh, no.” She gives a starry-eyed shake of the head. “Your training starts with partnering. You know, to test the chemistry.”

You mouth a subtle, ‘Oh.’

“Did you see who got the role of Siegfried?”

You let out a soft chuckle, “No. I kind of zoned out when I saw what role I got.” A sudden wave of self-awareness engulfs you after that sentence uttered with unfiltered honesty. If Colette picked up on that, she made no show of it.

“I don’t know if you know him, actually. Kim Doyoung got the part.”

Kim Doyoung.

You knew him. No doubt, you knew him.

You lay in bed, eyes staring at the ceiling. The covers are pulled all the way up to your chest despite it being warm enough that you don’t need to sleep with the covers on. As you shut your eyes, an all-too-familiar memory plays out in your head.

It’s 5 years ago. You’re a fresh face to the company having just graduated from the Paris Conservatory for dance. It’s a spring day, the trees outside the studio building are beginning to blossom again.

It’s partner practice and the mentor decided that today is the day that everyone will try some lifts. Not that extraordinary, you’d been lifted countless times even during your days learning at the conservatory. Kim Doyoung just so happened to be stood next to you when the mentor announced this. You didn’t know anyone in the class back then, seeing as you’d just joined, and he made no conscious effort to go seeking out a particular partner, so naturally, the two of you partnered up.

You didn’t know who he was at the time, just the fact that he was undeniably handsome. A combination of both sharp and soft features to him; if he was anything as a partner, it was that he’s easy on the eye.

The mentor demonstrated a lift which consisted of the male dancer lifting his partner all the way up in the air over his head, while she arched her back with both feet pointed downwards; arms stretched out nearly in a 90 degree angle from each other.

Someone had counted to 3 and that’s when you jumped, assisting him the most you could as he lifted you well over 6 feet above the ground. The lift went fine. The mentor then suggested a variation in which the male dancer supports the weight with only one hand. And you don’t know what happened, but presumably Doyoung tried to hold the lift with a single hand, and that’s when it started going downhill.

There was a little instability in your core and you told him to put you down. He listened, or at least tried to, but the balance was thrown off. He was still holding the weight with one hand when he tried to wrap his free hand around your waist again. Before you know it, the fabric of your leotard did you no good and you started slipping from his grip. Being forced to basically propel yourself down, it came too unexpectedly, and you landed on the floor without properly bracing yourself. Rookie mistake, you’d thought even in the moment.

That day, you didn’t think much of it. But then your leg started hurting throughout the day, especially your knee. When you went to the infirmary, the nurse advised you to take a few days off from dancing; the pressure of being en pointe wouldn’t help the shock from the impact of your landing. Few days then turned into 2 weeks, courtesy of a second opinion from the physician that you thought would help argue your case—which was to continue dancing.

Doyoung obviously saw the injury take place, and you can’t be sure if he took notice of your absence in class for the following two weeks. But that was the first and last time you ever partnered with him. And you made yourself a promise to never dance with him, again.

Up until now, it’s been pretty easy living up to that promise. Key words: until now.

Even getting up out of bed this morning was something you thought over more than once. Were you really ready to go ‘test the chemistry’ with the man that you more or less held a grudge against for the past 5 years? You know that you should let it go, it’s been 5 years—and besides, it’s not like the accident rendered you completely unable to dance again. And it wasn’t on purpose. You had to remind yourself of these facts every time you start feeling a sting from your knee shooting through your entire leg.

You walk into the studio, curtains to the windows drawn all the way back, the view of the city reflected on one of the walls entirely lined with mirrors. Colette is already there, alongside Rafael, the choreographer, and Doyoung is there, too.

“Just on time!” Colette greets you brightly.

You catch Doyoung’s eyes for a split second as you walk further into the room. His face carried an expression, one full of indifference. Does he recognise you?

You pull the strap of your bag off your shoulder, and drop it down in the corner of the room right in front of the mirror.

“Shall we get started?” Colette’s voice piques your collective attention. “The first duet we’re running over is the Act 2 pas de deux. I assume we’re all familiar with it?”

Her question is met with a couple of silent nods.

In Act 2, the Prince, Doyoung’s character, meets Odette, your character, for the first time. Prince Siegfried absolutely revels in Odette’s beauty, grace, and reserve.

Rafael pushes off the windowsill and makes his way over to you and Doyoung, standing in the centre of the room with an unnatural distance between you. You don’t know if he recognises you or not, and you’re not sure which option’s worse. A, that he recognises you but fails to even acknowledge his mistake that you’ve been stuck thinking about for the past couple of days, or B, that he doesn’t even recognise you because whatever happened was that insignificant to him.

Rafael begins to mark out the routine, highlighting the part in the duet— the pas de deux—where Siegfried caresses Odette’s face with his fingers, turning her head towards him. Following this intimate moment between the characters, there’s supposed to be two consecutive lifts performed by Siegfried that makes it appear like Odette is floating in the air. You’re standing very, very still as Rafael mimics these movements with little effort.

When he’s done, he asks a simple, “Got it?” before turning to face the speakers. Doyoung utters a quiet, “Yeah,” but you can only manage a nod that Rafael catches in the reflection.

And so, the music begins.

You take your place slightly off centre with Doyoung a little bit behind you. He takes slow, conscious steps towards you. His hand reaches out, fingers with the goal of landing softly on your chin. And they do. The pads of his fingers are cold to the touch, sending a shiver down you as you turn your face to look at him. Before you get the chance to properly look at him, your cue to take centre stage comes. In a fluttering-like motion, you quickly alternate between each foot putting pressure on your toes, bringing your arms to fifth up above your head. There’s a build-up in the music, and you feel Doyoung’s fingers tightly wrapped around your ribcage. The anticipation builds in Colette. But then, you call out, “Wait!”

Confusion colours Colette’s face, “What’s wrong?”

Rafael pauses the music, leaving the room in silence. Doyoung’s fingers loosen around you.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit with a clean-cut honesty. You put mind to not catch a glimpse of Doyoung’s reflection in the mirror before you.

Colette chuckles, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t be Odette.”

A stillness falls over everyone in the room, but particularly Colette. You meet her eyes, and there’s an uncharacteristic air of apathy to her. “You’re kidding. I mean, you didn’t even—”

Rafael physically takes a step in between you and Colette, Doyoung still silent in the situation. Rafael holds up a palm in Colette’s direction, then turns to face you. “Let’s start again in 5 minutes—is that okay with everyone?”

You glance over at the mirror and see Doyoung’s reaction. He widens his eyes in annoyance, and leaves the centre of the room, heading straight for his stuff on the side.

A thinly rolled cigarette sandwiched between your lips, you flick on the lighter and bring up the flame to the end of the stick. You take a slow drag before resting your forearms on the railing that outlines the balcony, cigarette tucked in between your fingers. On one hand, you’re glad that Rafael stepped in before Colette could explode, but on the other, he’s now set a precedent that you’ll be happy to cooperate again in 5 minutes' time. You don’t know if that stands true. And it’s looking more like 2 minutes now that you found your way out here to have a quick smoke.

You hear the door behind you swing open as you take another drag. The sound of chatter mixed in with cutlery clanging together in the canteen rushes out into your ears. You look back over your shoulder, and it’s Rafael.

“Mind sharing?” He walks over to the edge of the balcony next to you, eyes looking pointedly at the cigarette in your hand.

Funnelling out a puff of smoke with closed lips, you flick off the ash and pass the stick to him.

“Colette send you out here to get me?” You watch as he inhales.

He shakes his head, eyes looking down as he sucks in before breathing out. There’s a few seconds of silence in between him shaking his head and actually beginning to speak. “If this is going to work, you’re gonna have to trust him.”

“Raf, you know what happened. The last time I trusted him, I couldn’t work for 2 weeks afterwards.” He gives you your cigarette back and you take it in between your thumb and your index finger.

He sighs. “I do know what happened, and I know it was an accident.”

“If it wasn’t an accident, it really wouldn’t help your case here,” you take another long, deliberate pull.

Rafael pauses, slowly observing you as you exhale smoke from your lips. “Don’t you have some faith in him as a dancer? That he’s improved throughout all these years?”

He’s met with no response from you.

“You know, that was the last time he ever made a mistake like that in partnering. How’d you think he kept his job these 5 years?”

“Last mistake as far as you know.” Your words come out more sharply than anticipated.

“If you’re still uncomfortable, that’s fine. It’ll just be a shame to replace you—Colette loved your audition.”

Replace? Not even 5 minutes and there’s already throwing around of the word ‘replace?’ You suppose you did explicitly state, “I can’t be Odette,” back there. Guess it’s no one’s fault but your own.

“He’s dedicated. Driven. You can trust him.”

You can trust him. Those 4 particular words echo around in your head.

You follow Rafael all the way back to the studio. Colette watching as Doyoung is in midst of a solo routine. He comes to a halt when he sees the pair of you step into the room. Colette and Rafael exchange a look, not too particularly sneaky about it, either.

“Happy to see you join us again,” Colette stands from her chair, palms pushing against her knees, “Ready to do your job?”

You suck in a deep breath through gritted teeth, “Yeah.”

“Same part again, with the lift.” Colette delivers those last three words with extra care.

And so, the music plays, the same melody reverberating off the walls of the room. It’s like you’re living in déjà vu. The same scene plays out with Doyoung reaching out to trace his fingers along your jaw. There’s still a stiffness in you, prominent enough that you’re aware of it, when he touches you.

The music crescendos. His fingers laid flat against your rib again, preparing to lift you up in the air. There are multiple challenges to this. One obviously being your mistrust in your partner, which is crucial in duets. The other being the condition that you’re supposed to look dream-like, ethereally graceful while simultaneously being hauled up into the air, with nothing supporting you but the arms of a man whom you’d rather not even look at, let alone get lifted by.

You can trust him.

Alongside the music cue, you bend your knees into a plié and when you straighten your legs again, the familiar thrill of being thrusted high up into the air takes over you. Following the choreography, Doyoung sets you back down, and before you know it, you’re propped up again. Your arms flutter lightly, resembling the wings of a swan as the back of your wrists meet each other over your head, arms mimicking an ellipse.

Doyoung carefully helps you regain grounding by setting you back down slowly, his hands still tight around your waist. When he finally lets go, he mutters into your ear, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You turn around, met with the same expressionless face as when you first saw him earlier.

“That was…” Colette interrupts, “…standard. Chemistry needs a little working on, but nothing time can’t fix.” For some reason, you feel like that was meant for you with the way Colette’s looking pointedly at you.

With the newly added responsibility of your lead role, your schedule is now a little fuller, and brighter. Mondays and Tuesdays are solo training days, whereas Wednesdays and Thursdays are partner practice, specifically with Doyoung. Your company has always had a policy where despite whatever specified training there is for whatever show that’s currently getting worked on, Fridays were always company class days. Meaning that every dancer—the corps de ballet, every artist, soloist, even the principal dancers—come and train together. It’s like that saying that corporate businesses have, “We’re not a team, we’re a family.” Except you can feel a bit more of the ‘family’ aspect here than you probably can at some corporate job.

The weekends are the weekends. You’re not on the clock, but there’s still an unspoken understanding that you will be dancing, practicing, training, especially now with a role like this.

It’s Friday afternoon. You’re tucked in the corner somewhere, next to Karina, both observing the quick demo that the instructor is going through in the centre of the massive stage, just big enough to occupy all the dancers of the Paris House of Ballet.

The instructor tells the pianist to begin playing the piece, and the first row of dancers take position at the back of the stage.

“So, how was training yesterday?” Karina tries to contain her feverish squeal as she asks.

You bite back a smile at her exhilaration. “It was good.”

“When are you going to start giving me details without having me to ask for them?”

“It was nothing special. I don’t know what you want me to say.” You respond, watching the dancers as they travel across the stage in a multitude of jumps and leaps.

“Nothing special?” Karina elbows you in the side. You follow her eyes to see who’s across the room.

Doyoung stands in line for the next group of dancers to take the stage. A loose black tank top hangs onto his exposed shoulders, grey joggers sitting low on his hips. The stage lights do nothing but highlight his arms; how every muscle in them pull and stretch in different directions as he moves them.

You pull away from ogling at him. “Nothing special,” you repeat. “I don’t even think he recognised me.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. A man nearly ruins your life and doesn’t even remember you. What else do we expect?”

You and Karina share a chuckle, and the pair of you walk into the stage lights, preparing for the first position of the sequence.

It’s been a week since your first practice session with Doyoung. A week makes it sound like you’d gotten some time to warm up to him, when in reality, you’ve seen him three individual times for practice, and not any of those times did he even try to make casual conversation. Or less even, small talk.

You’re expecting today to be no different. Spend 8 hours with each other; 8 hours with his hands all over you; 8 hours pretending like you’re desperately in love—only for the pair of you to not even catch glimpses of each other outside the practice room.

You’d just finished running through another one of the many duets you have with him, this time as Odile, when you read the less-than-satisfied expression Colette has on her face. Uh oh.

She exhales sharply.

“It’s been a week.” Colette uncrosses her legs and pushes her glasses up into her hair. She stands up, one hand on the barre that disrupts the otherwise continuous panel of mirror on the wall. “One week. And you two still look like you’d rather piss at windmills than take your jobs seriously. Now, don’t get me wrong. Y/N, you’re very good at the rejection part—the falling in love part, not so much.”

The first time that you and Doyoung’s characters meet, he’s already head over heels for her. She, however, isn’t so keen on accepting his adoration, and it takes at least several dances before she’s done dismissing him.

You shoot Doyoung a quick glance. He has his hands on his hips, one of the sleeves of his T-shirt rolled up to his shoulder. “Well, it’s not easy to have chemistry with someone as dull as a rock,” you bite out.

That catches his attention.

“I’m sorry? I’m not the one who first freaked the fuck out the first time we practiced.” A record, truly. He said more than 5 words to you in conjunction at once. Not that that accomplishment is enough to distract you from what he said.

“You wanna know why I freaked the fuck out?” You take a step closer to him. “It’s because you—”

“Enough!” Colette cuts between the two of you. “You two obviously have some differences.” That’s putting it lightly, you thought. “You don’t need me to remind you that you’re professionals. So, stop acting out whatever lovers’ quarrel you have, and focus on the honeymoon phase, instead. Please.”

She sits down on the floor again, crossing her legs. “Need I remind you that our version ends with Siegfried and Odette dead, so you two better sell it to the audience while they’re alive.”

You and Doyoung slowly look at each other, both reluctant. He’s the first to drop his gaze as he takes his position behind you, readying himself for another showing of his strength that the routine calls for.

Before you leave practice that night, Colette requests that you stay behind. You prepare yourself, thinking that it’s a reprimanding from her telling you to act more hopelessly enamoured. But she doesn’t. Instead, she asks to see your fouettés.

That’s the thing with the role of Odile. She’s incredibly fierce. Maybe it’s due to the fact that she’s the literal daughter of a dark magician who can magic up some spirit to possess her. In Act 3, she’s supposed to flawlessly execute 32 fouettés in succession, without once losing her balance. Basically, 32 full turns on your toe and landing it perfectly afterwards, as if that’s not the most nauseating thing in the world to do.

In your audition, you did maybe three or four turns. Now, Colette’s basically asking you to do that, but times 10.

It’s a challenge, no doubt, and it’s one that you’re not sure if you can take.

You settle yourself. Feet in fourth position—dominant leg in front, and the non-supporting leg at the back. Your arms out in second to the side of you. And you push off of your back foot. If there’s one trick to keeping your balance, it’s spotting. Pick a spot anywhere in the room, and only look at that spot when turning.

The foot that you’re spinning on continually drop back down to gain momentum to push off onto your toe again. It’s no easy feat. You’re about 10, 11 turns in when you start to feel the effects of dizzying. Having the option to end now—though incomplete—but at least with the standards of your turns up to par, or fighting through to the very last turn, you decide on stopping now.

You land the ending, coming down in a plié before rising up onto your toes in a relevé.

Panting, you drop your arms to catch your breath. You look at Colette, trying to hide the eagerness in your eyes.

“I’ll need to see an improvement on those, too,” she says in an icy tone, “Don’t let me down.”

You find yourself walking in the streets of the city at night on the last day of the weekend, heading towards the practice studio. Sure, you could wait a few more hours before it’s time for you to clock in, anyway, but you couldn’t. Not really. Especially not after the comment Colette made a few days back.

You press your card up against the reader and the familiar sound of the doors clicking open resonates in your ears.

You settle into your personal practice room, making no effort to turn on the lights. The windows that line the entirety of one side of the room is enough to let the lustre of the moon shine through, bathing the studio in a pale light.

You pull on your pointe shoes, wrapping your toes in a bandage-like material beforehand. Unlocking your phone, you look for the audio file that Colette sent to you of the very orchestra that will be performing alongside you in a few months’ time. Each orchestra performs each piece differently, however slight the difference is. It’s better to practice directly to them to get a hang of their nuisances, Colette’d said.

The music blares out from your phone, the tempo fast and the atmosphere lively. Your feet instinctively take their positions, and you push off on cue with the music.

No matter how many times you try tonight, there just seems to be something off. Either the spins are alright, but you lose your balance upon landing, or your supporting leg just wants to give out, or both. For most of the tries, it was both.

You come out of a failed series of fouettés. Bending over, you drop your hands to your knees, simultaneously trying to catch your breath. Then, that’s when you feel it. The ever-so-familiar acute stinging in your leg. For a moment, it’s so overwhelming that it physically causes you to scrunch your face up until it wears away a little by itself. A cloud of defeat looms over you.

You pick up your bottle off the floor and decide to go fill it up by the fountain outside. This part of the studio is much more modernised than the rest. There are two main hallways connected by a square courtyard—the garden, as the architects called it. The garden is enclosed within four entirely glass sliding doors, allowing access from every side. You don’t really know who’s watering the plants in the courtyard, because if it was up to the dancers, you know that those plants would’ve died a long while ago.

The room allocated to you is along one of the two hallways, directly facing the south side of the garden. You step out, heading towards the water fountain that stands in the middle of the two corridors, facing the west entrance to the courtyard.

You’re pushing down on the button to fill up your water bottle when you hear a tune that you immediately recognise. It’s the same one that you were just relentlessly listening to—or practicing to.

There’s a slight crack in one of the doors opposing yours. Tightening the lid on your bottle, you decide to quietly make your way over to the room on a whim. Who else is here on a weekend night? And practicing to the same piece as you?

You discreetly try to peek your head in, the crack in the door only allowing you to see a slight sliver of the practice room.

At first you don’t really see anything. Just the sound of the vivacious music. Then, a shadow of a figure leaps high up into the air, flying past the tiny window of what you can see before you can register it. You don’t want to think it, but it can only be one person.

One other person who has a part in this piece.

The music suddenly stops.

“Stop hiding.” A voice calls out.

You freeze. Your hunched over positioning has you locked. Shit. What do you do?

“I know you’re there.” The voice sounds again. A bit ominous on their behalf, if you do say so.

Quietly, you push open the door, allowing yourself to see more than just a sliver of the room. The lights aren’t turned on.

Crouched over in front of the mirror is the one and only person you didn’t want to see: Doyoung.

