Doyoung Imagines - Tumblr Posts

fic rec ii ♡

part i here.

finally finished my exams, well kinda i have two more on monday but i’ll compile some fics na so that it’s gonna be a lot more than the last time. thank you for the likes and reblogs. 

also i just wanna ask the writers do i like like your fics or reblog or both? please do reply hehe, thank you again for making fics because it truly makes me happy. 

please free to recommend your favorite fic that i haven’t feature yet. i’m a sucker for dad!jaehyun and dad!jungkook, basically idols being a dad. also please recommend more yugyeom fics, i badly need yugyeom in my life rn. 

a for angst

f for fluff

s for smut

// for series or list

kpop oc/s

// sunhee by @sunhee-kpopoc (love her)

doyoung

17:22 | f s by @ethaeriyeol

no title | a by @slightlymore

collapsing together as the dawn breaks | f a by @slightlymore

sleep tight | f by @jaeminscoffee

jaehyun

for us | f by @kireimarkeu

// dad jaehyun | f s m @jaehyunspeachparty

no title | a by @sakuurae

1:06 am | s by @jeongvision

// preschool | a f by @jenojam

kiss me | f s by @taurusjaehyun

cinnamon and sugar | f s by @kthpurplesyou

the one with hangover | f by @mistymark

homebound | a f @kinqjaehyxn

love you goodbye | a s f by @serendipityseulgi

quit | a s f by @mskimkaty

no title | f by @smileysuh

9:36 pm | f by @dreamswithinadreaminadream

jungkook

game over | f s by @namgukgalore

make it right | s a by @jungkxook

late fee | f s by @1kook

no title | f s by @ubemango

no title | f s by @angelguk

quiet rides | f s by @inkedtae

// dad jungkook:  just like daddy,  petunia? petunia,  art sessions ft daddy’s tattoos,  late night rewards | f by @angelguk

private shows | s by @filterjeons

first time together | s a by @httpjeon

beast | f s a by @ephemeralkookie

// youtube!jungkook drabble list | f @bubmyg

no title | f by @bubmyg

put your head on my shoulder | f s by @joonkookiemonster

soft nights | f by @softguks

distractions | s by @1kook

sore | f by @kooks3uphoria

breathe | f s a by @ephemeralkookie

no title | s by @thirstybtsthoughts

sleepy | f s by @floralseokjin

over the edge | s by @kpopfanfictrash

warm me up | f s by @pjm-com

slightly jealous | f s by @floralseokjin

hotel room | s by @jungkookiebus

indulgence | f s by @ppersonna

hush | s by @aureumjeon

attachment: 1 image | s by @1kook

// crybaby 1 2 3 | f s by @lavishedinjimin

thigh time | f s by @zibermuda

be mine | a f s by @staerrylights

crush | f a by @jungxk

wake up call | s by @junghelioseok

trippin’ | s f by @koophoriia

netflix and chill | f s by @1kook

jeno

true love | s a by @whereisten

salty | f a by @tastyykpop

make me scream | f s by @neocitybynight

my first and last | f a by @tyongxnct

donghyuck’s trick | f s by @loviejaehyun

paraluma | f a by @neoiovebot 

final match | f a by @arietaurumini

haechan

to you | f by @kireimarkeu

lucas

where’s the ring | f by @wayvland

11:45 pm | f by @clubyukhei

no title | f by @bl--ankhaeji

all my first | f s m by @loviejaehyun

yuta

grass | f by @hyuckles-chuckles

taeyong

reasons why i can’t forget you | a f by @taeyongtime

finale of the longing heart | a f by @taeyongtime

johnny

braids | f by @hyuckles-chuckles

i’ll probably make part 3 and possibly 4 for the old fics that i’ve loved. 

anyway, thank you again for the writers please take care and be safe!

please free to recommend your favorite fic that i haven’t feature yet.

if the links won’t work please let me know and i’ll try to fix it as soon as possible!

to everyone! please take care and keep safe please!

last night on earth - i . | kdy

part ii, part iii

you soon find out that there are more dangerous things than the flesh-eating undead during a nationwide implosion. 

pairing: doyoung x reader verse: zombie apocalypse au rating: M for horror themes only ! genre/s: romance, horror/suspense warnings: brief but stil present mentions of and sometimes depictions of violence, mentions of and possible minor character death, language word count:  4.2k

author’s note: i have an unhealthy attachment to this fic and the plan i have for it so please don’t come for my neck !!!!!!!! i simply had to ;~;

It starts off at four in the afternoon with a series of emergency phone calls.