His dark long sleeve shirt only thinly veiling his torso, contrasted by his light plaid pants. He watches in the mirror as you step one foot, then another into his practice room. The beam of the moon illuminated his face, making it visible to you even from a distance that he’s been here for at least a while with how the sweat glistened on his face and neck.

Say something. Anything.

“I didn’t know you practiced til this late.” You say, swinging your water bottle and holding it with both hands behind your back.

“I could say the same for you.”

Was that an insult or a back-handed compliment? Or you’re just reading too much into it.

Doyoung moves his foot out from under him with a groan, so now he’s sitting on the floor. He tears his eyes away from you in favour of whatever he’s looking at on his phone. A prolonged silence falls upon the room. If it was anyone else in the room with you, it probably won’t be as uncomfortable, but it’s not.

You rock onto the balls of your heels, about to turn back around and leave, but Doyoung breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry. For what I said the other day… and for what happened.”

He utters the last part of his sentence so quietly that you can barely make it out. Half-stunned, half-confused, you stare at him. So, he does recognise you.

You steadily take step after step towards him until you’re at a normal distance for a conversation between two people, then you sit down next to him.

“I forgive you.”

“Like that?”

“Yeah. People are often surprised at what maturity can do for you as an adult.”

For a split second, you’d swear he was holding back a chuckle. “That coming from you?”

You twist off the lid to your water bottle to take a sip, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

He leans back onto his hands behind him. A beat passes. “So, where’s my ‘sorry’ back?”

You set down the bottle in front of you. “If you’re expecting something back, then it wasn’t a real apology.”

He drops his head to the side to look at you. Eyes dark, a careful consideration of you sitting there next to him. Doyoung swallows tightly. There’s a steady rising and falling of his chest.

“I am really sorry. I never knew what happened after, then. I only found out when Rafael told me recently.”

“I guess… I didn’t expect you to know.”

A new wave of silence washes over the two of you, only this time, it’s by degrees less uncomfortable than the last.

Doyoung lifts his palms from the ground and crosses his legs, imitating your position on the floor. With his shift in positioning, there comes a shift in energy as well.

“Obviously, I want to do well. But I don’t want to look good owing to the fact of my partner’s lack of skill…” He says with an arched brow.

“Yeah…” you tilt your head at him, ��Not the most desirable pitch. Try again.”

His lips twitch in an attempt to hide his smirk from you. “I’m saying… I’m willing to put our differences aside for this one time. For both of our sakes.” He extends his hand out to you, as if to initiate a business handshake, “Deal or no deal?”

You look at him, then his hand, then back at him again. Leaning forward, you fit your palm into his, “Deal.”

ACT II THE PAS DE DEUX

You thought that ever since you made that deal with Doyoung that things might be different. That he might start acting like a normal human being with normal human emotions. How silly of you to think that. Truth is, he hasn’t changed one bit since that night you bumped into him. Practices are still wordless. You still barely see him outside of your schedules. And even when you do, he pretends like he doesn’t see you, in the corridors, in the canteen, everywhere. That’s not to say that everything stayed the same.

It’s the week following your run-in with him. A Thursday, so your schedule dictates that you have duet practice with Doyoung.

“Good,” Colette calls out from her folding chair, “You two don’t look like you want to murder each other for once.” She doesn’t know what happened between you but she doesn’t care for it as long as you and Doyoung can look like you can at least tolerate each other.

It’s intimidating when you think about it. How he can go from looking so deeply infatuated one second, then the moment the music is over, his face drops. Eyebrows straightened. Just absolutely no emotion shown through his expression. You can’t help but wonder which version of him is genuine: The one who seemed truly apologetic in the dimmed practice room, or this one. The version of him that he parades around everywhere he goes. How do you even begin to tell what’s an act and what isn’t?

Every time his fingers touch you, you still feel a chill running down you. Though, you’ve come to learn how to hide it better.

Practice is finished for the night. The teal of the horizon begins to blend together with the darker blue of the night sky. Doyoung wastes no time in gathering his stuff the second Colette said that you were done for tonight. You try to do the same but Colette stops you. Her slender fingers wrapped tightly around your arm.

“Before you go, Y/N.”

She takes her hand off of your arm. The red frames of her glasses sit low on her nose bridge and she angles her head downwards to look at you, as if you’re a particularly difficult to read section of a newspaper.

“I still need to see you land those fouettés. I’m giving you one— …two weeks, before I have to intervene.”

One of her eyebrows are cocked, the brightness of her eyes do nothing but emphasise the severity in her tone. Her harshness isn’t something you’re not used to, but every time she exerts this power over you, you can’t help but feel slightly humiliated. Who wouldn’t? To have someone repeatedly on your tail felt like having them pry open a wound, and before it even has time to scab, they’re back pricking and pouring salt into it. Except that wound is found on your ego.

You take a deep breath in, and try to force your lips into an understanding smile. “Yeah,” you say in a cheery enough tone.

You suppose that’s the way it is in ballet. That’s how it is in many things in life. Everyone’s after perfection, and no one is able to execute it.

This weekend, you decide to do something you haven’t done in three weeks: Stay in.

The last three weekends you’ve spent draining yourself away at the studio, but due to Karina’s request, you decide otherwise this time.

She sends you a message telling you that she’s 5 minutes away from your place. It’s no secret that the pressure of these last few weeks have been steadily building on you, especially to Karina.

You open the wooden cupboard and pull a bottle of red wine from it, setting it onto the kitchen island in the middle of your open-plan kitchen. A soft orange paints the skyline, clouds pulling from each other like cotton candy. On one end of the island, there stood the doors leading to the balcony, enclosed by wrought iron fences. Technically speaking, it was a balcony, but in actuality, it was just a ledge—a glorified floor-to-ceiling window that you can open, really.

You push open the balcony doors and the sound of the city fills your living space. The traffic a few stories down, people’s voices from the street or coming from the open balconies to either side of your complex. You stare off into the horizon, a flock of shadowed birds flies across your field of vision over the city.

Then, a ding sounds out.

You step back inside, walking across your kitchen to the other end of the island where the main door was. You slide open the door chain and push down on the handle. The door swings inwards, and stood outside in the hallway of your apartment complex was Karina, a bright smile on her face. “I got sushi!”

You pour the red wine into a glass that you set down on the counter, then another glass next to that. In one hand, you sit the bowl of one glass on the part of your hand that your fingers connect between, in the other hand, you wrap your fingers around the other rim and take a sip as you make your way over to the living space. Karina’s already sat down on one of the bean bags facing the TV. As you pass her, you lower one of the drinks to her and she takes the stem in between her fingers.

She hums tunefully to your offering.

You plop down on the leather couch next to her, careful enough as to not spill your wine. Throwing your head backwards onto the back of the couch, you sigh.

“What?” Karina asks with a slight smile in her eyes, taking a small sip of the wine.

You look at her through lowered eyelids, your head completely resting on the couch. “Nothing. I’m glad you came over tonight.”

She smiles. Shifting in her bean bag, she props one leg up as she leans forward to set down her glass on the wooden coffee table. “Come on,” reaching over, she puts her palm on your knee and gives you a gentle shake, “I know there’s something on your mind.”

Your lips purse together and pout to the side.

You met Karina a few months into your career as a professional dancer. It was a usual day for you, having recently returned to work from your injury. Every time you spotted Karina either on the barre or in centre, she looked so immersed into her craft. You remember being so impressed by her skill and control. Every movement of her arms looked so fluid, flowing from one position to another seamlessly. The power she held in her leaps were something else, as well. Her precision, even in the most consuming of movements, was something to be admired. Safe to say, it was to your surprise when she lined up behind you in the lunch queue and started making casual conversation. “Y/N, right?” She’d asked with a smile.

You found out that day that Karina went to the same conservatory as you. Though a grade below you, she was signed to the company as an mentee the year you graduated, so she never fully finished her course. She knew of you when you two were both enrolled at the conservatory, but your paths never crossed into more than just a polite smile and a nod territory. Since day one, she had a sort of optimism to her that you’d grown to love and appreciate especially throughout the years. In such an unforgiving and rigid industry, Karina’s softness continues to be your lantern leading you through the dark.

“So?” Leaning back into her bean bag, Karina prompts once again, glass back up to her lips.

You mirror her actions, taking a sip from the rim and disassembling the flavours in between your cheeks before swallowing. “Colette,” you mouth to her as if you two were sharing secrets you shouldn’t be.

Karina’s inquisitive expression urged you to elaborate.

You sigh, bringing your shoulders up and dropping them. “I can’t get my turns right, for Odile’s coda. And she basically told me that if I don’t get my shit together, she’s gonna have to ‘intervene.’” You arch your brow when you recall Colette’s words to you.

“Meaning…?”

“I don’t know—probably replace me.”

There’s a range of comforting words that Karina can pick from to say to you, but a small portion of them would be true. Her hand goes up to her bottom lip, tugging at them as she thinks—a habit that she’d never grown out of.

“She won’t replace you.” Karina settles on the ‘not true’ section of the scope of her responses, her hand muffling her words. Both you and her know it. And it’s not due to the fact that Karina—or yourself, for that matter—thinks you’re not good enough for the role, it’s just how things are. It’s how Colette is: simple and straightforward. You can’t play a role? Someone else can—and they will. It’s never personal. Except it always feels like it is.

Still, you break out a weak smile at her attempt at reassuring you.

You lean your head back again, eyes now fixed on the ceiling and the base of the lamp that hung low over the coffee table.

“I think it’s my knee,” you admit for the first time out loud. You never wanted to talk about your accident because you were afraid that people might think you were making up excuses. This time, you felt like you were running out of options for explanations.

“Your knee?” At the mention, Karina leans forward in her seat.

“Yeah,” though unintentional, your words come out as a whisper. You clear your throat before continuing, “Every time after practice, my knee just starts hurting. Not insanely bad, but worse than before.”

“I didn’t know it was hurting before.” Karina has this expression on her face that’s almost like she’s interrogating you about this.

You can’t hide the sheepishness in your face and your tone, “It wasn’t serious.”

“Have you told Colette?”

You shake your head.

“Y/N. You have to tell her.”

“And for what? To give her another reason to start looking for my replacement?”

Karina takes a deep, shaky breath in, like she’s uncertain about something. “Surely, she’d understand. Maybe it’ll at least throw her off your back for some time.”

Your eyes remain fixed on the ceiling. Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe you should tell Colette. That’s an issue for another day, though.

There’s many different ways to approach the character of Odile, but at the core of it, she’s a seductress. Everything that she does comes back to her motive to seduce—and more specifically, the Prince. It doesn’t come as a surprise to you or your choreographer when your expressions don’t match your intent.

To pretend to be in love is one thing. You’ve got years upon years of teenage pining experience to fall back on. But the art of seduction? No one has time for that.

‘Look more sultry. Look more alluring.’ Raf had said to you. And to your credit, you try but it’s already hard enough to have to spin and jump and twirl and leap, and now you have to look tantalising doing that? And all that’s considering the fact that you even want to try.

Your hours on the clock has finished for the night, but you find yourself starting to stay behind on most nights more often than not.

Kneeling down in front of the mirror, you rifle through your bag until your fingertips find a small, card box. You flip open the tab of the box and pull out one of the cigarettes, noting to yourself that you only have two others left. Then, you rummage through the pockets of your jacket for your lighter. With your necessities in your hands, you amble out of your room, turning the lights off as you leave. The hallways are fuller than usual, with plenty of soloists finishing at the same time as you. You weave your way through a group of dancers walking down the corridor and slide open one of the glass doors to the garden.

The hallway floors surrounding the garden is taller than the cobblestone ground of the courtyard, making it so that there’s a ledge as you step a foot inside. You sit yourself down on the step, one side of your body leaning against the opened glass door. You slot the cigarette between your lips as you bring up both your hands. One of them sparking on the lighter as the other goes to cover the flame by habit.

You go to pocket your lighter—again, habit—only to realise that you’re not wearing your jacket, so your second best option was to just put it on the ground next to where you’re sitting. Just as you’re about to pull the dampened filter tip away from your lips, a voice appears out of nowhere behind you.

“You should really quit that. It’s not good for you.”

The surprise of it nearly chokes you, coughing out quietly again and again as the smoke escapes your lips. You look behind you but you didn’t need to see to know who it was.

You manage out one final cough. And towering over you stood Doyoung. Eyes lowered, posture upright, as if he’s literally and figuratively looking down on you.

“Yeah? When did you start caring about what’s good for me?” You put your cigarette back in between your lips right as you finish your sentence, a clear edge of hostility in your voice. Doyoung watches your cigarette between your fingers as you take a deliberately long drag. You’re not even finished when he answers you back.

“When you became my partner.”

What a liar, you thought. That explains why he’s been ignoring you everywhere.

The conclusion that Kim Doyoung is nothing but a liar quickly turns into the fact that he’s a narcissist when you put together the ideas that he’s only talking to you now because you’re doing something—smoking—that he personally frowns upon. And he can’t be having his ‘partner’ tarnishing his reputation.

“Don’t you love when someone expresses how much they care about you with their show of apathy towards you?” You remark, almost with an impatience in your tone, but a playful sarcasm on your face instead. Smoke pours out of your lips with every word that you speak, and you blow the rest of it to the side. The heat spreading from your chest comes as a shock to you. Before this, you hadn’t known truly how much it annoyed you that your existence went by unnoticed by Doyoung, although you knew it had to be an act.

Doyoung squats down so that he’s near enough eye level with you, elbows resting on his knees. He tilts his head to the side, eyes scanning your face quickly, then the stick sat in your fingers, burning itself away slowly. “Don’t tell me you’re stressed because of me,” he mutters lowly.

You lean forward an inch or two. “Believe me when I say you’re the root of most of my problems nowadays.”

Doyoung holds back a subtle smirk on his lips, but not enough that you can’t completely pick up on it. He eyes your cigarette again, “Then, I guess you better stock up on those.”

He stands up and walks across the hallways into his practice room.

You turn your body, facing the inside of the garden. Glancing to the side, you see that the stick has burned down to nearly the filter. You quickly stub it out against the cobblestone before it gets to burning your fingers.

Days feel more like dreams to you. The repetition of what you do everyday is starting to blur the arbitrary line that separates every 24 hours from each other. And when you step foot into the shared studio between you and Doyoung, this very feeling engulfs you.

Colette is sat in her folding chair, fingers typing away in a fit on her screen, and Doyoung is rummaging through his bag in the corner.

The conversation that you had with Karina crawls into your mind. Is today the day? You’ve been contemplating telling Colette ever since that night, but you haven’t been confronted with a chance, yet. You take cautious step after another into the room. The soles of your shoes making a light smacking noise as it lifts the linoleum flooring along with it with every step you take. You try to subtly keep an eye on Colette as you walk past her—making an effort to gauge her mood before you decide if you should tell her or not. She looks happy enough today.

You slump your bag down in front of the mirror, mind preoccupied with weighing the pros and cons of the decision that’s kept you up several nights in a row now. You’re so out of it that you didn’t even notice you set your things down right next to Doyoung, when you had to option to do so literally anywhere else.

He doesn’t say anything, simply looking up at you with a slightly inquisitive look. Then, he quirks his eyebrows when you meet his gaze. Though normally, you probably would’ve made some sarcastic remark about this, you didn’t today—or couldn’t.

You leave your things where they are, and step towards where Colette is—her attention still solely fixed on her phone.

“Colette, I have something I need to tell you.”

Your hands are brought up to your stomach, fingers interlocking with each other and then unclasping, and then locking again. She looks lost into her own world, not even a slight hum or a nod of the head to acknowledge you standing right in front of her.

“Colette?”

“Hold that thought,” she finally replies, holding out one finger towards you, head still angled down.

“It’s—”

“I have something exciting planned for you guys today!”

She jumps up out of her seat, catching you off-guard as you stumble one step behind you. Your lips mouth into an ‘Um’ shape, reluctant to ask her about what’s so exciting about today. Lucky for you, Doyoung took the pleasure in asking.

“What is it?”

“Costumes!” Colette exclaims, excitement practically bursting out of her. “They’re coming now!”

And right on cue, a metal clothing rack rolls in through the practice doors. The designer and her assistant both pushing the costumes in behind it. Right away, you spot your two distinct tutus and a couple of blouses for Doyoung.

The rack comes to a halt right in front of you. Colette instantly goes to grab a hanger with the Odette costume hung up on it. It’s both traditional, and beautiful.

The bodice of the costume fashions a plunging neckline, of which is lined with white feathers. There are crystals decorating the bodice, scattered all over the corset but primarily concentrated at the neckline. The tutu itself is showy, for sure. Bigger than any other tutu you’ve ever worn. There are multiple layers to it, and you’re surprised that it can even fan out by itself due to how heavy it looks. The bottom layers are made out of tulle, the surface of it outlined by embroideries in golden thread resembling those of feathers. On top of that, actual feathers are finely sewn into the waistband of the tutu, blending the bodice in. The whole costume, instead of being white, has the slightest hint of blue to it, making it so that it’s more of a bright white. It looks like the pure embodiment of heaven.

“Go on!” Colette urges, “Try it on!” She pushes the hanger into your chest, making you grab ahold of your costume. Then, she grabs multiple blouses off the rack and hands them to Doyoung, urging him the same.

The two of you listen to Colette, pulling your costumes on in front of the mirror. Your bodice is absolutely tailor-made to fit you. Colette can’t stop shaking her head and mumbling out words of awe and wonderment when she looks at you.

You glance over at Doyoung all the way across the room from you. His blouse the manifestation of royalty. His costume, like yours, consists of a white blouse with a deep neckline, with a fancy looking jacket layered atop of it. The jacket has the same matching gold embroidery all along the hems, the sleeves and the closures. The buckle in the front and the puffed-up shoulder pads adds to the regality of it all.

You study him in his costume. Looking him up and down, and back up again. He doesn’t notice this, or at least you don’t think so; he’s too busy ogling at himself in the mirror. His chest is slightly exposed by the depth of the blouse’s neckline, making it so that you can see the contours of his collarbones and his pecs.

As much as you’d hate to admit it, he looks exactly like the part he’s playing—a Prince.

The designer walks around you, holding up the waistband of your tutu. She clips the excess elastic together and she looks over to her assistant, mumbling something you can’t hear too well. “Nearly perfect,” she points at the black tutu still on the hanger, “Now try this one.”

After the designer finished marking down any adjustments the either of you needed, practice continued on as usual. During the midst of it, you’d forgotten all about the beginning of the session when you first walked in, that is until Colette of all people reminds you.

“Oh—you wanted to talk to me, Y/N?”

Your arms are held up above your head, hands trying to pull back loose strands of hair that’d flown free from the hours you’ve just spent exerting yourself. “Uh, yeah,” you quietly respond, a bobby pin clenched between your teeth.

You eye Doyoung, only to see that he’s doing the same. As soon as you meet his gaze, he looks away, back down onto his bag that he’s holding open to stuff his water bottle into.

Colette glances down at the watch on her wrist, “Well, come on, then. I have places to be.”

You take the pin out from between your lips and slide it somewhere into the back of your hair. “Um,” you mumble as you walk on closer to Colette. The same nervousness that had burned within you earlier returns, but this time, it’s even more amplified with the presence of Doyoung, for whatever reason.

Suddenly, you don’t feel like telling Colette anymore, and it’s not even because of her.

You try to speak as lowly as possible, almost muttering under your breath. Colette, however, doesn’t pick up on this too well, prompting you to speak a bit clearer.

You breathe in. “My knee. I know I’ve been causing you some trouble lately, but just give me some time. I’ll sort it out.” You don’t know if that was quiet enough so that Doyoung doesn’t hear and you don’t want to look in the reflection to see his reaction in case he did. “I promise,” you whisper.

Colette hears you this time, though, and her expression instantly softens. Her lips open, mouthing an ‘O’ shape, and her brows furrow in understanding. Colette lays a gentle palm on your shoulder, lips pursing together as she takes a deep breath in. Then, she sharply exhales.

“If you really can’t do it, tell me.” She continues with a subtle shaking of the head, “We still have time now, but when it’s further down the road…”

You give her a firm, eager nod.

On the surface, you want to—need to—seem understanding. It was the reasonable thing to do. But deep down, all of what she’s saying just serves as a reminder of how replaceable everyone and anyone is. If you were to change how you viewed the situation, you can’t say that that’s a bad motivator, but it’s not the greatest one either.

When you turn back around, Doyoung isn’t at his spot anymore. You’re looking at an empty room with the contents of your bag spilling out onto the floor in one corner.

Colette left moments after your conversation hurriedly to some meeting. You slump down onto the floor, knees tucked up to your chest and arms wrapping around them—not caring for your posture. The silence of the room rings in your ears, and that’s when you notice the sprinkling of raindrops against the window of the practice room.

The view outside is monochrome—all varying shades of grey. The sky was a light grey with pockets of white poking through, the buildings looked duller than usual under the gloom, and the streets were a dark grey, the rain further darkening the concrete. You watch one tiny bead of rain slowly run down the glass pane, rolling into other beads as they tumble down together.

“Is that true?”

Jesus Christ. Your shoulders jump up and your head turns to the door.

Someone sure has a habit of sneaking up on you unannounced.

Doyoung’s hair is unstyled, the front parts of it covering his eyebrows and nearly touching the rims of his glasses. A white long-sleeve hangs loosely on his frame, with the fabric on his shoulder bunching up under the strap of his bag.

This is the first time that he’s shown up to practice looking like he’s actually showing up to practice. Usually, he’d make more of an effort to present himself—not that he even looks that much different. You hadn’t noticed this subtle change in his appearance until now, as he’s sneaking up on you, once again.

He approaches you gradually, a steadiness in his pacing.

“What?” You mumble with your eyelids fluttering as if you’re blinking back your consciousness, not even truly registering what he’d said—you’d been too caught off-guard with his sudden appearance.

“What you told Colette—is it true?”

He’s now a step or two away from you. This scene feels familiar, too.

For a split second, you truly have no idea what he’s referencing, but then it comes to you.

“About me sorting myself out? Yeah, I hope it’s true,” You respond in an attempt to hopefully deflect the conversation. A sarcastic expression draws on your face with your brows raised. You look away from Doyoung and into the mirror where you can see the two of you in the practice room as if you were a third person observer.

You were expecting a snarky remark coming from him but you don’t get one. Instead, you can see him just watching you intently in the reflection, as if he’s at a lost for words.

“About your leg,” he bluntly states. No audible emotion, no wavering in tone, just three plain, simple words.

It’s as if your eyes are drawn to Doyoung like how opposite poles of a magnet are drawn to each other. When you look at his face, there’s a solemnity to his features that’s teetering on the verge of unease.

There’s only one train of thought running through your mind. It’s that version of him again from that first night in the practice rooms. You can’t quite decide whether you like this Doyoung more, or the normal Doyoung more, but in this moment, you know you much prefer the unaffected version of him.

You’ve never been one prone to sharing your vulnerabilities, especially not with someone like him. You’re not intending on starting now. “What are you asking me?”

“I think it’s pretty clear what I’m asking.” He says this in such a matter-of-fact manner, it’s hard to assess what his motive here is. Does he care? What is the goal here?

You’re trying to analyse the situation, but to Doyoung, he just wants to know. All the mental gymnastics you’re doing in your head—Doyoung does none of that.

“To you—probably.” Still, you continue to try to diffuse this weird tension between the two of you. You get up on your feet, clapping your hands together to get rid of any dust on them. You mutter out a quiet, “Well,” under your breath as you walk towards your things in the corner. Doyoung watches you in silence as you pack your things up; unlacing your pointe shoes, pulling them off and shoving them inside the bag.

You slide the strap onto your shoulders and get up to leave. As you walk by Doyoung, you feel the familiar touch of his fingers wrap around your wrist. The cold of his hands raise goosebumps all along your arm, and simultaneously freezes you in place.

“Let me fix this.”

His voice is soft, and gentle, unlike his grasp on your wrist.

Your eyes dart downwards towards his hand on you. You try to squirm free of his hold but he doesn’t let you. “Let me go.”

“Let me fix it,” he repeats.

“Fix what? There’s nothing you can do,” Your voice trails off.

Doyoung looks into your eyes, gaze unfaltering. The window to the side of him reflects in his irises, making his eyes appear glassier than normal. Without taking his eyes off you, he slowly starts to loosen his fingers around you.

“It’s my fault,” Doyoung says this in a way that’s as if he’s exhaling his words. The syllables following each other as he breathes out.

You look at him, and he doesn’t shy away and avoid your gaze. You’re looking at him and he’s there, fully. Just a few months back, you’re thinking of what you would give to have this very moment. To have him acknowledge his mistake, and to fully take responsibility like he’s doing now. Just a few weeks ago, you accepted that you would never get this—that Doyoung isn’t the type of person to bring you this kind of closure. And yet, here you are, with him standing right in front of you in a confrontation that you thought was impossible.

It’s not an apology, like that first night. It’s recognition. And now that you have both from him, you can’t help but wonder: why doesn’t it feel as relieving as you thought it would be?

“It was an accident,” you correct him. You speak those words aloud and they echo inside of your head. Those same words that you had to tell yourself over and over, the same thing that you had to convince yourself of through the years, now you’re here using them again.

“An accident that I caused.”

There’s an eerie feeling inside of you. This conversation isn’t productive, and it’d do more harm than good if you continue letting Doyoung play the blame game.

“It’s not your fault. And I’m fine now, aren’t I?” You lift your foot and stick your leg out slightly, turning it from side to side.

Doyoung watches for a brief moment before he begins again, “Just… Let me make it up to you.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

His eyes are back on yours and you notice the slight dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallows subtly. He sucks his lips in, lightly wetting them.

“Whatever you need me to do to make this right.”

Your stomach emits a faint grumble, but clear enough in the otherwise silent practice room that you’re sure both you and Doyoung heard it. You try to hold back a chuckle.

“Pay me back with dinner. That’s what you can do.”

Doyoung and you first agreed on dinner at some restaurant close to the both of you. However, those plans were quickly replaced not long after they were made. Simply due to the reason that Doyoung usually cooks his own meals, and he didn’t want to smear his perfect record.

Originally, he was supposed to treat you to dinner the night he asked, but something came up, so it got moved to tonight. It’s been a week since you agreed to let him cook dinner for you and it hasn’t really crossed your mind until now.

You’re standing right in front of your mirror, contemplating what to wear. Maybe you could’ve—or should’ve—given more thought to this. And it’s right now that you’re just beginning to question what tonight is.

It’s just a casual dinner between friends, you tell yourself. But, you’re not friends. At least you didn’t think you were to him. Or maybe it’s just what you said it was—something he can do to ‘make up’ for his mistake.

All of this is running through your head as you’re holding up outfit after outfit up to your reflection. Your bed is littered with shirts, jeans, skirts, dresses; anything that you’ve ever owned. You’re not sure what kind of message you want to send with what you’re wearing, and you didn’t know if it really mattered, anyway.

Eventually, you narrow down your options to two dresses. One of them being a fitting black dress; sleeveless. The other is also black, slightly more appropriate for a club setting with the way the neckline is cut. You settle on the more modest of the options.

Pulling it on over your head, you can feel a slight tinge of embarrassment colouring your cheeks. You look into the mirror, suddenly becoming increasingly aware of what you look like. Self-awareness isn’t something you’d lacked, especially as a dancer, but tonight… it was different. You felt aware of yourself in a different way for better or worse.

You attempt to shake this feeling off, reminding yourself that tonight is just another regular night—nothing special to it. It’s just dinner.

After making yourself feel a little less on edge, you grab a nearby matching purse and throw on a jacket, then, you head out. You make your way to Doyoung’s apartment not too far from yours. It’s about 15 minutes away by walking, even less if you’re taking the subway. Considering how small the city really is, it’s not a surprise that he lives so close to you.

You take a second glance at your phone to make sure you got the right address before knocking on the apartment door. Your fist raps firmly against the wooden surface. For the first time tonight, your head is blank. Don’t get it twisted, the nervousness is still in you like it’s seeped into your bones, but any thoughts—doubtful or not—are nowhere to be found; only the echo of your knocking ricocheting off the walls of your mind.

The wait in between you making yourself known and Doyoung opening the door to his apartment is painful. Excruciating anticipation waltzing in every muscle of yours. You consider turning back around, walking away before Doyoung sees you, but before you even have a chance to move, the door swings open.

And there he stood. Head a little bit below the door frame, eyes widened, and an open stance. His black button-up is undone at the collar, exposing just enough of his collarbones that you know he left them undone for that very purpose. One side of his shirt is loosely tucked into his jeans, which had a leather belt wrapped around it. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see steam rising from behind him.

“Hi.”

You greet him first, waiting for any indication to be let in. Instead, Doyoung stands in the way of the doorway, eyes fixed on you.

“Uh—You’re not burning anything, are you?” You ask lightheartedly, a finger pointing over his shoulder to where the steam is.

It’s like Doyoung snaps awake with a shake of his head. “Oh!” He looks over his shoulder at the pot on the stove. “No,” he reassures you as he turns back to you. Simultaneously, his body moves out of the way to let you into his place, “Sorry—Come in.”

You step through the doorway into his apartment. It’s similar to yours; an open-plan kitchen with two other rooms and a balcony. Except, his balcony can actually be considered one. Through the glass doors leading outside, you see a small square table with a white tablecloth over it, two chairs set up on either side. There’s two empty wine glasses placed on top.

“You have a nice place,” the hesitation that you can hear in your own voice made you want to crawl up and fall through the floor. Small talk has never been your forte.

Doyoung shuts his door quietly and he turns back around to face you. “Thanks,” he takes a shallow breath in. He drops his arms from behind his back to his sides, straightening his posture subtly. “You look nice.”

And there it was again. His change in demeanour. You’re so focused on the sudden flash of indifference on his face that you don’t even pay attention to his words. It’s not like tonight wasn’t already confusing for you, he had to go and add to that confusion himself.

You mumble out a quiet, “Thanks,” not knowing what to think of his compliment. You’re grateful for the tiny hum of classical music in the background as you and Doyoung both stand somewhat awkwardly away from each other. You divert your eyes away from him and spot where the music is playing from—the vinyl record player tucked away in the corner of the open room.

It doesn’t surprise you that Doyoung is playing classical music as he cooks—he seems the type.

“If you want, you can sit down,” he speaks up. Doyoung extends a palm towards the balcony, “Dinner’s nearly ready. I’ll bring it out.”

You pull your lips into a tiny smile as you walk past him towards the glass doors. Sliding them open, you feel a gentle evening breeze brush against your skin.

Not only is his balcony better than yours, his view is also better. The platform looks over the main street, and you can’t help but wonder how the hell did he manage to rent a place like this. Directly across the wide open road are other apartment complexes, but on the ground, there are countless cafés, bars, restaurants, flower shops—everything. The warm glow from the lights within these establishments light up the street in a mellow manner.

You pull out one of the patio chairs and sit yourself down, a gentle wind blowing past again and getting caught in your hair. The faintest whisper of the symphony from inside travels all the way to you. You take in a lungful of fresh air—as fresh as city air can be—and lean forward on your palms placed on the edge of the seat.

It’s not long before Doyoung comes out with two plates in his hands. He sets one down in front of you first, then the other in his place.

“Do you want a drink?” He offers softly.

“Yeah, sure.” You get the feeling that you might’ve answered him a little too eagerly.

He disappears inside and shortly comes back out with a tall tinted bottle in his hand. Doyoung takes a seat across from you, his attention fixated on the things set out in front of him. He takes your glass into his hands, pouring a red wine into it carefully. Then, he does the same with his own. Once he’s done, he sets the bottle down onto a little trolley to the side of the table which you hadn’t noticed before.

He takes his glass, tipping its rim towards you. You take that as a signal and mirror him.

“Cheers.” You clink your glasses together, a clear ring sounding out as a result. Doyoung notices that when you go to drink your wine, you are most certainly not pacing yourself the way you should. One gulp, and the cup is a quarter-full, having only been half-empty when he poured it out.

One drink then turned into two, which quickly turned into another. The evening had gone better than you’d expected, better than you’d hoped. You thought that it might as well be you and him eating in detention for how conversation-less it usually is between the two of you, but tonight proved you wrong. Frankly, you knew it had to be due to the alcohol.

The pair of you explored many different topics: the weather; if aliens are real; whether or not you believe in astrology; your biggest dreams; cereal or milk first; et cetera, et cetera. But the topic of the reason for this whole night never came up, or the two of you were just extremely skilled in avoiding talking about it.

“After I graduated from the conservatory in Seoul, I wasn’t set on what I wanted to do,” Doyoung’s words had a slight slur to them, barely noticeable if you’re not paying attention. He picks up his glass from the table, this being his third of the night. “I was 18 at the time. I took a year off to travel and by the time I turned 19, I found myself here in Paris,” he continues, an easy flow in his voice. He takes a sip of the wine, “And I fell in love with it.”

You’re leaning back into your chair, swirling around the glass in your hand. Before you can even think of what to say back to him, Doyoung speaks again.

“What about you? How did you end up here?”

He downs the entirety of the contents in his glass, face turned away from you. You lean forward onto the table as Doyoung sets the goblet down lightly. Tilting your head away from him, you watch as the red liquid swirls and ripple over in the bowl with the movement of your hand, creating a vortex.

You return your gaze back onto Doyoung. His cheeks are lightly blushed; the tip of his nose, too. You exhale sharply.

“I’ve always been here. Guess I knew what I wanted to be since I was little and… I stuck with it.”

“That’s impressive,” Doyoung comments. You can tell he’s half there and half not.

“I suppose,” you mutter under your breath. You’re confident that Doyoung couldn’t hear you.

There’s a beat of silence, with the music in the background finishing right at this moment. Then, it starts up again. You hadn’t been paying particular attention to Doyoung’s choice in music for the earlier part of the night, but this particular piece catches your attention. And it looks like it catches his, too.

The familiar introduction passage travels all the way to the balcony fadedly, despite it’s lively nature. You recognise it as the accompaniment to the Black Swan pas de deux that you have practiced with Doyoung numerous times now.

The two of you share a glance before Doyoung gives in.

“Shall we?”

You hesitate at first. This is silly, you thought. Doyoung extends a hand towards you.

“I don’t have my shoes,” you counter.

“So, what? It’s just for fun,” he urges you playfully, hand now closer to you.

Then, you give in. You place your palm into his as he leads you back inside of his apartment. There’s enough space inside for you to move around comfortably, but not to perform a whole duet. The two of you half-heartedly dance along to the music, mainly relying on muscle memory for the piece. For the second time tonight, your mind is blank. You’re only tuning into the music and letting your body move the way it wants, no thoughts dictating your actions at all.

A part of the choreography calls for Doyoung to place his hands on your arms from behind you, and wrap them around yourself, which is then followed by Odile rejecting this show of affection. Doyoung’s touch on your forearms is delicate, like a feather brushing past you. Yet, there seems to be a moment in which he holds on and lingers in his position for a little longer than expected. In that same very moment, you didn’t want to move on with the choreography, sending him away with a firm denial of his fondness. The Prince’s fondness.

The first parts of the music comes close to finishing. The last vibrato of the violin sounds out as you spin into Doyoung’s arms, flesh out an arabesque, shift into fifth position, and lean your torso forward. Doyoung slides onto one of his knees, hands catching your waist as you tilt into him with one leg up in the air and arms behind you.

Your wrists flick downwards right along with the last notes of the melody.

Your faces are close to one another. You feel that if you were to lean forward even just an inch more, the tips of your noses would touch.

The music comes to a halt. That’s when the sound of your breathing alongside Doyoung’s becomes noticeable. You can feel your chest burn with every rise and fall. Doyoung looks deeply into your eyes in a way that he’s never done before in all the times you’ve finished this piece with him. It’s like he’s watching himself in the reflection of your irises.

“And this… is where you’re irrevocably in love with me,” you whisper, not being able to hold back a tug at your lips as you did so.

Doyoung chuckles. His hands are still gripping onto the sides of your waist firmly.

Your arms begin to feel heavier by the second, so you set them down, putting both your hands onto Doyoung’s shoulders. Your leg goes down as well, meeting the other on tip-toes against the floor.

Doyoung doesn’t look away for one moment, and neither do you. You’re still catching your breath when you feel a pull on your hips.

You stop breathing.

Doyoung’s face is now even closer to yours. You can see every minute detail of his features; the way his eyelids folded, the individual hairs of his brows, and his defined cupid’s bow. That was something that you never noticed about him, and now you can’t pull your eyes away from it.

He watches you observe him, and he does the same.

Without even knowing, you inch your face closer and closer to Doyoung’s. Until finally, your lips meet his.

INTERVAL

As the weeks went on, you and Doyoung found yourselves spending more nights at the studio than not. Nights would bleed into days, and hours would pass by where you either forgot or didn’t have time to break away to do practically anything, including finding time for dinner. To your surprise, someone took notice of this and decided to do something about it.

You’d passed by Doyoung countless times in the hallways during these late hours where you’re both pouring heart and soul into your craft. Neither of you ever stopped to make conversation, with the both of you not knowing what to say. And so, you didn’t.

Doyoung wouldn’t talk to you, but more so communicate through written words. The first time you found a note from him, it was stuck on top of a takeaway box. His penmanship small and neat, words that simply stated: “I ordered extra by accident.” You broke out a small smile as you picked the box off of the floor in front of the door to your room, believing in this accident.

The second time, a similar note on top of a thermos. Inside, a homemade soup that warmed you up in the cool hours of the night.

On another occasion, his note read something a little different. Alongside it was a lunchbox—not a takeaway this time. The note this time basically reprimanding you for smoking after he presumedly caught you on another night, and you couldn’t help but read it in his nagging voice. In the corner of the square piece of paper was a doodle of an angry-looking stickman.

You kept all of the post-it notes, stacking them on top of one another every time you receive a new one.

As you’re lining up the sides of the latest note against the pile you’ve been collecting, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the studio mirror. A smile that you didn’t even know you’d been wearing appears on your face. Some part of you cursing yourself for feeling like a high schooler receiving love letters. Some part of you cursing him for making you feel this way.

You tuck the notes into a pocket of your bag and return to practice. Maybe you should return the favour, you wonder. Despite trying as hard as you can, you can’t get the fact that Doyoung is just a hallway across from you the rest of the night.