The first is a woman reporting an intruder in her house — nothing the department hasn’t handled before, and it just seems like an isolated criminal case, so they dispatch you and your partner, Youngho, to quickly investigate the situation. Even with Youngho’s less-than-lawful driving speed and his fulfilment of his desire to dramatically enter a house by kicking the door down when no one answers (because he’s always wanted to do that), you find the place lacking in commotion when you arrive. You don’t even have time to contemplate how eerily quiet the house is when both of your phones go off, and you hear the deputy chief’s voice, uncharacteristically ragged, yelling down your line.  

“You two better get your asses back to HQ,” he roars. Even with the volume of his voice, you can’t help but notice the phones ringing off the hook, trills constantly overlapping and being cut short by frantic co-workers answering them two at a time. “We’ve got emergency calls from all over the city, and now the mayor’s on the other line screaming at us to lock the whole city down.”

“A city lockdown?” You’re still expressing your shock to him when you feel yourself being dragged out of the house by Youngho’s unnaturally firm hand. It’s likely he’d gotten the same call from someone else, since he’s urging you to hurry up and get in the car, and he even helps you along by pushing down on your head and practically shoving you into the passenger’s seat. “What the hell for?”  

“Fuck if I know,” he says curtly. “Just hurry already. Chief wants to see everyone, but he wants to talk to both of you, too.”

“But we — ” the deputy chief hangs up before you can get another word out, which is just as well since Youngho had just floored the gas pedal, and the police car revs so loudly you actually feel your ears pop a little. “What the hell — who called you?”

“Chief,” Youngho answers. “Says we need to get back ASAP.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Yeah, and while he was at it, we had some tea and crackers, and chatted about the weather.” He throws you a patronizing look. “He barely got five angry words out before he hung up.”

“That’s pretty weird.”

“For the chief? Not really.”

You end up agreeing in silence, watching the houses zip by from your window. Everything looks scarily empty in this area; it’s mid-afternoon, though, so you don’t really make much of it, since most people tend to be out for work or just coming home from school at this time. You’re not even really sure why you feel like the street seems so eerie, but you end up brushing it off, allowing your mind to focus on more substantial things, like the sound of static that strengthens and weakens while Youngho fiddles with the police scanner.

That plan of distraction works out for about five minutes, at which point you see an old lady on the sidewalk get tackled to the ground by a flurry of limbs.

Your extremely loud curse word harmonizes with Youngho’s, and the back of your head hits the headrest of your seat hard as he slams down on the brake, the car skidding sideways as its inertia is interrupted and it quite literally swings off course, barely missing a lamppost. The both of you scramble out of the car, pulling out your handguns and positioning them, Youngho’s hand a little steadier than yours, even if you don’t really care to admit it.  

The elderly woman is on the ground, her grocery bags a few feet away from her arms, which are limp for the most part, save a finger or two twitching helplessly in their attempts to reach out at her fallen food. Her attacker, probably a middle-aged man in a business suit, is hovering over her, almost motionless in a pool of her blood that’s slowly creeping past his knees. You’re the first to cock your gun — you can’t imagine why he wouldn’t just run away, but you also can’t imagine why a sensibly dressed human being might go out of his way to attack a harmless old woman.  

Youngho’s gun clicks a few seconds after yours, but the man doesn’t seem to be fazed by it; in fact, he hardly seems to notice, especially since, upon slightly closer observation, he seems to be retching or something over her body. You can’t even mistake it for crying because the sounds are just downright disgusting. Even Youngho’s face, as you observe from the power of peripheral vision, is contorted into this slightly uncomfortable expression.  

You dare to step closer, and Youngho follows suit, but the guy doesn’t budge anyway, too busy probably vomiting over the poor lady to care. It takes all of your willpower not to wrinkle your nose, but the distressingly wet sounds coupled with the new stench that assaults your nose makes it pretty difficult.  

Your partner takes the initiative to speak, because you’re not entirely sure what to say at this point. “Put down whatever weapons you have and step away from the body, sir,” Youngho’s voice is just as steady as his hold on his gun, which is extremely admirable considering that neither of you still have any clue as to what this man is up to. “Any sudden movements or attempts to flee will be met with gunfire.”  