ACT III THE CURTAINS FALL

If you were to describe your relationship with Kim Doyoung… it’d be a difficult task. If the saying, ‘opposites attract’ were true, then you and Doyoung would be the same pole on a bar magnet. It felt like with every pull comes a stronger push. But all those speculations and theorisations come to a halt as an elbow nudges you in the stomach.

“Hello?” Karina pushes you slightly with her shoulder, knocking you a couple of steps back. “You’ve got to quit staring at him like that.”

“I wasn’t—”

With one raise of her eyebrows, Karina shuts you up. You take a few steps to close the slight distance between you and Karina again, your shoulders pressed up against each other’s. “I was just… zoning out.”

“Sure,” Karina replies brightly, “Zoning out just fantasising about our Prince over there, I bet,” her head nods towards Doyoung across the room.

Now, it’s your turn to give your friend a nudge in the side, wanting desperately for her to stop speaking before anyone else hears you. She can barely hold back her chuckle and all you can do is hope that everyone else is too preoccupied with trying to memorise the sequence to pay attention to your personal gossip.

You were starting to dread these Fridays. With everyone in the company being in the same room at once, you felt like there were too many eyes on you. And Doyoung as well, but they don’t seem to be watching him for every mistake he makes like they do with you. Karina makes you forget about all that for a little bit, though, with her merciless teasing.

“Sorry! Sorry. I just never thought that you two would—y’know,” Karina leans into your ear, about to whisper the next part of her sentence before you stop her.

“Shh! What if someone hears?” You scan the massive stage as dancers line up row by row at the back.

Karina expels a shallow sigh, “Who cares! You two are grown adults, and it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong by kissing him.” She shrugs nonchalantly, watching as another lineup of ballerinas dance across the platform.

You try your best to ignore the acceleration in your chest at the mention of that. You’re not one to regret many things, but you do regret telling Karina about that night; she won’t stop questioning you like she’s some PI.

You run a hand up your opposite arm, giving yourself a slight squeeze on the shoulder. “We still haven’t talked about it,” you mumble.

Karina turns her head towards you and narrows her eyes. You flash a quick glance at her, then another, somewhat uncomfortable with how closely she’s studying you.

After a few moments of what felt more like hours of Karina intently just staring at you, it seems she has come to a conclusion.

She gasps a small breath, “Do you have feelings for him? God, you’re getting into character.”

“What?” You give her a light smack on the arm, “No! I don’t— I’m just bothered that we haven’t spoken in weeks. That’s all.” The words come out of you slowly and articulately, trying your best not to fall into the hole you’ve dug for yourself. One look at Karina’s face tells you that it’s not working as well as you’d hoped it would, though.

She turns her gaze back onto the stage in front of the two of you. Her eyes never leave Doyoung, now in centre stage, as she tilts her head sideways towards yours. “I believe you’ve fallen to what the professionals call, ‘method acting.’”

It was at this moment, that you knew you should never open your mouth about how your night-time practices are going nowadays to Karina if you still want to maintain some shred of dignity.

It’s another one of your customary late nights again. Thanks to this role, you’ve gotten a lot more familiar with each and every crevice of this practice room in the past month than you have in all your years working here.

Dejection seems to be a recurring theme during your OT hours lately. Not that you can help it. Colette’s still on you for not making your turns, though she has toned it down several notches, which is more than you can ask of her. And confronting failure face-to-face continually doesn’t necessarily boost the morale, especially when it’s 10pm and you’ve spent the last few hours by yourself, in silence. Just occasionally cussing yourself; your pointe shoes for giving out; or the wall that you spin into, out.

You sigh as you sit with your legs out in front of you in the middle of the studio, fingers squeezing the tops of your knees. For the first time tonight, you felt tired. You hadn’t paused to even breathe during this session, and now that you have, the weariness you’d built up is catching up to you. Still, there’s a tiny spark of determination within you that refuses to be extinguished—the only thing that’s stopping you from ending it here tonight and going home.

As a last-ditch effort, you pull your knees up to your chest and push yourself off the ground. One last try, for tonight at least, or you’ll end up causing more damage to your feet than you care to admit.

You don’t bother with the music, you haven’t bothered for a while now. Hearing the same build-up over and over again started to feel passionless. And something about it stirs a visceral reaction within you that you really wanted to avoid as much as you possibly can.

So, you position yourself in the very centre of the room. Eyes fixed on the ones staring back at you in the mirror. You spread your weight evenly between your two feet, one in front of you and the other behind. One of your arms round out in a semi-circle out in front parallel to your chest as the other stretches out to the side. You lean your weight slightly onto your back foot.

The room echoes with silence. A deep breath fills your lungs. Your eyes burn holes into the mirror, paying no mind to the stray strands of hair that splay out messily. You roll your shoulders back and straighten your spine. With one last breath, you sink into the heel of your back foot, and with all the remaining strength you can muster up, you push off into the starting turn.

You manage a double on the starting turn before coming back down on your heel to propel yourself up again. Your eyes never leave the spot you’ve marked on the mirror as you make your rounds. Mostly singles, some doubles, and some rare triples. In your head, you’re trying to keep count, but it’s not the easiest when you have multiple other things requiring your full attention.

12, 13, 14. Your heel lands again as you whip your other leg out to the side of you, forcing momentum when you draw it through into passé.

You’re nearly halfway there, and that’s when you remind yourself to not lose the strength in your core. You straighten back up as much as you can between turns, and you keep counting.

You’re starting to feel the inevitable stabbing of your nail against your own toe as you’re making your way through the 20’s. Your breathing is also getting heavier and heavier.

Expectations were low. You often get to this point, but fall short of just the 32 fouettés you need.

26, 27, 28.

You have to admit, there is a certain adrenaline that runs through you whenever you get this close. However, that’s the trap. You get excited, lose focus, and you don’t make it. So, as you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you try to steel the excitement threatening to boil over inside you. 29.

This time, as you come down, you push off again onto your toes with more force than ever, your other leg providing as much assistance as possible.

You spin once, meeting your eyes in the mirror. But you have enough momentum to not have to come down again. 30.

And again. Your gaze lingers as long as it possibly can before you have to whip your head around. 31.

The last, final turn you need. Friction is stretching your force thin. You’re on the finishing turn, and with the last bit of exertion from you, you manage to make a full spin. 32.

You land on your back foot, exhilarated at this small triumph that you shared with yourself tonight. Breath after breath, your chest rises and falls rapidly as you’re trying to blink away the dizziness.

Your arms fall to your sides, planting themselves onto your hips. An overwhelming sense of relief crashes over you as you watch your own reflection. A gentle smile starts to break onto your lips.

Then, something in the corner catches your attention.

Your eye darts over to the door. And what do you know—if this was any other setting, the very thought of being watched would be unsettling, but you should be used to it by now, you suppose.

“That was good.”

You hear it before you can clearly see anything. Perhaps your habit of not turning the lights on late on night does have its cons. But you don’t have to see for yourself to picture who it was in your head: Him and his devilishly handsome face.

On any other given night, you’d put up more of a rejection to his simple compliment and argue that you deserved a rating better than ‘good.’ But tonight, the urge just wasn’t there.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

He walks in through the doorframe, more of him coming into light as he draws closer to you. With every step that he takes, it’s like your heart threatens more and more to jump out of your chest. Why am I feeling like this? It is the first time you’ve spoken in person since you kissed, yes, but that doesn’t change anything, right?

As he walks closer and closer towards you, the urge to have that sturdy wall of sarcasm you normally put up around you returns.

He stops a few steps short of being in reach of you. The planes of his cheeks highlighted by the glow of city lights outside. The man you’ve tolerated for as long as you can remember, Kim Doyoung, now standing in front of you, and it’s your knees that feel weak.

The thumping of your heart resonates in your ears—it’s so loud that you’re afraid even he can hear it. Trying to push all that down and stuff it into some locked up part of you, you try to think about how to navigate this conversation. Just two colleagues talking after ignoring each other after kissing each other; nothing to worry about.

“So. No lunchbox for me tonight?” You’re hoping that the cheek in your tone distracts from your undoubtedly rosying cheeks. But maybe acknowledging that was the wrong move—too late now.

“Actually, I was just about to leave it outside. But I saw you, instead.” He lifts his hand up and that’s the first time you spot the small, rectangular box in his grip.

You drag your eyes from the box back up to meet Doyoung’s. A beat passes.

Then, you muster up the courage. “Why… are you doing that for me?” You’ve asked yourself this question more times than you can count. Why is he being nice to you? That is strictly out of character for him, if you were to judge.

Doyoung crinkles his eyebrows, as if he’s offended that you’d asked him that question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you bringing me…? Every night we’re here. I haven’t asked you to.” You speak slowly, as if you’re carefully treading through a minefield that is Kim Doyoung’s mind and reasoning.

“Skipping dinner’s bad,” he extends his arm out with the box in his hand, signalling for you to take it off of him. You’re reluctant, but he persists. “What? I’m… taking care of my costars.”

Your eyebrows quirk up at his choice of words. He holds it out a few more seconds before his patience wears thin.

“My arm is getting tired.”

And as his last push is met with nothing from you, he drops his hand to his side. Without a word, he scoffs and makes his way over back to where the door is.

“Fine, I’ll just put it in your bag.”

Subconsciously, you follow him as he walks over to the edge of the room, a bit dazed at the man in front of you.

He kneels down, shoving the box through the opening of your bag. When he stands up again, he seems a bit surprised that you’re literally right there behind him. Serves him right for all those other times he’s snuck up on you.

You stare at him and he stares back at you, his eyes widening at your silence, as if to say, “What?” in his typical bratty, condescending way.

“You’re overcompensating.” You shoot out.

“What?” His slight annoyance is replaced by confusion.

“Don’t worry,” your cadence loosens up as does your posture. In a more lax manner, you take a few steps towards the barre on the wall, next to Doyoung. “I’m not some charity case you’re condemned to because you feel bad for whatever.” You place your palms behind you on the barre, feeling somewhat pleased with yourself for having figured out Doyoung’s motivations.

Doyoung himself is slightly amused at your deduction. He leans backwards with his elbows on the barre, his legs stretching out in front of him. He turns his head, eyes looking down at you. “Believe it or not, I don’t see you as ‘charity work.’”

You take a second to still your heartbeat that seems dead set on betraying you with how you felt his breath fan faintly against your shoulder as he spoke. You turn to look him in the eyes, either to prove something to yourself, or to him—you couldn’t be sure.

“Then, why all this?”

Doyoung returns your gaze intently. You hadn’t planned for it, and now there’s no way you’re letting yourself back down. The way he looks at you—into you—hitches your breath. The last time he looked at you like this… You’re not sure you can stop history from repeating itself if he doesn’t stop now.

For a moment, you can swear his irises swirled like liquid pools of obsidian, the sheen in them barely visible under the dimness.

Before Doyoung even tries to come up with a way to talk his way out of this, he gives in. Into you.

In an instant, his lips envelopes yours. You wish you could say you were surprised, but deep down you were screaming at him to kiss you first.

You melt into the softness of his lips. The depth at which he takes you in makes the peck from last time seem like child’s play.

As both of you ease into each other’s touch, Doyoung’s eagerness becomes more and more apparent. One hand cups your jaw and the other settles on your nape, pulling you in as much as he can. Your lips fitted together like they were sculpted for each other. The way his mouth moved over yours as if they were connected to one mind.

Doyoung steps in between your legs, positioning himself in front of you with your back pressed against the wall. He never breaks his lips from yours, not even to take a breath. The hand that he previously had on your neck runs itself down to your waist, grabbing hold of it like he has so many times before. He pulls your torso closer to his, your chests pressed up together, your back slightly arched.

In all honesty, you would’ve expected Doyoung to be more the passive type, but you were gladly proven wrong. The way he presses his lips onto yours is with a force so strong that you’re sure it’s bound to leave your lips swollen and bruised. You don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but a groan rumbles in Doyoung’s throat, and you can feel it with a slight vibration. Your lips can’t help but draw themselves into a small smirk that he assuredly has to have felt.

It is only now that Doyoung pulls himself away from you, or more so pry himself away. In a way, you’re grateful because you don’t know how much longer you could’ve lasted before you completely lose yourself to his touch.

His face parts from yours with both of you trying to catch your breaths as quietly as you can.

With those eyes of his again, he switches between looking at your (only slightly swollen) lips and your eyes. He gently brushes the side of his thumb up your cheek, sliding under the hair that framed that part of your face.

His eyes follow the movement of his thumb, before glancing back at you. Breathily, he whispers, “Does that answer your question?”

It’s your lucky day. Karina had plans for lunch hour today, leaving you sitting alone in the middle of the canteen poking and prodding at your food. At first, you didn’t consider it entirely ‘lucky,’ but the more and more you thought about it, maybe it truly is. After all, if you tell Karina what happened two nights ago, she will no doubt hold it over you ’til the day you die. And not telling her isn’t exactly an option if she asks—she always has a way of getting inside your brain. And even if she doesn’t ask, she could definitely tell something’s up especially with how you’re having to bite back your own smile at random given moments of the day. So all in all, maybe you are lucky, at least for today.

That very sliver of luck lasted only moments, though.

Your eyes are down, staring somewhat blankly at your phone screen in an attempt to seem preoccupied. However, someone sees through your act—or maybe he just doesn’t care for it.

Doyoung slides his tray onto your table, swiftly taking a seat opposite you. You look up at him, watching his very nonchalant actions as if this happens every day.

“What are you doing?” You mutter, perhaps involuntarily. Some part of you is taken aback, another part is confused. Every single time—every one of your encounters with Kim Doyoung felt like a chess game. When you think you’ve seen through his tactics, he reveals that he already has several other countermoves calculated.

Doyoung does what he does best: ignore you. He places his hands on the table, eyes scanning over your tray and his briefly. Then, he lifts his gaze up onto you. “Are you free this weekend?” He asks with an expression on his face that’s a little hard to read. It’s a strange combination of politeness and formality that you’re not used to from him, at least not when directed at you.

“What?” Your response almost comes out as a chuckle. What is he up to?

“Well, if you are, I have two tickets to a show.” He ends his sentence with a small smile on the corner of his lips.

Is he…? Now, you’re almost certain that today is your lucky day because thank God, Karina isn’t here to witness this.

Back to the situation at hand… what are you supposed to make of this? Is this a date? Or maybe you’re jumping to conclusions for even assuming he’s asking you out on a date. Yes, you two kissed, twice. But does that equal a date now?

God.

Does he like you?—Why does that matter?

Stop thinking.

You open your mouth to start saying something, and Doyoung looks at you expectantly. You suck in a quick breath, then your lips purse together. But you have to say something.

“If this is because of the other night, you don’t have to—” You cut yourself off as Doyoung raises his brows, prompting you to go on. “What are you up to?”

Doyoung leans in closer, planting both elbows on the tabletop. He tilts his head slowly to the side, gaze fixed pointedly at you, “You keep thinking I have ulterior motives.”

The urge to push his head back with your finger entertains you for a second, before you shoo it away. “Because this is unlike you. 5 years, and I’ve never seen you speak to someone if you’re not forced to.” You lean back into your chair, folding your arms across your stomach. “You’ve always had a kinda cold, and mysterious aura to you,” you mumble, maybe more to yourself than to him.

That seems to pique his intrigue. “You think I’m mysterious?” His eyebrows lift, exposing his amusement.

“That’s not what I meant,” you refute bluntly. “I just thought you were keeping up an image. The whole, ‘I have no friends, but I’m still cool’ thing, you know?”

If this whole encounter was a chess game, then you just found checkmate. Doyoung looks at you a bit in disbelief, and maybe slightly insulted.

“You think I—Okay, no,” he shuts you down firmly. He places his hands onto the table again, “Now, the tickets.”

Truth be told, you’ve been thinking about him ever since that night, but you would probably die before ever admitting that.

“I mean, sure. But you’re not denying that you have an image problem.”

At the first sound of your acceptance, Doyoung slides his fingers underneath his tray and is preparing to get up out of his seat. He stands up and tucks his chair in with his free hand. Once again, doing what he does best, he ignores the latter half of your sentence, “Saturday night, 7pm.”

With that, he’s set off in some direction to wherever he’s going. He’s just taken a few steps away and before he’s out of earshot, you follow up, “And what if people talk?”

He doesn’t stop walking away from you with his back turned, countering, “Sounds like you’re the one with an image problem.”

Saturday night, 6:55pm.

Shit.

Apparently, the entire population of Paris decided to get on this very subway all at the same time. The doors slide open but you’re having to budge and shove through row after row of people just to get off the car and onto the platform.

It’s a 10 minute walk and you have 5 minutes. If you don’t run to the theatre, Doyoung will inevitably be complaining about how you’re late for the whole night.

Running is a bit difficult though (and not to mention embarrassing) especially in the heels that you’re in.

You walk as fast as you possibly can out of the station and onto the city streets. The sun is just barely peeking out from the horizon and the lampposts begin to turn on as you weave your way through the avenues.

You’re just a crossing away from the theatre when you spot a particular silhouette. Their back is turned towards you, but you recognise that person as Doyoung. It’s in the way he stands, and the positioning of his feet. It’s undoubtedly him.

His head is down, presumably on his phone. The light turns green and you begin to cross. Just as you’re about to reach the other side of the street, you feel a buzz in your hand. You face the screen towards you. 7:02pm. And as you predicted, Doyoung is already starting his carping. A message pops up on the bottom of your screen, “Are you here yet?”

For whatever reason unbeknownst to you, your lips curve into a tiny smile that you have to force away, ignoring his message at the same time. You walk the couple of steps that separate you and Doyoung.

His back is still turned towards you, completely unaware of your being there behind him. He dons a long, black wool coat that amplifies his already broad shoulders, making him look and feel larger than life. To your surprise, the outfit you’re wearing coincidentally somewhat matches his—a long black dress with a coat over top. If people didn’t know better, they’d probably assume the two of you matched on purpose.

You hesitate before tapping his shoulder lightly with two fingers. His head turns around swiftly. And before you even get the chance to say anything—

“You’re late.”

You can’t resist the urge to roll your eyes and sigh. “By 2 minutes! And look,” You glance downwards at your shoes, Doyoung following your gaze. “You should be grateful I even made it here with two intact ankles.”

Doyoung eyes your heels, chuckling lightly to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he looks at you with a satisfied smile on his face. “We should go in before we’re too late,” he suggests with a dip of his head towards the entrance of the theatre.

You mumble a quiet, “Whatever,” under your breath before you start heading towards the theatre ingress, Doyoung closely following behind you.

The theatre stands majestically. Every single element of it meticulously ornate, as is the rest of the architecture in the city, but this truly was something else. Its facade is adorned with intricate columns and statues sculpted to perfection. The golden lights illuminate the archways between the sculptures, leading to the interior. Every detail of the design echoed a timeless charm and glamour.

You’ve passed by this theatre more than a handful of times, but it’s your first time actually going inside.

“What are we watching, anyway?” You turn your head around to voice, being cautious as you climb the steps leading to the open doors.

“You’ll see,” is all Doyoung responds back with.

It’s your turn to follow behind Doyoung as he hands the tickets to the man standing next to the entrance doors. You glance down at the tickets as the doorman studies them briefly before welcoming the both of you inside.

You give him a polite smile as you pass by, still following Doyoung. You make up the couple of steps between you and Doyoung so that you’re walking parallel to him.

“Swan Lake? Really?”

Doyoung smiles at you gently, “It’s a classic for a reason.”

Three beautifully devastating hours later, the ballet finishes. And Doyoung was right, it is a classic for a reason. No matter how many times you watch Swan Lake, it still manages to completely beguile you. The ballerina they casted for the main role was incredible, undeniably so. It’s then that you begin to question if you should’ve came here tonight.�� All that it seemed to do was make you doubt whether or not you can give a performance half as enchanting as hers.

You and Doyoung are walking silently next to each other in streets illuminated by nothing but the warm glow of the lampposts. He insisted on walking you home, though he lives in the other direction.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Doyoung utters after a prolonged silence. He steps under the gleam of one of the lamps, highlighting the sharpness of his features as he looks back at you.

The mellow breeze of the night blows softly against you. “They were good.”

“We can do better,” he follows, resulting in you cracking a small smile.

“Cocky.”

“No—Just confident.”

“Fine, overconfident then.”

He takes a big step ahead, balancing on one foot as he tilts his head to catch a glimpse of your face, forcing you to look at him. “And what’s wrong with that? I believe in us.”

Soon enough, the two of you arrive in front of your apartment complex. The chill in the night lingers in the air between the two of you. You mumble a quiet, “So,” under your breath, disguised as a sigh.

Stuffing your hands inside the pockets of your jacket, you rock forwards onto your toes. You suck in a long breath. “Thanks for the date,” you make it a point to highlight the sarcasm in your tone, but really, you were just trying to see his reaction.

Doyoung, however, doesn’t buy your facade. His eyebrows tick up and his eyes glisten with a hint of amusement. “A date, huh?”

“That was a little something called a joke,” you quickly follow.

“Well,” he leans forward an inch or so closer to your face. “Joking or not, we can’t end the perfect date without a kiss,” he mutters lowly as he looks into your eyes.

You stare back at him, frozen. Your heart beats faster and faster with every second that he has his eyes on you. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sign from you.

Inching ever so slowly towards him, you drop your gaze onto his lips. Softly, you press a gentle peck onto him. When you lean back and open your eyes again, he’s wearing the faintest trace of a smile on his face that you’re sure has already burned its image into your mind.

“You should really find funnier things to joke about,” Doyoung utters. “Good night,” he whispers as he’s about to take a step back from you.

“Wait,” you reach out and grab ahold of his wrist. There’s an eagerness in your voice that you regret as soon as you spoke aloud. Doyoung looks at your hand wrapped around him, then up at you, causing you to loosen your grip. You know you’re probably going to regret this but—“It’s still early. Do you want to stay for a drink?” Your head and your heart has never worked against each other like this. You regretted it as soon as you made the offer, but your heart was just a beat faster than your mind tonight.

There’s a brief moment of quiet where you’re sure he would say ‘no.’ But instead, he looks down at the ground, biting back his bottom lip before nodding along. “Sure,” Doyoung agrees with an easy shrug.

You lead him into the lobby of your complex silently. The air only seems to thicken with every second that you spend with him by your side, and it doesn’t help that the lift takes forever to arrive. You step inside, your heels clicking against the marble floor, and Doyoung follows along.

He watches your every movement, from your pressing of the elevator buttons to you leaning back against the banister along the walls. You catch his eyes, and he doesn’t even try to hide his observing you.

A chuckle catches in your throat, “What?”

“What?” He echoes you with a certain smugness in his expression.

The lift stops right in time and the doors slide open. You let your eyes linger on Doyoung’s as you walk past him to exit into the hallway. Pulling out your keys from your pockets, you instinctually unlock your door in one swift motion and let yourself and Doyoung in.

Your arm reaches out to the side to flick the kitchen lights on. Stepping out of your heels, you slip off your jacket at the same time, throwing it onto the chair by the door. “Red or white?” You ask Doyoung, who’s slowly taking his own jacket off and setting it down on top of yours.

You open the cupboard to where you store all your wines, scanning through your options. Doyoung sidles up to you, looking up at the cupboard himself. Then, you make the mistake of turning your head.

He reaches his hand onto the handle of the cabinet, boxing you in between him and the wall. His gaze is fixed on the bottles, as if he’s really studying through each of them right now. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, the collar slightly crooked. A hum sounds from him, reverberating in the close distance between your bodies. His neck catches a sheen from the city lights filtering through your balcony doors behind you. And it’s only then you realise you’d just about made the biggest mistake of your life.

He angles his head downwards to look at you, an oh-so-innocent expression scrawled all over his face. “What do you think?” He asks with a feigned cluelessness in the lift of his brows.

You catch a subtle hint of his cologne—which was probably more effective than any other bottle that you had up in that cupboard in making you drunk. “What do I think?” you breathe out. Doyoung tilts his head towards the cabinet, but the look in his eyes told you he had no intention of opening up any of the bottles.

Doyoung drops his hand from the handle onto the edge of the countertop as he takes a step closer towards you. One step. And he’s cornered you between himself and the glass doors to the balcony.

“That’s what I asked, wasn’t it?” His voice is low and sultry as his eyes study each and every detail of your face.

For the last time tonight, you try to still the pounding in your chest, but it was clear that your attempts proved futile. “I think…” you start slowly, lightly tracing the tips of your fingers from up his hips to his collarbone. “Fuck the wine.”

Your fingers grab onto the silky fabric of his collar, pulling him close. His lips crash onto yours in an instant. Once you’ve given him the green light, there’s nothing holding him back.

Doyoung’s hands roams every inch of your body as he kisses you as if you are the very air he needs to breathe. One of his hands grip tightly onto the flesh of your thigh, fingertips digging into the sides of it.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding and keeping him close to you. For a moment, it felt like deja vu with the way he’s kissing you. So deeply and fervently. You throw your head back to catch a quick breath, but Doyoung doesn’t let even the tiniest fraction of a second slip away from him.

He attaches his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of his kisses down onto your collarbones. His hand covers the small of your back, arching it into him as he sucks on your skin.

You move your arms down behind your back, hands searching blindly for something. Then, a noise clicks in between your panting and the sound of Doyoung leaving desperate kisses on your skin. Doyoung pulls back slightly with a darkness in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what you just did. A smirk overtakes his lips, quickly taking yours into his again.

“You want everyone to know what we’re doing up here?” He mutters breathily in between quick kisses. God. You can feel his smirk against your lips when he envelopes you, twisting your stomach in ways you never thought possible. “I don’t mind.”

The click was the sound of you unlocking the handles. He takes a step backwards, pulling you along with him as he swings both doors to your balcony open. Immediately, a breeze brushes against your skin that only adds to the butterflies in your stomach.

Doyoung presses you up against the cold, iron railing of the balcony, prompting a quiet ‘shit’ from you. The contrast of his warm palms on your thighs and the icy metal on your back sends chills down your spine.

His hands inch higher and higher up your legs, slipping under the chiffon of your dress. Meanwhile, his lips are never parted from you for more than a few seconds at a time. You open your arms, hands each gripping the top rail of the banister so tightly that your knuckles are beginning to change colours.

Doyoung moves your leg up, wrapping it around his waist. He trails his lips again over the delicate skin of your neck and chest. When the neckline of your dress gets in the way, he simply had no choice but to move onto the next part of you that’s uncovered by fabric.

Doyoung kneels down onto his knees. As he does so, his grip on your leg remained steady as he lapped it over his shoulder. He presses gentle pecks onto your inner thigh as he continues to lift the hem of your dress up, unveiling more of you bit by bit at a time.

Patience was never your strong suit. Doyoung, however, seemed to be the complete opposite. He takes his time peppering kisses all over the skin of your thigh as anticipation builds up within you. For a moment, you forget that you’re out on the balcony, but you’re reeled back into the present as another subtle gust of wind catches itself in your hair.

You bite down on your lip as Doyoung’s mouth inches closer and closer to the hem of your underwear. The anticipation practically pooling in between your legs. He lifts the dress up slightly above your waist, holding it in place as he grabs onto your hips with his big palms.

He leans in closer, moving excruciatingly slowly. You can feel the warmth of his breath so, so painfully close to you. He traces a finger along the lace trim, then softly presses his lips onto it—half of it touching fabric, the other half touching your bare skin. You wrap the leg you have thrown over his shoulder tighter around him at the sensation, or the lack thereof.

Doyoung slides two fingers under the hem. He’s a tease. He runs the tips of his fingers downwards along the edge. Doyoung looks up at you watching him expectantly, smirking at the sight of you, breathing so heavily. He bunches the fabric together, pushing it to the side, and immediately, the chill in the night jolts you.

This is remedied by the presence of Doyoung’s lips on your clit. He first plants a gentle kiss, then, doing what he did on your neck and your chest, he swirls his tongue over it. His humming adding to the pressure building steadily within you.

You purse your lips together, desperate to not make a noise, and your leg tries to clamp itself shut.

Doyoung pulls away, licking his lips before tutting his tongue. “You wanted everyone to hear, didn’t you? That’s why you opened these doors?” He presses the tip of his middle finger up onto your folds, drawing ovals as he spreads the wetness all over your cunt. “Don’t get shy now.”

He latches his lips onto your clit again, and without notice, pushes that very finger up into you. The surprise of his movements forces a moan out of you, one that you couldn’t suppress.

Steadily, he slides in another finger, continuing to go deeper and deeper, —threatening more and more noises from you.

You let go of the rail with one of your hands, unable to hold back from the aching neediness you feel between you. Your fingers find themselves entangled in Doyoung’s hair, drawing him closer to you as you begin to move your hips against the friction of his touch.

He mumbles contently against you, “That’s it, princess.” Humming approvingly as you continue to grind yourself down into him. The entire length of his fingers disappear inside you and gradually, he pulls them out before picking up his pace.

Still, you’re straining your whines and whimpers, as if you’re embarrassed for him to hear them. You throw your head back as he begins to slide his fingers in and out of you at an increasing pace, a strangled moan catching in your breath.

He mumbles again, “Don’t hold back for me.”

The next morning, you wake up in your bed. Pillows scattered over the floor, sheets sprawled out on top of you. You turn, facing the other side of the bed only to find it empty. A haze covers your memory of the night before, as if the events have been frosted over, sealing last night to the you in those moments only.

A sudden pounding plagues your head and you begin to feel the ache all over your body. You shut your eyelids tightly, trying to will away the pain searing through your muscles, but it doesn’t work.

Sliding on your slippers, you shuffle your way out of your bedroom only to find your entire apartment empty. There’s a sinking feeling in your chest for a brief moment before your eye catches something on your kitchen countertop. A note.

You sidle over, and immediately you can recognise the paper that the note’s written on. The neat handwriting on it read, “I’m off to practice. I made some breakfast for you with what you had, hope that’s alright,” with a small smiley face on the bottom corner.

You glance back at where the note was, and sure enough, there’s a plate of pancakes sitting on your countertop.

Taking a deep breath, you put the note back down. The sudden need to decipher and ascertain what last night means overtakes you, and you know just what you need to do.

You head back into your bedroom, throwing sheets and pillows all over the place to look for your phone. After scouring around for 5 solid minutes, you find it tucked into your bed frame.

Somewhat half-awake, you scroll through your contacts to find Karina’s name. The tone dials three times before she picks up.

There was no way that you wouldn’t tell her what happened between you and Doyoung—you could only keep things from her for so long. After Doyoung had left you that day in the canteen, it took you a little over 24 hours to spill everything to Karina. She was neither surprised or impressed.

“How’d it go?” She answers the phone, no greetings or anything.

You take in a deep breath, certain that Karina can probably hear you. “I don’t know,” you blurt out truthfully.

“Good-you-don’t-know, or bad-you-don’t-know?”

“Good? I guess? Karina…” You sigh, for probably the dozenth time since you’ve woken up this morning.

Karina waits a few seconds before she speaks again, “Tell me everything.”

You recap how the night went, leaving some details out when it got to the later part of things. Though you can’t see her, you can visualise her reactions just from her squealing over the phone.

“This method acting thing is really working, huh?” She chuckles to herself.

“No!” You rub your palm over your forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he likes me or if I like him. It’s… weird.”

“Be so serious right now,” Karina says bluntly, “You’re kidding me.”

“What if it’s just physical?”

“Is it just physical for you?

“No,” you’re quick to answer that, “I don’t think so.” Karina stays silent for a moment or two, and you can picture her eyebrows shooting up in that familiar way when she’s trying to prove you wrong.

“Listen,” Karina sighs, “Friends who fuck for fun don’t cook each other breakfast. And go out on dates. I’m sure it’s a thrill to have anyone’s hands on you,” The sarcasm heavily blanketed her last sentence.

“It wasn’t a date,” you weakly try to object while thinking over her words.

“Yeah, just two people hanging out casually ending in a hook-up. Not a date. Just saying, that’s never happened to us before.”

Karina spends some more time trying to open your eyes to the truth that you were so repellent to, to no avail.

By the end of the phone call, you let yourself fall onto your bed, mind more muddled up than before. Not exactly what you hoped for in this situation.

It’s been exactly 4 days since that fateful night. The date, as Karina kept referring to it as. You haven’t had the opportunity to see Doyoung this week, yet, which, thanks to partner practice, will change today. As soon as you step through the door to the studio, to be specific.

The moment you do, you hear a voice squealing out your name. Jerking your head upwards, you catch the eyes of Colette who’s making a beeline towards you.

“So, how was it?” She asks excitedly, catching you off guard for multiple reasons. 1, she’s never that cheery in the mornings. 2, you have no idea what ‘it’ is.

“How was…?” You trail off, letting her fill in the blanks of her query.

“The date!” Colette exclaims. And in the corner of your eye, you can see a head snap sharply in the direction of the two of you in the front of the room. You look over, and Doyoung’s standing there, in the middle of rolling up his long sleeves. Your gaze locks with his for a second or two, and a sudden embarrassment burns within your eyes that you’re not sure if you need to hide from him. You look back at Colette, her anticipation evident in her features.

“It was delightful,” Doyoung answers from across the room, rolling up the other sleeve. “Is that enough gossip for you today?” He says pointedly.

Colette widens her eyes at you. She leans in to your right side, putting her hand on your elbow as she mutters quietly into your ear, “I asked him earlier before you got here and he wouldn’t say anything.” She pulls away from you, “Did you have a nice time?”

You give her a polite nod with a small smile and she seems satisfied enough with that answer, mirroring your grin. Colette drops her hand from your elbow, letting you settle your stuff down.

Doyoung makes his way up to the centre, where Colette stands facing him. You shoot a quick glance back at them, a slight nervousness bubbling up inside you as they mumble among themselves, too quiet for you to make out anything they’re saying. As you’re pulling your pointe shoes out of your bag, Colette suddenly remarks again, “And to think you wanted to drop the role because you didn’t think you’d have chemistry with him, Y/N.”

You look back again at the two of them. Doyoung is facing away from you, stretching his ankles on the floor. You flash a tight-lipped smile at Colette before standing up and joining them.

Practice ended earlier than usual today—you’re not complaining about it though. Despite you never going home until later into the night, you’re still thankful that at least you have a slightly longer break today before you start your individual sessions again.

You dig through your bag for your purse, wanting to maybe get a snack or two at the canteen. You’re fishing around, and instead of your purse, you find your box of cigarettes. Your arms freeze momentarily. Flipping over the tab, you see that there’s only one left, having not touched them since the last time Doyoung caught you smoking and being his usual irritating self, chided you for it.

A small curve forcibly tugs on the corners of your mouth. You fold the tab back over, burying the box into a pocket inside the bag.

That evening, Doyoung freely waltzes into your practice room whilst you’re in the middle of practicing your turns. You haven’t been able to execute them as well as you had that one time, and you’re determined to perfect it.

Leisurely, as if he owned the place, Doyoung coasts through the door. He leans against the barre in front of the mirror as he takes a sip of his water from his bottle, eyes fixed on you in midst of a set of pirouettes.

“I thought you got those down last time,” Doyoung speaks right as you land, appearing to be perfectly balanced despite the blur over your vision. He continues, “You can’t work yourself to the bone.”

“Once is a fluke,” you take a deep breath in.

“You’re plenty skilled.” He treads lightly towards you.

You look up at him coming closer, leaning your torso over to even your breathing again. “What? You’re done with practice so you’re here to distract me?”

Doyoung joins you in the middle of the room, taking a swig of his water. “I mean, nothing better to do.”

You plant your hands on the sides of your hips, eyes still locked on his. A beat passes by.

You drop your eyes from him, “Thanks for breakfast the other day, by the way.” You lift your foot from the ground slightly, pretending to be stretching it just so you don’t have to look at him.

“You’re welcome,” his tone is indecipherable.

The silence between the two of you quickly becomes awkward for you, desperate for some way to escape it.

“About the other night…” Doyoung’s voice softly begins as he sets the bottle in his hand on the floor.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you reply trying to sound as nonchalant as you can, leaning your back into the wall of the pillar in the middle of the room. Truth be told, you were the furthest thing from nonchalant, but you couldn’t afford for him to know that.

Doyoung closes the gap between the two of you. He looks down at you, a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it,” he repeats. He turns around so that his back is up against the pillar as well. “But we should do something about it.”

You glance over at him looking into the reflections of the two of you. In that moment, you’re not entirely sure what he’s hinting at. Then, you catch a glimpse of his hand, and suddenly your breath hitches. Without him even needing to say another word, your chest begins to burn, thanks to your sudden recollection that kicks in right at this moment. “Something like…?”

Doyoung pulls his eyes away from the mirror and onto you, watching as you take step and step closer, until you’re positioned directly in front of him. His gaze grows more intense as he continues to watch you, his smirk too. “That’s not quite what I meant, but I’m not complaining.” He finds himself putting his hand onto your hips without even thinking about it, as if it comes naturally to him. To be fair, he has already done so multiple times earlier in the day during your session, and it took all the will in you to focus on the choreography instead of his hands on you.

Your palms travel up against his chest, fingers clasping together at the back of his neck. You tilt your head slightly, “Really? This wasn’t what you had in mind?”

He purses his lips together briefly, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he gulped. “You’re right. Let’s not talk.”

In a split second, your lips were pressed against each others. By now, the feeling of his lips on yours felt familiar enough that you’re sure your features have been moulded to fit his own. The softness of his lips contrasted by the pure desire driving his eagerness is a deadly combination.

Your fingers inch their way into his hair, and his pulling on your waist. His palms slide downwards, and effortlessly, Doyoung hoists you up into his arms with your legs wrapping tight around him.

The sudden movement catches you by surprise, making your lips part as you gasped gently. Doyoung settles his hands in the nook of your knees, and with you around him, he walks the two of you to the wall nearby, setting you down on top of the wooden barre.

His fingers push the strands of your hair back as he slides them up along your jawline. Your entire body pressed firmly against the wall, Doyoung buries himself in the crook of your neck. His hand caresses your cheek as he laid down kiss after kiss on your skin.

The whole time, you’re letting stifled hums and whines out, and every time you did, you can feel Doyoung smirking against you. You can’t help but to pull his hips closer to you with every second that goes by, desperate to have something. Your fingertips work their way around to the front of his waistband, hooking a thumb inside. If he didn’t sense your agitation before, he certainly did now.

Doyoung pulls himself away from your neck. The visual of the low lighting combined with his disheveled hair, courtesy to you, was enough to drive you insane.