You think the man might start running (as is expected) or might freeze up and beg for mercy (as is also expected), but you don’t expect him to wheel around and sneer at you with blood dripping down his chin and a pearl from the old lady’s necklace trapped between his teeth. The front of his shirt has been ripped open, too, and there are scratches and wounds — bite marks??? — on his skin, many still fresh. His expression isn’t angry, or terrified, or guilty; all you can see on his face is the raging desire to rip the both of you apart with his bare, bloody hands, and he makes this guttural, almost animalistic noise to confirm your theory.  

At this point, neither of you can be expected to stay composed, so both of you let out a panicked appeal to the Lord, turn to instinct, and fire your weapons.

There’s a reaction from him, sure — your bullet hits his chest and Youngho’s hits his shoulder, and his torso kicks back at the force of the impact. He doesn’t topple over, though; he stays snarling at the both of you, maybe a little more perturbed, while the two bullet wounds leak out more blood, even though he doesn’t seem to care about that either.  

“What,” Youngho breathes out; he’s lost a lot of his nerve, and he’s lowered his weapon about halfway, his disbelief taking over. “What in the fuck.”

The sound of Youngho’s voice causes the man to turn sharply to him, teeth bared as wide as his mouth can allow. You don’t know what possesses you to shoot again, but your finger presses against the trigger before you can make a better decision, and the bite of the bullet against the side of his neck causes him to change his target, his murky eyes now fixing on you. He moves himself off his knees in a strangely limp fashion, at which point, the idea that something really isn’t right hits you, and you pull at Youngho’s arm, which has once again raised quickly in response.  

“We need to go,” your voice is weak. “Like, right fucking now.”

Youngho stepping back is enough to confuse the guy, who’s now looking back and forth between the both of you like he can’t decide which one he wants to start ripping apart first. The decision doesn’t seem to matter to him at the end of the day, though, because he eventually puts it aside and decides to charge at you with his arms out, screeching horribly, a trail of blood and saliva still hanging off his lips.

“Oh fuck me —“ Youngho manages to wheeze out, panickedly grabbing your arm as well and dragging you back towards the car. You both fumble with the door, and it doesn’t help that you can just hear the growling getting closer. A stream of swear words fills the car as Youngho shuts his door and tries to insert the keys into the ignition.  

“Hurry up,” you half-scream. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up —”

“Will you shut up?” He snaps, finally jamming the keys in and bringing the engine to life.  

“Youngho, go!”

“Shut up!”

Both of you yell when you feel something hit the driver’s side of the car; it rocks a little, and you see hands clawing at Youngho’s window, nails screeching against the glass; Youngho manages to hit the gas just as the man’s snarling head comes up into view, and you feel a slightly less heavy thud hit the vehicle again as you leave his battered body behind in a frenzy of smoke and dust.

Nothing much passes between you at first; you’re both breathing so heavily it kind of feels like you’re sucking up all the oxygen in the car. Both of you start (Youngho almost hitting the brakes in full again) when you phone starts ringing loudly.

“Where the hell are you two?” The deputy chief bellows; you can actually hear his enraged breathing punctuate his question for a brief second. “I told you to get back here right away!”

“Sir, there was this man that attacked —“

“I don’t care what you two have been doing! Just be here in the next five minutes!”  

Even the click of the phone sounds angry, and you let out a groan, tossing your phone onto the dashboard. “Whatever your speed is, double it.”

Youngho is still evidently a little shaken, and he complies without question on the matter, knuckles white as his hands grip the steering wheel. “What the hell just happened, ________________?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Mental illness? Drug abuse, maybe?”

“He was eating her. He’d chomped down on half of her neck muscles in a minute.”  

“I don’t know, Youngho,” you repeat. “Did you ever read that story about that guy who ate another guy in Florida? He was sick, too.”

“Yeah, but he was shot to death by the police,” he reminds you. “Which didn’t happen, in our case.”  

“Bulletproof vest?”

“He was bleeding, dumbass.”

You decide to let the insult slide given that it was obvious the both of you were dancing around on your last nerves. Crimes for personal gain were one thing;  petty theft, home intrusions, bank robberies were all pretty standard and, while unlawful, hardly gave you the kind of creeps you were experiencing now. Homicides were a slightly separate issue and much more disturbing, but you’ve never had to deal with a case of someone killing someone, eating them, and then refusing to die when shot. Until today, that is.  

The both of you sit through the rest of the car ride in silence, Youngho weaving his way through the traffic jam at the rotary. He ends up having to turn on the siren, but it’s of little help, and the deputy chief ends up having to call you again right as you’re pulling up to headquarters. He’s red in the face and about ready to gnaw your heads off when you rush in, breathless and apologetic.

“Can it,” he puts up a hand as you open your mouth to explain. “I don’t give a shit. The whole city’s on lockdown process right now. The mayor wants our full attention on keeping civilians safe from the crisis.”

“What crisis?” Youngho bursts out; he hardly talks over authority, which sort of shocks the deputy chief into a brief spell of silence. “Sir, we’ve just seen a man murder an innocent woman on the street, and he —“

“There are bigger issues than that,” the deputy chief snaps. “Big mobs and mass riots have been cropping up all over different districts. Jung-gu and Mapo-gu have already shut down. We’ve been getting reports that a horde of people have just started raiding and attacking establishments and offices. The entire subway system closed down, too. We’ve already sent out some people to help mitigate the fighting and a bunch of other corporals to watch the city borders. It’s like the fucking purge, except no one knows what started it.”

“So why does the chief need us?”

“Ask him; he’s on the phone with the mayor right now, but he’s also been looking for the both of you. Maybe the next time you two are given an order, you’ll actually do it on time.”

He jerks an annoyed thumb to the chief’s office before stalking off, pulling out his phone to yell at someone else. You and Youngho exchange a look of alarm before walking up to the door. A silent, irritating debate on who should knock ensues, ending when you smack his scissors away with your paper and rap shortly on the door.

“Come in.”

You turn the knob and let the door swing open before pushing Youngho inside; he makes a noise of protest he has to kill immediately when the chief looks up with a grim face, putting the phone back in to the receiver.

“I’m assuming Deputy Choi has already told you about the situation in the financial district.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond simultaneously.

“The mayor wanted the city locked down, but he also wanted some of our people looking after the officials in this city. I’m sending out some of our corporals to guard the senators and high-profile conglomerate business owners in Gangnam-gu.”

Once again, you and Youngho turn to each other in confusion. “But, sir, we’re not —“

“What I’m getting at,” he silences Youngho, who sucks in his lips so far back he looks like an elderly man. “Is that I’m promoting you two. We’re short a few people who can do this job right, and you’re two of the only officers with enough years under their belt to qualify to some degree.”  

“Um — thank you, sir,” you start. “But I still don’t understand what —“

“Do either of you two know anything about Kangwoo Logistics?”

“They’re a shipping and manufacturing company,” Youngho answers, then adds under his voice. “My refrigerator is from them.”

“The family that owns it is living in Gangnam; their CEO is living Gangnamdaero and their COO is in Apgujeong. Flip a coin to see who goes where; I don’t care. I need both of you stationed at their doors and ready to gun down anything that might come after them.”

“What’s coming after them, chief?”

He sighs deeply as he picks up the phone, avoiding your eyes as he punches in a number and responds to your question.

“Hell.”

You and Youngho play two rounds of rock, paper, scissors that ends in a 1-all win. He calls dibs on keeping the police car, and you get to choose Apgujeong because it’s closer to your parents’ house, just in case you need to take a shower or raid their fridge, or something. The entire building is going to be locked down as well since all the other officers are on duty, and you’re both cleaning out your locker when the deputy chief comes around and tosses two bulletproof vests at you.  

“Promotion gift,” he says gruffly. “You’re gonna need it.”  

“Thank you, sir,” Youngho picks up his and slips it on; it sits well on his shoulders, whereas yours almost drowns you. You throw the deputy chief a distressed look, and he has the decency to respond with a sheepish one.  

“We didn’t really have a lot of options on hand. You can just pad it out with an extra shirt.”  

“Sir,” you tug off the vest, setting it on top of your bag. “About this afternoon — Officer Seo and I were hoping to bring it up with you.”  

“What about it?”

“We saw a man attack an old woman. At first we thought it was just a…” you pause; you don’t even really know what it seemed like, let alone what it was. “We thought it was just a random murder, but when we got closer he —“

“Attacked you?” You nod slowly. “What did he do? To the old woman.”