“You’re not very patient, are you?” He mutters as he runs a hand up and down your thigh tauntingly.

Can he blame you? Your mind has been driven to a place where you can’t even think straight anymore, only wanting to have your way in that instant. You bite down on your bottom lip, and slowly, with your eyes locked, you pull back the waistband of Doyoung’s sweatpants.

His eyes are filled with a deep carnal desire. Placed under his astute observation, you unhook your thumb from his sweats and instead, begin to peel off your leotard one strap at a time. He follows the movement of your hand as it slides the thin straps off of your shoulders, revealing your chest to him.

He hangs his head back, eyes closed, almost like he’s trying to not look at you. A quiet ‘fuck’ slips out from under his breath. You continue to strip off the rest of your leotard along with the thin, chiffon skirt that you had wrapped tightly around your waist.

Doyoung brings himself to look at you again, now with your entire torso bare. “Fuck, okay.” He sucks in the hollows of his cheeks as he brusquely pulls on the bunched up fabric and slides them off of you entirely.

You shoot him a quick look and he immediately pulls his shirt off with one of his hands. He takes your lips into his fervently as the tip of his thumb grazes against the underside of your breast.

Your hand travel down to the front of his trousers and not as discreetly as you’d thought. Doyoung groans lightly as you palm his bulge, even biting down on your lip when you apply more pressure.

“Okay, okay,” he whispers breathily, grabbing your wrist to direct it away before pushing down his sweats.

You try to keep your eyes on him but even in the bottom of your eyeline, you can see it spring up, hard and red. Doyoung wraps his long fingers around his cock, giving it a quick couple of strokes as he grunts lowly.

The aching desire within you increases tenfold. And you couldn’t resist looking down, watching his hand travelling all the way up and down his length. A spark of frustration ignites within you, wanting desperately for him to just be inside of you right this second.

Doyoung watches you watching him. He tries to stifle a chuckle, which catches your attention. “If you’re just going to jerk off, don’t waste my time here.” The movement of his arm slows down slightly, but his smirk grows wider.

“I would never want to waste your time,” he mutters tantalisingly.

Doyoung holds a firm grip around the base of his length. He looks down, having to stop himself drooling from the sight in front of him. He taps the head of his cock on your cunt, catching you by surprise and making you clench your thighs around him harder, which does nothing but elicit a chuckle from him.

Doyoung tightens the grip he has around himself, trying to still his shaking hand. And not being able to hold himself back any longer, he gently pushes himself into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your nails find themselves dug into the skin of his back as he drives further and further in.

Your lips are parted, but you’re holding your breath. Doyoung’s gaze falls upon your face, watching every slight movement in your features as he pushes the last of himself into you. And though he hasn’t even done anything, yet, just the sheer size of him inside exhausts you. You rest your forehead against his bare shoulder, needing him to hold you steady with his arms.

He plants a gentle kiss on the back of your head, “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

And when you think your body couldn’t feel any weaker, your thighs tense up at the sound of his words.

Doyoung lays his fingers on the nape of your neck, gently lifting your head and forcing you to look at him just inches away from your face. “You okay?” he mouths, earning an eager nod from you. You’re met with a small, pleasant smile from him at your response.

He slowly drags himself against the tightness of your walls, groans catching in his throat.

Doyoung begins to thrust his hips forwards and back, filling you up with his cock again and again. You let yourself wholly collapse into his chest standing up tall against you. The friction very quickly proves to be not enough for you, causing you to move your hips in unison with his.

A string of curses and moans falls from Doyoung’s lips as he picks up the pace. His hands also tighten around you, to steady himself or to steady you, it’s hard to say. He, once again, buries himself into your neck, panting into your skin and leaving subtle bite marks on it.

You snake a hand around to your clit, rubbing in synchrony to the rhythm of his hips. The stimulation overwhelms you, your mind solely focused on the desire to cum. Your head is propped up on Doyoung’s shoulder, and every time you moan into his ears, his heart skips a beat and he thrusts harder into you.

He mumbles your name over and over again, followed by a series of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s. His breathing, as well as yours, become rugged and uneven.

You can feel the pressure steadily building up within you, the circling of your fingertips becoming more violent by the second.

The bubbling of anticipation inside of you brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your body threatens to tremble even when propped up by the strength of Doyoung’s arms.

“I’m so close,” you manage to whimper next to Doyoung’s ear. And unbeknownst to you, that completely unravels him. Desperation taking over, he plunges himself deeper and harder into you.

The sudden change in tempo almost urges you to sink your teeth down into his shoulder. Your fingers are beginning to cramp but you’re so close to your orgasm, it’s practically within reach.

You lean your forehead onto Doyoung’s shoulder as weariness begins to take over your muscles. You just needed a little bit more to push you over the edge, and the sight of him ramming his cock inside of you made you fall apart.

Your walls clench so tightly around Doyoung that it’s physically hard for him to continue thrusting into you. Even if you tried to quiet yourself down, the overwhelming pleasure takes over any logical mind and you’re screaming out his name. Preoccupied with your own pleasure, you hardly noticed the stiffening of Doyoung’s arms around you, until you felt the warm ropes of his cum threatening to spill out.

For a moment, the whole world seemed to go quiet. Time stopped for a minute or two as your body slowly comes down from such a high. Your chests rise and fall in unison, both desperately panting to collect your breaths again.

You lean your head back against the wall, your half-lidded eyes meeting Doyoung’s. Your lips hang slightly ajar as the thumping of your chest increasingly gets louder and louder in your ears. You rest your forearms on his shoulders, weakly interlocking your fingers together.

You pant. “Do you fuck all your costars like that?” Lazily teasing with half of a smirk.

Doyoung leans in, still inside of you, unthinkingly pecking the side of your lips. He whispers into your ear, “Just the one I like.”

ACT IV THE CODA

The stage of the theatre you’ll be performing at a week from now isn’t much vastly different from all the ones you’ve previously performed at. However, the role that you’re playing this time is leagues away from your prior roles. This self-applied pressure weighs down on you up on this very stage. The bright, hot stage light shining on you doesn’t help with the feeling of unease either.

“One last run-through, everybody!” You hear a distant voice call out—from where, there’s no way to tell. Except from where you are stood on stage, everything else surrounding you is shrouded by utter darkness.

You take your position, prepared to act out the last scene of the ballet one more time. What’s one more to the couple dozen times you’ve done this today?

The symphony begins brightly, instruments layered on top of each other in harmony. You make your way across the stage, running in the ballerina way to run on your tiptoes. A huge cardboard cutout of a cliff faces the audience, and behind it are steps leading to a platform about 10 feet high. Following the buildup of the music, you climb gracefully up the steps, or the cliff, and the violin cue prompts you to jump off the platform and onto a soft landing mat about halfway down.

You land on your feet, nearly unstable enough to topple over but you don’t. Quickly, you scramble to get off of the mat so that when Doyoung jumps after you, he doesn’t completely crush your body upon impact.

Karina stands in the wings of the stage, waiting for you to come over to her. When you do, she places an arm around your shoulders. “Feeling better?”

You give her a shake of the head, “That jump never gets better, no matter how many times I do it.”

She shakes your shoulder gently with her hand, “Well, you have the whole of tonight to recover.”

A thud sounds from behind you and as you turn, you see Doyoung already stepping off of the landing mat, as if jumping from 10 feet up in the high has zero effect on him.

Not long after he gets on the ground, the music stops abruptly. Then, a familiar voice follows, one belonging to your director.

“Alright, that’s enough everyone!” You hear Colette’s disembodied voice booming out of a speaker from somewhere in the auditorium. “Get some rest, you are all coming to tonight’s company dinner. No excuses.”

Excited murmurs and mumblings surround you and Karina from the other dancers. With your head turned, you catch Doyoung’s eyes for a moment. He locks onto you, before breaking away with an uncharacteristically bashful grin on his face. One that speeds up the beating in your chest.

Karina laces her arm through yours, the contact causing you to come back to. “Come on, you’re helping me figure out what to wear for tonight.”

You share a chuckle with Karina as the elevator takes you up to the penthouse where your company dinner is hosted. The lift dings and its doors slide open, revealing the modern furnishments accompanied with the dark oak and golden accents of the wall panelling. You and Karina step out into the penthouse, every inch of it screaming luxury. You wonder how much money your company splurged to rent this place out—though you probably won’t want to find out.

Floor-to-ceiling windows line one of the walls, the view of the city underneath breathtaking. “This is insane,” Karina mutters lowly beside you. She turns to you, a wide smile on her lips that shows her teeth.

Taking in a deep breath, you simply nod, still bathing in the air of glamour all around you.

Off to the side is a long table piled with entrées and small desserts, a few people lining up around it. You nudge Karina with your shoulder and point a finger towards the table. Without exchanging a word, the pair of you make your way over to the food bar.

About an hour into the event, most everyone has arrived. Not that you kept paying attention after you spotted a certain someone stepping off the elevator.

Colette stands at the end of a glass dining table, carefully climbing up onto one of the chairs. A champagne glass in her hand, she raises it high and clinks a butter knife against it. The ring sending the room into silence.

As every one of your colleagues turn their heads towards her, you all instinctively gather around the dining table, waiting for the beginning of a speech that is guaranteed to follow.

“Thank you all for making time for tonight,” Colette wears a pleasant smile as she speaks, “I know you’re all very busy with the show next week.” It doesn’t take long before you’re zoning out onto some vase with a meticulously curated bouquet placed within it.

“And especially thank you to our principal dancers, Y/N and Doyoung,” at the mention of your name, your attention reverts back to Colette, hoping you reacted quick enough that she didn’t catch you looking off. “For taking this tale and giving it the passion to make it our own.” She lands her eyes on you, stretching her lips wide into an adoring smile.

You reflect her expression, raising your glass in acknowledgement before she turns to Doyoung on the opposite side of the circle you’ve formed.

Your eyes dart towards the sign signalling where the bathroom is. “Hey,” you whisper to Karina standing next to you, “Can you hold this for a sec?” Handing over your glass to her as she takes it in her hand.

Discreetly, you weave your way through the mob of people towards the bathroom by the elevator. “And of course, thank you to our corps de ballet,” you hear Colette’s voice trail off and get shut out by the heavy wooden door as it closes behind you.

The bathroom is lined with elegant, black tiles with gold carvings alongside the edges. Three stalls stand on the left side of the room, with a singular, large, modern sink on the opposing wall.

You make your way over to the edge of the sink, your reflection meeting you in the mirror. Suddenly, sounds of cheer fill the room and you catch a movement to your right. The door is slightly ajar with a figure pressed up against it having already made their way in.

“What are you doing here?” You blurt out.

Doyoung leans back, completely shutting the door and the noise out, “It’s a public bathroom.”

You turn your body entirely to face him. “It’s a women’s bathroom,” you correct.

“I know,” he shrugs as he walks over to you.

Your eyebrows furrow themselves and your chin tucks inwards slightly as you regard him with some judgement visible on your face. “Oh, great, make yourself comfortable, then.” You quickly check the stalls for anyone else in here by pushing on the doors with the tips of your fingers. Thank God no one is in here.

Doyoung looks down at you, seemingly amused at your reaction.

“What?” You utter with a slight edge of agitation.

“What?” He repeats, though much more relaxed.

You fold your arms, giving him a look.

“Can’t I pay my favourite costar a visit?” He tilts his head, tiny strands of his hair falling out of place.

“Not in a bathroom with everyone else we work with outside—No. Did anyone see you?”

Doyoung dismisses your question with a shake of the head, but you’re not sure how confident you should be in his answer. “They’re all excited about the bonuses that Colette just announced the company’s paying out.”

His elaboration gives you a little more reassurance.

Still, cautiousness rings in your bones. “What do you want?”

Doyoung stays silent for a second, studying your features before responding, “Why do you look pissed at me?”

“I’m not,” you counter.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Doyoung doesn’t give another rebuttal, but instead looks at you knowing that you yourself know you’re full of shit.

He holds your gaze until you finally speak up. “I’m just nervous,” you confess.

“About?” He strokes his hand up and down your arm, then giving you a squeeze right above your elbow.

“I don’t know,” You allow your body to lean into his touch. “I don’t want to mess things up by people finding out that…” Even without finishing your sentence, Doyoung knows what you were going to say.

He places both hands on your arms, pulling you closer to him until he can plant a kiss on your forehead. “Even if they find out, it won’t change anything.”

Hearing this, you know he’s right. There’s nothing for you to be nervous about regarding your secret rendezvous with Doyoung, but the things we are nervous about often has no rational rooting.

You manage out a faint smile before Doyoung envelopes you in his arms.

“I know a way to destress, now that I think about it,” he murmurs in your ear.

You pull your head from resting on his shoulder, looking at him with an expression on his face you know too well.

“And what is that?”

His smile reaches the bottom of his eyes, curving upwards and carving into his irises. Using the side of his finger, Doyoung tilts your head up at him, lining your lips up with his as if he’s done so thousands of times before.

He gently presses a kiss onto your lips, soft and delicate like you’re a fragile paper crane that will crumble under too much pressure.

“Mh, tired today?” You tease, not used to this display of tenderness from him.

“And what if I am?” Doyoung leans back, taking in your visage fully. “It’s hard being the centre of attention all the time—”

“Shut up,” you sternly spit, taking his lips into yours again. “I have a hard time believing you don’t like the attention,” you mumble against him.

“Well, that depends who it’s from,” Doyoung’s hand runs the entirety of your back, tugging lightly when he reaches your waist.

“And coming from me?” Shameless. Absolutely shameless in your attempt to pry some sort of accolade from him.

Doyoung brushes his thumb along the ridge of your lip, “You know the answer to that,” eliciting a smirk from you.

You peel your torso off of him, hands pushing on his chest. “Let me give you some attention then.” Even without looking down, you skilfully undo the button of his dress pants, sliding them down just enough that you can slip a hand inside.

Pressed up against his body again, your fingers slide down along his v-line inside his briefs.

As Doyoung mutters a breathy, “Fuck,” your attention is turned back to the door.

“Shit, what if someone walks in?” You pull your hand back, as if someone actually did.

Doyoung offers with a roguish charm, “I locked the door.”

You slap a hand onto his chest, not too hard. “You planned this,” you say, more like an accusation than a question.

He shrugs idly, looking pleased with himself.

“Motherfucker,” you mumble under your breath but you’re so close to Doyoung that he hears you loud and clear, only chuckling at you in response.

Your hand slips back down, fingertips feeling the base of his dick, half-hard. You snake your fingers around the contour of his shaft, wrapping your thumb around the other half of it.

Doyoung watches your hand writhe around, curses slipping from his tongue.

There’s not much quite satisfying as watching Doyoung fall apart at your mercy. Your hand strokes what you can of his cock, slowly as you begin to feel more and more of his blood rush to it.

Doyoung has his head tilted back, exposing his neck wholly. Every dip of his Adam’s apple as he groans made visible to you.

“Fuck,” You hear him whisper next to you.

You pumping your hand up and down has made him fully hard, the tip of his cock pressing right up against his pants.

At the sight of this, you decide to stop.

The sudden absence of your hand snapped Doyoung out of his trance. “What?” He exhales.

You pull his trousers back to where it sat on his hips, “We’re in public,” zipping it up again. “You want to walk around after coming in your pants?” You raise your brows at him.

He scoffs, hands supporting himself on the edge of the sink, “So, your solution to that is making me walk around rock hard instead?”

You push yourself up to peck him on his cheek, “I’m saving you tonight’s laundry.”

The water turns on as you run your hands under it, washing them quickly before shaking them dry.

Doyoung watches you in disbelief, and still half-dazed.

Seeing his disheveled hair, you push some of the strands back—flashing him an innocent smile before unlocking the door and heading back out to the dinner.

There’s less than 24 hours before the premiere of the show you’ve spent the last 2 months working yourself tirelessly for. Logic would dictate that you should probably get whatever rest you can while you can. But you’re not a big fan of logic, and neither is your body judging by the fact that you cannot fall asleep despite it being 2am.

Unsurprisingly, you find yourself in the practice room that you’ve more or less confined yourself to. But tonight, you haven’t been doing anything in here. If alternating between staring in the mirror and staring out the window counted as anything, then you’ve been productive tonight, but otherwise, not so much.

Your mind’s been racing nonstop. This is your first show as a principal dancer. Every other show you’ve done previously, you’ve had a minor role in. It’s only natural that you’re nervous, you keep telling yourself.

More and more of the city lights are turning off one by one. The city sleeps, and it feels like you’re the only one awake to watch.

About an hour ago, you sent a message saying goodnight to Doyoung. For some reason, your mind keeps coming back to him.

You continue to sit in silence, with the only thing occupying your mind being your thoughts.

15 minutes pass, and you’re still not feeling the effects of tiredness.

“Y/N?” You hear a voice disrupting your train of thought. Snapping your head around, you see the outline of the person who’s been inhabiting your mind continually.

He walks through the empty studio, the lights off once again, over to you sat by the windows.

“Why are you here?” You mutter faintly as Doyoung sits down on the ground next to you.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

You look at him in the darkness, your arms folded around your knees, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I know,” He says gently, letting the silence hover over the two of you.

He doesn’t begin to say anything else.

A minute passes. Then, two. Then, five.

It’s somewhat weird to think that just a couple months ago, there’s no way that you could sit in silence with the man beside you and not pick a fight with whatever minute thing you could think of—like how he breathes too loud, or sits too strange. But now, it feels like the most natural thing that you can do.

“Are you scared?” You finally break the quiet.

“Scared?” Doyoung turns his head towards you, “No.” He contemplates for a moment before continuing, “Anxious, yes.”

“Why?” You meet his gaze, “You have nothing to be anxious about.”

“That’s what I keep telling you,” he eases with a grin.

You turn over his words in your mind.

Before giving you too much time to dwell on what he said, he begins again, “After tomorrow, you’d have thousands of admirers. Thousands.”

That puts a small smile on your face, “You’re saying that as if it doesn’t apply to you as well.”

“I wouldn’t care for them,” he follows without missing a beat, “The only admirer I need would be up on that stage with me.”

Mock aversion visible on your face, “Who? Because I’m definitely not one of your fangirls.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that,” he rolls his eyes away from you.

Once again, the pair of you let the solitude linger around. A shift in mood rolling into the room with it.

“You know what I admire the most about you?” Doyoung’s sudden edge of sincerity rendering you somewhat taken aback.

“No, and don’t tell me,” you struggle to hold back an awkward smile, turning your face to the window.

Doyoung nudges you with his fist against your arm. “I’m trying to be an honest, heartfelt person here.”

“Don’t.”

He looks at you, evidently annoyed by your dismissals. “Fine, you want to know what I hate about you?”

You pause for a second, “Give it to me.”

“I hate that you won’t believe me when I try to tell you how good you are.”

You say nothing. It’s less that you’re choosing to say nothing, but more so that you don’t know how to respond to that.

“I hate that you won’t believe yourself.”

There’s an unseen vulnerability that meets back at you when you turn to look at Doyoung. The feeling that bubbles in the pit of your stomach isn’t one unfamiliar to you. In fact, you find yourself feeling like this more and more as time as pushes you towards this moment in your life. The feeling that Doyoung wholly and entirely understands you. The feeling that you can bare your soul to him, and he wouldn’t shift his ground.