“He was… he was… eating her, sir. It looked like he’d taken a bite out of her neck.”

You expect the deputy chief to look shocked or, at the very least, disgusted, but all he does is sigh heavily, like he’d gotten really disappointing news. “It’s been happening all over the city. People randomly attacking others; and they all end up acting like rabid animals.”  

“But what is it, sir?” Youngho pipes in.  

“We don’t know. No one really does. Which is why you have to keep a good watch out. The chief’s going to have your ass if anything happens to them.”  

“They’re not politicians or anything,” Youngho, who’s been admiring his reflection surreptitiously in his locker mirror, finally slips off the vest and stuffs it in his bag as well. “What makes them so important?”

“Beats me. But the mayor asked for some of our people to be sent over to them, so that’s what we’re doing.”  

He ushers you out, reminding you to keep your phone lines open at all times, and you and Youngho pile into the car once again, setting off for Apgujeong. You hardly hit any traffic now, which is fine time-wise, but it’s also not normal for Gangnam at this time — couple that with the fact that most places have closed shop.  

“Even Starbucks is closing,” Youngho remarks in some awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a closed Starbucks.”  

“Will you focus on driving? We really don’t need another death on our hands today.”  

“Just type the address,” he says snippily, shoving the paper in your face and letting you key in the street name. The GPS rattles out directions, taking you down Apgujeong Rodeo Street and into the more residential parts of town.  

“Jesus Christ,” you press your face against the window, jaw hanging open. “They even trashed the cinema.”

“So we have ourselves some… popcorn-loving cannibals? Like, maybe they use it as a side dish to human flesh.”

“That’s totally disgusting.”

“I was just trying to lighten the mood. I don’t think — what’s his name? Kim Doyoung-nim is going to appreciate his bodyguard not having a sense of humor.”

“Bodyguards aren’t supposed to have senses of humor,” you frown. “And I’m not a bodyguard. I’m a police officer.”

“Yeah, well, starting today you’re a bodyguard with a cool badge,” he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “We both are.”  

“We got a promotion, and you’re talking like this is the stupidest thing that’s ever happened in your career.”

“We got a promotion so we could be babysitters, ___________________,” he sighs, like he can’t believe you’re being this foolish. “Instead of being out there, helping people and saving the world, we have to coddle two rich dudes. We’re going to be going out and picking up their laundry and making sure they eat their vegetables before tucking them into bed. Please tell me what isn’t stupid about this situation.”

“They’re important people; the mayor asked for them to be protected.”

“Because they have a couple of cool boats and have a pretty good name in the kitchen appliances industry?”  

“I — just shut up,” you wave him off, folding your arms across your chest. He snorts, slowing down the car as he pulls into a narrow street with a row of huge houses. The street isn’t actually narrow by nature, but there are so many cars parallel parked on either side of the road that you feel like you have to suck in your stomach so that the police car can fit between them.

“Smell that? It’s the smell of pampered chaebol kids and the leather on their expensive sports cars.”  

“Give it a rest. Pull up here — right here.” You point to a mailbox with gold numbers on its side that match the address on the paper. “I think this is it.”

“Do you need help with any of your stuff?” Youngho calls out as you push the door open, and you wave off his question as you make your way to the trunk, pulling out your bag. You really do need to go to your parents’ place; apart from the vest, you only have one change of clothes and two pairs of socks. You make a mental note to call them about it.  

Youngho rolls down the window as you walk up to the mailbox, sticking his big head out. “Are you going be okay?”

“I guess so,” you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and pat your bulletproof vest reassuringly. “I should probably head in now. Let me know when you get to Kim Jungwoo-ssi’s house.”

“Yeah, I will. Let me know if Kim Doyoung-ssi’s house really does have six bathrooms, like I suspect it does,” Youngho laughs, but there’s no real mirth to his voice; it’s just for show, really. His expression softens when you don’t join in. “Don’t die, okay? I’ll kill you if you do.”

“Please,” it’s your turn to laugh, even if your voice is trembling a little. “You know we’re both invincible.”  

“Damn straight,” he ducks back into the car, rolling the window up. You stand on the sidewalk, waving at him, and you see the white of his palm wave back from inside the car as he drives away, trying really hard not to feel like this is some kind of last goodbye.  

You have to take two deep breaths to steady yourself before you walk up the driveway; Kim Doyoung clearly lives a comfortable life, with two sports cars parked in front of his house and a well — who the hell has a well in their damn garden? Maybe Youngho’s right — it’s wholly possible that this monstrously large mansion does have six bathrooms.

What it doesn’t have is a proper doorbell, however; you can see that there’s an intercom system with a camera, and it’s obvious that it would be the way to announce your presence, but you still spend two minutes checking out the door just to see if you can ring a more normal bell so you can avoid having to be seen by this guy without seeing him back. Of course, there’s nothing, so you either have to content yourself with the camera-bell system or knock.  

You can hear the trill of the music when you press the button; a couple of seconds later, you hear a male voice, a lot softer than you’d imagined, come through the speaker.  

“Who is it?”  

“Um — Kim Doyoung-nim? It’s Corporal ____________, from the Gangnam-gu Police Department.”

A soft sigh punctuates the brief and honestly awkward exchange; a couple of minutes later, the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with a young man. In his loose sweatshirt and pants, he doesn’t look like he could afford to pay the rent for one of the rooms of the house, let alone actually own it. Half his body is still behind the door; in the shadow it casts over him, you can barely see his face. The only indication that he is the guy you’re looking for is his question.

“How can I help you, officer?”  

“The mayor sent me. I’m here to protect you, sir.”

He’s clearly taken aback by this information because the door widens a fraction as he lets go of the knob. “Protect… me?”

“Yes, sir. There’s mass rioting going on in other parts of the district, so we need to secure your home right away.”  

He doesn’t respond immediately; you can hear the click of the knob as he turns it — once, twice, thrice. Finally, he sighs again, heavier this time.  

“I’m sorry for making you come all the way here, but you need to leave.”  

It’s your turn to be taken aback now, but you don’t express this feeling as silently; you sputter a little, whatever composure you had slipping off a bit more. “But — sir, my orders were to —“  

“I don’t need your protection,” he says more firmly now. “Good day to you, officer.”  

You can’t even imagine how thunderstruck your expression is when he shuts the door right in your face.  

last night on earth - ii . | kdy

part i, part iii

you soon find out that there are more dangerous things than the flesh-eating undead during a nationwide implosion.

pairing: doyoung x reader verse: zombie apocalypse au rating: M for horror themes only ! genre/s: romance, horror/suspense warnings: brief but still present mentions of and sometimes depictions of violence, mentions of and possible character death, language word count: 5.5k  

author’s note: interestingly while i was at work the other day i found my original 10 chapter + epilogue plan for this so i guess past!me was kind of a real one 

The next five minutes involve the tedious process of you gaping at the door while you attempt to come to terms with what had just happened, your jaw opening and closing like you’re a goldfish; you trying to ring the doorbell again and talk through the microphone even though you know it isn’t on; and giving up on that entirely and rapping on the door, your knuckles growing redder with each knock.

“Kim Doyoung-ssi. Kim Doyoung-ssi?” You call out in increasing levels of volume and intensity. “I think we’ve had a little bit of a misunderstanding. Can you — could you please open the door? Kim Doyoung-ssi?”  

Your knocking grows weaker as time passes, mostly because your fist is starting to experience some kind of burning sensation that can’t mean anything good; you can also tell that this pain is in vain and that your current tactic is totally ineffective considering you’re still not getting a response.  

From the corner of your eye, you see an open window, just over the well in the garden. You end up calling his name, face tilted towards the window in the hope that he can hear you better. Nothing happens, save for the curtain blowing a little in the wind. Even standing on the stool next to the well doesn’t give you any kind of clue as to where he is, so after a few more minutes of futilely calling out to him, you just march back to the front door.  

“I know you can hear me in there, Kim Doyoung-ssi!” You finally reach the breaking point of your patience, which had already been worn down by two trips across town and your having witnessed a full on inexplicable cannibal attack. “I’m staying right here!”  

You toss your bag to the side and slump down onto the marble patio, your back finally getting some damn relief when you lean back against the cold, varnished wood of his big doors. There’s nothing else for you to do apart from play games on your phone, so you pull it out to see a couple of texts from Youngho.  

[ incoming ] 영호- just got to gangnamdaero. kim jungwoo makes his brother look like a beggar looool [ incoming ] 영호- what’s going on w/ u

you make an incensed noise and type back your reply so angrily you think your screen might crack.  