“That’s not true,” you quietly manage.

Doyoung breathes a deep breath, his lips stretching weakly into a curve. He extends his arm out, “Come on,” offering it to you. “Dance with me.”

Singlehandedly, he pulls you up off the floor, leading you to the centre of the room. “Hold on,” he utters as he picks his phone from out of his pocket. Tapping on the screen a few times before a soft melody begins, and slipping it back inside the pocket. With one hand wrapped around your waist, he lines his other hand up with yours. Gently, he folds his fingers, lacing them in between your own.

Rather than opting for all the complex routines you and Doyoung have learned and mastered by now, he begins to guide you through a simple waltz. Just step, step, and step. Over and again, the pair of you orbiting in your own circle along to the soft hum of the music.

Doyoung holds your hands closer to him, kissing your knuckles. “Whatever happens tomorrow, know that I will be right there by you.”

His words, for some reason, carries so much weight with them. The phantom touch of his lips on your fingers a reminder of all the ways he’s been with you through this tempestuous happening.

The moonlight illuminates his back, a bright halo outlining him.

For what might be the first time, you wholeheartedly believe him.

You can’t offer Doyoung more than a beam, allowing yourself to accept what you know to be true.

So, you simply melt into his touch, letting him guide you through a waltz in the dark.

⋆˚☆˖° ⋆｡ﾟ🦢 ｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

note . . . thank you for taking the time to read this piece of work by me. truthfully, it took so much to write this, and even though it is definitely not the best seeing as i started this project more than half a year ago, finishing this still gave me some sense of accomplishment. that said, whatever your thoughts are, please let me know! i love feedback and thrive on interactions and comments. thank you again!

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vnti-vntiety-recs · 28 days

Note

okay yay! Thanks for answering all of my questions, I was worried it felt like an interrogation 😟 In that case I’m chock full of ideas but for an issues that plagued me 2 days ago, I wanted to ask for a domestic-ish fic. I am….terrier or bugs..like deathly afraid…like I have to wake my mom up at night or worse in order to save me…so I wanted to ask…

Whether we are in a Some or a full-fledged relationship, who is willing to rush from work or a social engagement to come kill a bug that ran into the house for me bc I call them crying & also not make me feel embarrassed or dumb over it & how 🥲 pls any 127 or Dream except jw or the Chenji, for female reader please

Ok, I couldn't pick just one member so here are the members I think are most likely to rush home to kill a bug for you! I’ve been meaning to write more for 127 so enjoy!

Members who would be willing to rush home to come kill a bug for you ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

JAEHYUN

(I feel like Jaehyun is pretty laidback and chill so he wouldnt really mind doing something like that for you. I feel like he's not one to get annoyed easily over silly things so he probably wouldn't even think twice about your reaction)

He was on his lunch break when his phone buzzed incessantly, the screen lighting up with your name. His heart sank as he noticed the string of missed calls—five, maybe six—all back to back, which was highly unusual for you. You always respected his work schedule, making a point to avoid disrupting him during the day. A sense of dread washed over him. Something had to be wrong.

He quickly dialed your number, his pulse pounding in his ears. When you answered, your voice came out choked and shaky, “Hello?” The strain in your tone sent a jolt of anxiety coursing through him, and he felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

“Baby, it’s me,” he said, trying to maintain an air of calm despite the panic bubbling inside him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Jae, please come home. It’s an emergency,” you managed to say, your voice wavering as tears streamed down your cheeks, making it difficult to speak. Fear constricted your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

His heart raced as he absorbed your words. The urgency in your plea twisted his insides into a tight coil. “Okay, just breathe. I’m on my way,” he reassured you, his voice steady despite his racing thoughts. The heaviness of unease wrapped around him, but the simple confirmation that you needed him ignited a fierce determination within him.

With that, he jumped into action, throwing his things into his bag and rushing out of the office. The world outside blurred into a haze as he sped towards home, the car’s engine roaring like his frantic thoughts.

Each traffic light felt agonizingly long, each second stretching into an eternity, but luck was on his side today; he didn’t work far from the house, and in less than twenty minutes, he was pulling into the driveway, his heart pounding in sync with his footsteps.

When he burst through the doorway moments later, adrenaline coursing through him, he rushed through the house, calling out for you. His heart leaped into his throat when he saw you standing precariously on the couch, broom in hand, wobbling slightly as you tried to keep your balance on the cushions.

“Jae, no! In the kitchen, go!” you shouted, your voice laced with urgency, but it came out in a frantic rush, leaving him unsure if he understood what was happening.

He raised an eyebrow, feeling a mix of confusion and concern, as he approached the couch again. “What’s going on?” he asked, but you wailed in despair, “No, Jae! You’re not listening! Hurry before it gets away!”

Hesitantly, he finally veered toward the kitchen, cautiously obeying your frantic direction while you stumbled over the couch cushions to follow, not daring to let your feet touch the ground until you felt certain it was safe again. You perched against the armrest, leaning over as far as you could to keep an eye on him.

“What am I looking—” he started, but before he could finish, you interrupted him, your heart pounding with urgency. “There, Jae! There! Get it!”

He quickly redirected his gaze to where you were pointing and squinted, initially seeing nothing. Then, just as his patience began to wane, he spotted a beetle scuttling across the stove. Relief washed over him; he finally understood the situation.

With determination, he reached into the junk drawer, pulling out a piece of cardstock and a plastic lid. He deftly scooped the bug onto the cardboard, trapping it beneath the lid. As he walked back into the living room, he noted the tension radiating from you, your eyes wide with fear. He cast you a reassuring smile as he passed, making his way to the front door. You relaxed slightly, finally allowing a tentative foot onto the floor, following him to the entrance. He gently released the tiny intruder outside, your eyes locked on the scene as the beetle vanished into the grass.

As he returned inside, the raw tension that had coiled within you drained away, leaving you feeling weak in the knees.

“Was this the emergency?” Jae asked softly, concern still etched on his face.

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill from your eyes. Guilt washed over you; you had dragged him all the way from work just to help you with a bug. “I’m so sorry, Jae. I just can’t handle them. I really tried, but it—”

“No, no, no, baby, I’m not upset,” he interrupted you gently, shushing your growing distress before pulling you into his embrace. He rocked you back and forth, his hand soothingly rubbing your back as you cried softly against his chest. “I was so scared—I thought something had happened to you. I'm just glad you're okay.”

“Do you promise you’re not mad?” you sniffled, looking up at him with teary eyes.

Jae pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and then flashed you a dimpled smile that warmed your heart. “I’m not mad. I’ll get rid of all the bugs for you, just ask. Do you know why?” he asked, pulling you back slightly to look into your eyes.

You shook your head, your curiosity piqued, urging him to continue.

“It's because I love you,” he said softly, his gaze steady and filled with warmth.

In that moment, all your worries faded, replaced by the comfort of his words and the safety of his arms.

Doyoung

(Doyoung is another member who I don't think would really mind going through the trouble of coming home to kill a bug for you. Now, I will say he probably thinks it's a little silly, but he would never tell you that. In truth, he finds it really adorable and loves the way you sometimes depend on him.)

He was already on his way home with the groceries when your call came through, ringing sharply in the quiet of the car.

“Hey, I’m almost home,” he said with an upbeat tone.

“Please hurry! There’s a bug—and it’s—IT’S FLYING, SHIT!” you yelled into the phone, panic echoing in your voice.

Doyoung could hear you racing through the house, your breathing heavy and irregular, accompanied by the sound of crashes that made his heart race. He pressed down on the gas, urgency pushing him forward.

“Try to calm down, love. I’m almost there,” he said, attempting to soothe you, but his own heart was pounding at the chaos on the other end of the line.

“IT’S CHASING ME—” was the last thing he heard before the line abruptly cut off.

That alone spurred Doyoung to speed home, anxiety creeping in as he recalled how much you despised bugs, and how clumsy you could get in your panic. The last time you encountered a moth, you’d sprained your ankle in your frantic escape.

Not long after, he pulled into the driveway and could already hear your distant screams while he fumbled with the keys to the front door. As he unlocked it and stepped inside, he couldn't help but chuckle softly at the scene before him. You were darting around the living room, all but obliterating the tidy space in your attempt to evade the offending insect. Little did you know, your chase was futile—the bug was nowhere near you anymore.

In a moment of sheer panic, you ran straight into his chest, the impact causing you to stumble backward.

“Whoa, babe, it’s me. Where is it?” Doyoung asked, concern lacing his voice as he steadied you.

“I thought it was chasing me,” you huffed, the exasperation evident in your tone. Your wild eyes were filled with both fear and embarrassment, and Doyoung felt a surge of protectiveness.

Before he could respond, the unmistakable buzzing of insect wings echoed through the room, sending you into a full-on retreat behind him. “Doyoung, please!” you wailed, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” he said, his demeanor shifting to one of calm resolve. He peered over his shoulder, scanning the room for the source of your terror. “Just stay right here,” he added, turning to face you, his serious expression softening when he saw how scared you were.

With purpose, he stepped forward, determined to handle the situation while keeping you safe. The buzzing grew louder, and he focused intently, ready to shoo away the intruder and restore peace to your chaotic home.

With careful movements, Doyoung scanned the room, honing in on the erratic flight pattern of the bug. It was hovering near the window, darting back and forth as if trying to find an escape. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the moment of levity and focus on the task at hand.

"Okay, I see it," he said, steadying himself. "Just keep behind me, alright?"

You nodded, gripping him tighter for reassurance. Your heart raced not just from fear, but also from the sheer relief that he was there. Watching him take charge made you feel a little less frantic.

Doyoung approached the window cautiously, glancing back at you to make sure you were still safely behind him. "It’s just a bug, remember? You’ve faced worse," he murmured, trying to soothe both of your nerves.

With a sudden bolt of bravery, he swung open the window, and the insect buzzed around aimlessly, momentarily disoriented by the sudden gust of fresh air. Doyoung waived his hand, trying to guide it outside without harming it.

"You got this," you whispered, peeking from behind him, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a swift flick of his wrist, Doyoung guided the bug toward the open window. It buzzed a few more frantic circles before finally darting out into the evening air. As soon as he closed the window, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“See? All taken care of,” he said, turning around to face you with a triumphant smile.

You launched yourself into his arms, relief flooding over you as you buried your face in his chest. “Thank you,” you breathed, your voice muffled. “You’re my hero.”

Doyoung chuckled, holding you tightly. “No heroics here, just doing what needs to be done.” He pulled back slightly to meet your gaze, a playful glint in his eye. “Speaking of what needs to be done, come help me bring in the groceries so I can make dinner,” he said, tilting his head toward the door.

You opened your mouth to protest, but given all he’s done for you today, you don't argue. “Alright, but if I see even one more flying thing tonight, you’re on your own!” You warned, a teasing smile creeping onto your lips.

Doyoung laughed, a light, melodic sound that eased the remnants of anxiety in the air. “Fair enough. I’ll keep the kitchen bug-free while you load up the bags.”

#ask #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun x reader #doyoung fluff #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fanfic #doyoung x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fanfic #bugs anon

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catboyieejeno · 1 year

Text

camera roll; kim doyoung

pictures you’ve taken of your boyfriend, doyoung

more of the camera roll series

ੈ♡.*·

masterlist

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multifandomslxt · 1 year

Text

The type to ...

Doyoung is the Type to

Remember EVERY last detail about you. He literally never forgets

spoil you with everything

Make a secret playlist he listens to when he misses you

Wear a scrunchie on his wrist just in case you need it

Purposefully leave you one of his hoodies when he knows he won't be home for a while

take candid pictures of you and save them in a secret folder he has

completely melt if you give him a back hug

deepen a kiss to let you know he wants you

kiss with his hand lightly squeezing your neck

Bite your bottom lip before pulling away from a kiss

stare at you across the room when you aren't looking

sleep in the crook of your neck

usually show his love through action but when he says it..he always whispers it.

always caress your hips with his thumb

always know when you're upset or sad

give the best hugs and squeezes you slightly

let you know that he is ALWAYS there for you

"I could be a million miles away just call me and I'll come. I promise."

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springseasonie · 1 year

Text

Overtime | KDY (M)

Ceo Doyoung x Secretary fem reader

Summary: You and Doyoung stay late at the office and have a long extensive conversation about life, work, and other things. Doyoung's life motto is never mix personal life with work, but his mini crush on his secretary becomes bigger than life all on this night.

Warnings: sexual content, age gap (legal!!! doyoung is older), oral (fem receiving), unprotected, pull out method, proofread (kinda, I'm tired)

Word count: 5,7k

Song recs: thinkin bout you by Katie

A/N: took longer than I expected with this one. I've been in a writing slump for the past week so I'm sorry if this sucks. The smutty words don't come out the same as they used to lmao. Feedback is loved and appreciated 🫶🏾

You would've never taken this job if you knew your boss would be this hot.

Applying for the secretary position at a world famous company was not in your plan after college, but it just happened. You especially didn't expect to get hired. Now you've been working for 2 years and can't say that you would choose anything else, especially when you get to work so close to eye candy every day.

Kim Doyoung. He's the youngest successful single man in Seoul at 38 years old. No, he's not old, but he is way older than you in most people's standards. You never really had a thing for older men, but when you met Doyoung, you could say opposites attract. You would always try and hide your staring, sometimes he would catch you. He knows he is handsome, he's been told many times, but you're the only person who has ever worked for him that has never kissed his ass no matter how attractive you found him. He enjoyed having you around, having someone who wasn't a yes man.

Instead of going home, you were sitting at your desk finishing something you should've some ages ago. You were a huge procrastinator and he knew this. At first, it was something he hated about you. All of his other secretaries were very punctual while you did things late. However, you were way more detailed in your work, way more careful with his needs and schedule so he let it go.

"Why do I do this to myself," you groaned. You finished the last couple of words on the screen, aggressively pushing the period key with a sigh. "And all done." Now all you had to do was print the paper and leave it on Doyoung's desk for the morning. You pressed the tiny print pop up, watching the machine pump the papers out the front. Once it was done, you stapled them together.

Standing, you walk from around your desk and towards Doyoung's office. The sound of your heels filled the silent dimly lit hall, making you hum in delight. Although you hated staying to work late, you couldn't deny the atmosphere of an empty office. How peaceful it was, how strangely free you felt. Reaching Doyoung's office you noticed the door was left slightly ajar.

"Weird," you say to yourself. "He always leaves it shut." You walk in looking at your feet not expecting to hear anything.

"Oh you're here too?"

You jump, startled at the voice of your boss, looking up as you looked at his figure being lit up by his lamp. Blinking rapidly trying to regain your composure, you clear your throat shaking off your very clean dress. "M-Mr. Kim you surprised me," you say, a relaxed attitude faltering.

Doyoung watched you straighten your back, chuckling to himself as he stood up from his desk. "Relax, you don't need to be so formal. It's just you and me here."

You try to loosen up a bit, but he makes you so nervous especially when you're alone with him. You find him to be very intimidating. From how he speaks to how he dresses to even his favorite foods - Doyoung is a super classy man, way different from you. You gulp, placing the papers on his desk. "Here is the report for all the departments from this week. There were some last minute changes so…yeah."

Doyoung picks up the packet, flipping through the pages as you stand there with your hands folded in front of you. The room was silent, just the sound of him flipping rh pages was heard. You were in his office often, but never this late. Your eyes shifted around the room, taking in your surroundings. It was a cozy space, city lights in the big windows, every shelf stacked with something work related or some random object.

Doyoung had a picture of his family on one of the bookshelves, a picture of himself in his early teens with his parents and older brother. He hates that picture, always saying it reminded him of his hard life growing up. Doyoung didn't talk about his personal life much, his number one rule for all his employees and himself being don't let work and life mix. But working so closely with him has made you learn things about him he'd rather no one know, like how many times his mother has tried to set him up with some pretty rich woman or how many times his father needs meetings to berate his son.

Doyoung puts the papers down without a word. You started to turn on your heels, about to leave when he speaks up.

"Could you…stay for a bit," he says in a deep voice echoing in the quiet room. "I won't keep you long, just want a bit of company that's all."

You turn around with an awkward smile on your lips, clearing your throat. "Yeah sure, I don't mind."

Doyoung stood up from his seat, giving you a full view of his messy image. Tie loosened, shirt a bit unbuttoned - he was so attractive it pained you. He walked to the window behind him, leaning on the glass as he stared out at the huge city below the both of you. "You don't have to stand all the way over there you know."

"Oh.. right." You walked over to him, standing a distance away as you looked out the window.

"It's pretty right," he said, glancing at you. "I love this view at night."

"Me too."

And right back to silence, but instead of it being stiff, it felt comfortable. Neither of you noticed the glances the both of you kept sneaking at each other. But for a while you stopped looking at him and just leaned on the window taking in the pretty scenery. Doyoung looked at you, tracing your face with his eyes. He always thought you were pretty, knowing that he would probably ask you out if you weren't working under him. He still thinks about the first day he met you. You were a complete mess, just graduated and working 2 jobs to keep yourself afloat at the time he interviewed you. It was obvious you lived off coffee, eye bags couldn't even be hidden under your makeup. Now you're doing good for yourself. You seem happier, less stressed, and have really grown into your age.

Doyoung hates how much older he is than you. Not many girls your age would be into someone near their 40s in his mind, so for a while including now he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

"So," he finally spoke up. "How was your day?"

"Oh, uh, well," you laughed awkwardly. "It was okay. I did what I usually do."

"Sit there and drink coffee," he joked, making both of you laugh.

"I do…other things," you said between giggles. "How was your day?"

"You already know that information," he said, letting out a deep sigh. Doyoung had a hard day, dealing with unreasonable clients and frustrating employees. You know how stressed he is all the time and you feel bad for him.

You wanted to say something but you didn't. You had no idea what to say to make him feel a bit happier. You were only his secretary after all, there's not much you can say without crossing lines, but that's what he likes about you. Sometimes you were so oblivious as to what was acceptable to say and what wasn't. You never dared to overstep boundaries, but it just happened.

"Do you ever feel like there's something in your life that's missing," he asked suddenly.

You look over to him, his face hard in concentration as he stares at the city lights. "What do you mean?"

"Like…you're doing something not because you enjoy it, but because it keeps you alive," he explains. You and Doyoung feel the air around the both of you become heavy with the sudden change in topic. Doyoung never had these kinds of conversations with you in the 2 years you've been working with him. In fact, he's never vulnerable with anyone about anything, not even the people he considered close friends.

"Well," you started slowly. "I do feel that way."

He turns to you, watching how your eyes shine in the light. "Was it when you started working for me?"

You glanced at him, giving him a small laugh. "Do you want the honest answer?"

"I want whatever answer will help me through this dilemma,* he sighs, pushing his hair back.

"I know you don't know a lot about me." You begin to relax as you start talking, leaning on the window. "I wanted to be an artist for a while. I grew up drawing, painting, the whole lot of stuff. My parents thought it was just a hobby and they were right for a while because then I fell in love with writing."

"Is that why you got a journalism degree," he interrupted.

"Yeah…that's right," you laugh softly. "Did I tell you this story before?"

"No I just…" Doyoung stopped talking seeing your playful smile, heat flying to his ears making them red. You were so pretty to him, especially in this light. "Sorry, you can continue."

"It's okay," you chuckle softly. "Anyway, I loved telling stories and wrote things in private all the time, but storybooks weren't going to pay the bills so I had to take up informative writing. Fast forward to my third year and I start realizing how much I hate what I'm doing. My love for art comes back and I start drawing more than writing essays. That's when I realized I wanted to make comics."

Doyoung stands there with his arms crossed, trying so hard to pay attention to listen to you, but he couldn't get over how pretty your lips looked, How nice your voice sounded. His eyes traveled to your neck, his next thought immediately flying to how good you smell when you’re next to him. And your hands, goodness he loves your hands. They would brush against his sometimes, the thought of how soft they would feel on his-

"Mr. Kim?"

He blinked, head being pulled out of his inner thoughts by your voice. He couldn't believe he zoned out while you spoke. Doyoung gulped, realizing the kind of image his brain almost created. "Yes? I'm sorry I zoned out. I'm just a little tired."

You gave him a small laugh and understanding smiles, nodding at his words. "I understand, I'm tired too so I'll keep it short. Sometimes we will feel periods of emptiness in the things we do no matter if we love them or not. We just have to remember everything that makes it worth it, not matter what." You stopped talking when you felt Doyoung's eyes on you, boring into your soul.

"Do you feel like working here is worth it?"

There is a kind of tenderness in Doyoung's eyes that you don't get to see often. The last time you saw this look was when he was telling a memory of him and his brother when they were kids. "Yeah, I feel like it's worth it."

"Well I'm glad," he says, looking back out into the city. "For someone so young, I didn't expect you to have a lot of profound things to say."

"I'm not that young. And you aren't that old" you say, laughing at his expression. "Not to pry of course, but why do you feel like something is missing?" He remains quiet and his relaxed expression turns stern, a frown on his face almost immediately. You panicked thinking that you pushed too far past the line. "I'm sorry, you really don't have to answer Mr. Kim, I was just-"

"It's okay, you did nothing wrong," he said, trying to reassure you. "My mother makes me feel like a shit show because I'm not looking for anyone to marry."

You opened your mouth to speak, but stopped. This problem of his was completely beyond you. It's not a surprise that he's been avoiding his mother, their family issues all over the tabloids. you wish you could be some sort of support system for him, but you know you can't get that close to him.

"You don't have to say anything. I know you have nothing to say."

"Yeah, I'm sorry," you mumbled. "I know things have been rough with you and your mom these days."

Doyoung blinked and looked over to you. His lips parted, tongue darting out slowly against his lips, wetting them before speaking."You know you're the only person to talk to me like a regular guy?"

You whip your head to him, gulping at his words. "Oh, i must've gotten too comfortable Mr. Kim-"

"I like that you talk to me like a regular person," he chuckled.

You give him a soft laugh, shaking your head. The way doyoung looks at you makes you feel something you shouldn't feel for your boss. But his eyes are piercing, full of emotion and it makes you fall deeper into him. You didn't want to ruin the mood, but you would feel bad if you didn't tell him what happened earlier that day. "Mr. Kim….your mother called the office."

Doyoung sighed, running his face in his hand. "What did she say?"

"Something about," you started hesitantly. "You blocking her number, not going to events, not dating…"

"That old lady always has something to complain about," he sighed. "Thank you for telling me."

You nodded, pressing your lips into a thin line to keep silent. But sometimes you just speak and say things you probably shouldn't, because the way doyoung looks at you for your next sentence makes you want to crawl into a dark corner.

"Well, dating shouldn't be hard for you," you said.

He raised a brow, a smirk pulling on his lips slowly. "What do you mean?"

"W-well I mean you're…" you paused, eyeing him up and down awkwardly.

"I'm…?"

"You're you," you said a bit more enthusiastically than you wanted to. "Well what I wanted to say was that you're rich, handsome…."

"Is that it? Just rich and handsome," he joked, but you didn't take it as a joke. You already overstepped the boundaries multiple times in the last 30 minutes, this could probably be the only moment to save your job.

"N-no! You're funny and honest, fun to talk to. And even though you have this rough guy thing going on, I think you're a pretty soft guy," you said, lips moving 40 miles per hour.

He gave you a chuckle, one that sounded genuine and warm which surprised you. "Ms. Y/n, are you flirting with me right now?"

You blinked rapidly, shaking your head and hands silently as you panicked, making the male laugh. You said no, but he was secretly hoping that you were. He wanted to know if you were as attracted to him as he was to you. He couldn't help himself.

"You're not too bad yourself," he said, turning back to the window.

"Thank you…. you're too nice, but you don't really mean that."

"No, I'm serious," he continued. "You're cool and fun, not too serious but can be serious when you need to be."

Your face was beginning to get hot, fingers gittering at your sides. You couldn't even look at him, afraid you would probably go crazy. You really hoped he would stop talking, but he didn't. It stressed you out.

"Not to mention, you're beautiful."

You gave him a small laugh, trying to cover up the very obvious mental breakdown you were about to have. "Mr.Kim please-"

"You're beautiful. You have the best laugh and the prettiest smile." doyoung was slowly walking towards you, making your body stiffen as he came closer. His gaze was hungry, not able to suppress his desires for you any longer. It was terrible of him, he knew it, he was your boss and practically preying on you at the moment. He was doing something he hated, but he knew you wanted it too.

Doyoung was so close to you, body looking over yours as he stared down at your flustered face. "Mr.Kim-"

"Call me Doyoung."

"But I can't-"

"Yes you can." He spoke so quietly and softly, eyes flickering from yours to your lips. "I wanna hear you say it so I can say I love the way you say my name too."

You were quickly falling under whatever spell he was starting to put you under as he spoke. Your lids dropped, breathing heavily as his hands left his sides and made their way to your waist. "D-Doyoung," you said breathlessly, heart beating faster in his grasp.

He nodded slightly, a smile curling on his lips as he pulled your body closer to his, pressing his chest against yours. "Again."

You gulp, shaking your head as you remove his hands from your waist. "I…we can't do this. I-I'm your secretary."

"Secretary who I like very much." You make it so hard for him to not want to push your buttons a little more. Was doyoung really about to risk everything he built up just to kiss you? Yes, yes he was. Not one of his smartest decisions, but he trusted you. "I liked you for a very long time, you know."

"Really," you ask, brows scrunching slightly.

"Mhm." Doyoung put his hands back on your waist, the adoration in his eyes turning to lust. "I'm doing this against my better judgment, and you know how much I cherish my judgment."

Before you knew it, your eyes fluttered shut and you were the one kissing him instead. Your lips melted into his, hands moving to his shoulder as you pulled him closer. Doyoung kisses you back softly, moving his hands under your blazer squeezing your waist. He felt how raged your breathing was, your heartbeat speeding up as he fondled your body in his hands.

You pulled away, refusing to look at him. He knew you liked him as much as he liked you - it was obvious by the smirk on his face. It was only supposed to be a kiss and end there, but your mind drifted to a place it wasn't supposed to go.

"I need to go home," you said, letting out a sigh.

"No you don't," he protested softly. "I know you don't want to either."

"Mr. Kim-"

"Doyoung," he said. "I want you to call me by name."

"Doyoung," you started, making him smile. "What are you trying to do right now? I mean, we are attracted to each other but this.. what will people think?"

"People won't know unless we tell them," he says nonchalantly. "Besides, I own the entire building you're standing in right now. Whatever I say goes, and I'll never let anyone hurt you."

You looked up at him, worry still painting your face, but you nodded anyway. "Okay, I trust you."

"Good. You should always trust me." He cupped your face softly, kissing you deeply. You kissed him back, lips molding with his just like how you imagined. You wanted to take advantage of this moment while you had it, so you took your hands off his shoulders taking your blazer off. Letting the jacket fall to the floor, you reached back to Doyoung's chest, pulling his tie off him and placing it on his desk.

"I wanna take care of you," he said quietly. "Would you let me do that?"

"Yes." Your answer came out as a whisper as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. Doyoung watched you with a hazy expression. your concentrated desperate appearance was doing something to him, he just wanted to fuck you against the window make you cry out his name. He thought it was too cute how your hands were trembling as you unbuttoned his shirt. The only time he sees you this nervous is when he reprimands you for something you may do wrong.

Doyoung slowly starts to pull your tucked blouse out your pencil skirt, making your breath hitch in your throat. "Is this okay with you?"

You nod, removing your hands from his shirt to allow him to pull the fabric off of you. Doyoung marveled at your body. He felt guilty knowing how many times he's fantasized about this moment, the thought of touching you on his mind heavy sometimes. But the guilt went away when he made contact with your skin. Doyoung pulled you closer to him, kissing you as his hands slowly went up your body. He groped you not too roughly to make you flustered, but just enough to enjoy your small gasp. His hand squeezed and massaged your left breast.

"Should I take it off," you mumble as he plays with the lace on your bra. You wait for an answer, but his eyes and hand are too focused on the lace, the only thing going through his head was how pretty the color looked against your skin.

"No," he said, shaking his head. You watched him unbutton and unzip the side of your skirt, cock twitching his pants from excitement. "Let me help you relieve some of your stress from today. I wanna taste you Y/N."

"Can you," you said breathlessly, begging, making him smile too. He tugged your skirt down your legs, fabric bunching around your heels.

"Get on the desk." Doyoung watches you hop on his perfectly organized desk, spreading your legs almost immediately. Your eyes widened at how fast he dropped to the floor, his actions making you even more wet than before.

“I thought about this alot Mr. Kim,” you admitted, eyes glossed from how turned on you were. "I fucking dreamed about this."

"Oh yeah?" Doyoung's entire shirt was off by this point, the expensive fabric laying, somewhere on the floor. His soft hands made their way up your legs, leaning into your inner thighs. He kisses the soft spot of your thighs, making your body shudder sensitively. Doyoung hooked his fingers around your panties, tugging at them to pull the fabric off. You lifted your hips, allowing him to pull them down your legs and off your ankles swiftly.

Doyoung couldn't take his eyes off the sight between your legs. You were glistening, so wet it got on his desk. "Fuck.. you're so pretty baby."

"Don't stare." You started to close your legs, but doyoung forced them back apart, leaning into the closer. You could feel his heavy breathing on your wet core as he kissed your inner thighs.

"Don't get all shy on me now." He placed a soft kiss on your clit, eyes never leaving your face. You let out a soft sigh when he licked your core softly, collecting your arousal on his tongue. Doyoung licks at your clit softly, adding pressure with every other movement. He always thought about what you would sound like, if you were loud or silent, but your soft moans at the moment were prettier than ever. Doyoung sucked your clit softly, making you throw your head back slightly.

"You like that?" Doyoung did it again, smirking to himself when you scrunch your brows.

"Yeah," you sigh, nodding. Doyoung continues to eat you out, your hands tangling in his hair as he licks at you feverishly. His tongue flicked your clit fast, making you tug his hair a bit. "If you do that I'll cum fast," you moaned softly.

He chuckled softly, sucking your clit harshly right after.

"D-Doyoung oh my god," you whimpered, legs starting to come together. He swiftly pushed them apart, allowing you to tug his face closer to your core. Doyoung watched you with a hazy expression as you grinded on his face, hands gripping your thighs. He flattened his tongue against you, letting you grind your core. Your arousal was all over his mouth, his nose constantly nudging your clit every time you moved. Even in the dark in his office he could still see the look of absolute pleasure on your face, taking in the desperation to cum in your eyes and the way your hand trembled on the back of his head.

"I'm so close Doie," you whined softly, making the man below your chuckle softly.

"Doie?"

You paused, looking down at him with sudden alertness. "I'm sorry, if you don't like it, I-"

"No, I love it." He attached his mouth back to your core, sucking and licking at you. "I love it so fucking much."

You threw your head back, brows scrunching as the pleasure continued to build in your stomach. Your moans built higher in pitch, noises so loud the janitors on the floor below could probably hear you. Doyoung moans on your core, the vibrations on your clit driving you mad.

"Cum babygirl, cum for me."

You let go, cumming on his tongue, his lips, his face. Doyoung didn't let up though, still licking up all your release as your legs shook, trying to clamp around his head from the over stimulation. You whined loudly, the feeling of his nose nudging against your sensitive clit making you tear up. After a couple more seconds of overstimulation, Doyoung stopped, looking up at you with the most fucked out expression you've ever seen from anyone.

"Fuck," you laughed softly, "we can add head to list of things I like about you."

"Trust me I can do a lot more than just that." He rose to his feet, immediately pulling you closer to him in a heated kiss. You moaned softly, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.

"Yeah?" You smiled against his lips, adding tongue into the kiss as you cupped his face softly. You gasp softly as you part your lips from his, looking down at his hand that was now between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit slowly.

"God you're so cute," he chuckled softly. "Cute face, cute tits, cute moans, cute pussy." His deep voice rang through your ears, adding pleasure already soaring through your body. Doyoung kissed your neck, nipping at the skin playfully as he sped up his fingers. He pulled your breast out of the fabric of your bra, enjoying the way you hid your face in his neck at your exposed state. "I'm gonna fuck this cute pussy. How does that sound?"

"Please fuck me," you whined breathlessly, brows furrowing as his mouth attached to your nipple. "I need you so bad, Doie."

Doyoung lifted himself off your body, watching you waste no time in trying to undo his belt. Your fingers fumbled, nails getting in the way of getting it off easily. Doyoung smiled to himself as you struggled, tears pricking the corners of your eyes in frustration. "Calm down, I'm not going anywhere, pretty girl," he said soothingly. He gently removed your hands from his belt, undoing it himself.

Your mouth watered, gulping as you watched him unzip his pants. Doyoung loved watching your reactions, purposely taking his time in front of your impatient disposition. He slowly pulled himself out his pants and boxers, his tip leaking precum as it hit his navel.

You jumped off the desk, running your hands down his chest as you kissed him deeply, biting his lip softly. "Need you to fuck me real good Mr. Kim," you mumbled against his lips.

"Bend over." You did as he said, holding your body up with your arms. You looked so cute to him, checking behind yourself to see when he was going to stretch you wide. You shook your hips, whining softly to him.

"Hurry," you whined. "Need you to fill me so bad."

He chuckled darkly, not bothering to grab a condom out of his wallet before he lined himself at your entrance. He rubbed his leaking tip against your clit, making you moan softly. "fuck."

"You're so wet Y/N," he muttered, marveling at the state between your legs.

"All for you." You wiggled your hips trying to create more friction, but Doyoung took the extra step of lining himself with your core. Doyoung pushed himself into you slowly with a low groan. You were almost immediately overtaken by pleasure, eyes rolling back at the feeling of him stretching you out. He thrusted into you slowly, holding your hips with a tight grip on them.

"You feel so good, shit." He kept thrusting in you, your soft moans and whimpers permeating the air around you. You hadn't even realized that you were bouncing back onto him at the same time until he stopped, wrapping a hand around your neck as he whispered in your ear. "Keep fucking yourself on my cock princess. You're doing such a good job, making your boss happy."

"Y-yes Doie, i'll make you happy," you said in a choked moan as he squeezed your neck.

"Good girl," he murmured. He let go of your neck, looking down to watch you desperately move against him. He smacked your ass firmly as you started going faster, making you halt your movements. "Did I tell you to go faster?"

"N-no," you whined softly.

He grabbed your hair, pulling it as he started fucking you slow. Deep slow strokes made you whine loudly, cunt fluttering around him. You needed to cum, you wanted to cum so badly. You need him to fuck you hard and fast, but the painfully slow pace he had going was driving you insane.

"Faster Doyoung. Please," you cried out, but all he did was let out a deep laugh.

"Pretty little thing," he mumbled. Doyoung began thrusting in you hard and fast, making your jaw drop in pleasure as you arched your back to feel him more. "You like having a older man's cock in you?"

"Yes yes, I love it Doie," you whimpered weakly. Suddenly he pulled out of you m, leaving you with the feeling of emptiness, but not for long. He turned you around, manhandling you as he lifted you by your hips, placing you on the desk. Doyoung forced you legs open, pushing himself back into you without warning.

"Fuck," he groaned through gritted teeth. Doyoung watched you, scanning your body as you laid on the desk. He lifted your legs, pushing them to your chest as he fucked you at the same pace as before. He loved the faces and noises you made, couldnt take his eyes off you. The both of you never thought you would have this much chemistry, but everything feels perfect. Doyoung is fucking you like he's been doing it for years already, your body melting into his perfectly.

You reached down, rubbing your clit to reach your high. "Keep touching yourself, just like that baby," he groaned. The grip he has on your legs got tighter as he kept going, feeling himself closer and closer to cumming.

"I'm gonna cum Doyoung," you panted, rubbing you clit harder.

Doyoung's brows furrowed at the sensation of you squeezing around him, moaning softly. "Cum baby, cum for me. Cum all over my cock." His words were jumbled, slurred from all the pleasure he was taking. Doyoung moaned loudly, the feeling of you squeezing and cumming on his cock shooting through his body. Your body tensed beneath his, legs shaking as you whimpered his name over and over while cumming hard. Your lips were suddenly captured with his as he leaned down kissing your messily.

"I'm gonna cum Y/N, shit," he said on your mouth. Doyoung kept thrusting in you, making your eyes roll back form the sensitivity.

"Oh my god," you cried. Doyoung's movements became more erratic as he came closer and closer. Soon enough, doyoung was pulling out of you, cumming on your stomach, some ropes of white shooting to your chest.

Nothing but the sounds of deep breathes filled the air, the smell of sex all over the room. Your eyes were closed, so you didn't see Doyoung looking at you as if he saw an angel. He let go of your legs, wrapping an arm around the small of your back as he weakly lifted you into a seated position.

"That was…"

"Something," he finished with a small laugh. You looked at him, giving him a small smile as you sat trying to catch your breath.

"It's pretty late now I bet," he said, brushing his damp bangs back. Doyoung looked at you, then at your very naked state, covered in his cum. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

You didn't say anything, just looked at him with a tired smile. "Thank you for not cumming inside me at least."

"Why? You don't want my kid," he joked, grabbing tissues off his shelf. Doyoung handed you some tissues, letting you clean your self off as he fixed himself up.

"I'm 24. I'm not ready for kids," you laughed. You paused, looking at him through your lashes as he fastened his belt. "But I am ready for a relationship."

He smiled picking up his shirt from the floor. "Yeah?"

"Mhm," you answered.

"Well…that can be arranged," he said, fingers fumbling with his buttons. You moved his hands, looking at him as you buttoned his shirt, smirk tugging at your lips. "But are you serious about this? You're young, and I don't want you to feel obligated because you work for me."

"I don't feel obligated at all," you said calmly, carefully getting off the desk, your heels clicking with the floor. "I always liked you, and it obvious you liked me too."

He leaned against the floor to ceiling window crossing his arms as he watched you dress. Your small glances were making his heart race, something that hasn't happened since he was a teenager. He walked up to you, grabbing your hips as he kissed you deep, biting your lip softly.

"How do you usually get homw," he asked as he pulled away.

"An Uber."

"I'm I'm taking you home tonight okay," he said, making you nod. "Is that okay with you?"

"Anything you do is okay with me." Doyoung kissed your forehead, smiling to himself.

He never thought of himself as much as a lover, but maybe you'll pull it out of him. And he would love to see you try. All the years of trying to keep personal life and work separate gone to waste, but was it worth it? Hopefully, yes.

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