[ outgoing ] asshole won’t let me into his house!!!!!!

The more you think about it, the more your irritation grows; you can’t see a reason why he wouldn’t want some extra security. Was his entire property booby trapped, or something? What made him so complacent? And who turns down extra security that’s being offered to you for free? The only explanation you can come up for it is that he’s somehow convinced he doesn’t need your protection or doesn’t think you can do a good job of providing it for him, which just opens up another can of worms. South Korea isn’t really well-known for letting women take up civil protection positions. This is all just guesswork, of course, but even considering that he might think you’re not qualified to be his — as Youngho would put it — babysitter because you’re a girl is really riling you up.

Your phone trills again, signaling a new message from Youngho.

[ incoming ] 영호 - what do you mean he won’t let you in

[ outgoing ] i mean i’m just sitting out here after he shut the door in my face

[ incoming ] 영호 - does he know you’re a police officer? maybe he thinks ur just trying to get into his pockets [ incoming ] 영호 - or his pants lol jk just ring the doorbell again and tell him the mayor sent you [ incoming ] 영호 - kim jungwoo has an indoor pool

[ outgoing ] can you not text so smugly

[ incoming ] 영호 - i’m trying but he did just say i could use it whenever so it’s kind of hard

[ outgoing ] so much for protecting him

[ incoming ] 영호 - nothing’s going on here. It’s all clear. maybe the whole crisis is over? kind of like seasonal flu

[ outgoing ] you just want to go swimming

[ incoming ] 영호 - yeah i REALLY do ttyl gonna do a perimeter check

So much for Youngho criticizing all the rich people. You look up at the doorbell, wondering if you should try ringing it again, but the thought of doing so somehow makes you feel itchy on the inside. In the end, you decide to follow in Youngho’s footsteps and do a perimeter check, except you sort of feel like an intruder trying to figure out the right way to break into Kim Doyoung’s house. He has a pretty wide backyard with a substantially diverse bed of flowers, but there’s nothing much special here; it’s more typical “city-rich boy that spends more time outside” than outright ostentatious and lavish — at least, in comparison to what Youngho must be seeing, considering he’s already found an indoor pool. You count his windows, and none of them are open save the one, so it’s either he has a centralized air-conditioning system or he’s suffering in stuffiness because he just doesn’t want you inside. The latter possibility makes you feel a little better.

All in all, you note nothing out of the ordinary; you circle back to the front door in about ten minutes. You only note a couple of high-risk things: first, his house has a number of large windows that are latch-based, which means that anyone with decent knowledge on tools and how basic mechanisms work can probably break into his house, but he must have some kind of alarm system, considering how loaded he is. Second, and more importantly, a couple of rooms in his house are more glass than any other kind of material; while more of a natural disaster risk than anything else, you can’t rule out the fact that a mass attack on this place might use those rooms as an entry point. Heck, a couple of well-aimed bullets and those rooms become part of his backyard.  

You’re technically supposed to report all of this to him, but it’s not like you can at this point, so you just sit back down and take out your phone again. Youngho must be having the time of his life with a guy willing to give him a roof over his head for the night and a dip in his cool indoor pool while you have to figure out how you’re going to sleep on your clothes and use them tomorrow morning. You think about asking him to come pick you up or something or to at least tell Kim Jungwoo to talk some sense into his brother, but both of those options sound childish, which is why you end up putting them aside and just playing stupid match-three games.

The sun is more than halfway down when you get tired of playing; the street is still as quiet as it had been when you’d arrived, save for the crickets, but the slowly growing darkness makes the silence seem so much more sinister. You’re torn between ringing the doorbell again just to beg or running over to a convenience store to get some extra underwear and some beef jerky for the night when your phone rings, almost scaring you into screaming. It isn’t Youngho, like you’d initially assumed; it’s the deputy chief.  

“Corporal Seo told me you’re having some issues.” He sounds exasperated, like he can’t believe he still has to supervise you even until this point.  

“Um,” you can’t keep the sheepishness out of your voice. “A… little.”

“A little? I hope you’re not wasting anyone’s time here.”

“Kim Doyoung-ssi isn’t… keen on being protected. He sent me away.”

“God. Don’t tell me you actually left,” he groans.  

“No — I’m just out here.” You reply lamely. “At his front door.”

“Well, good. Stay there if you have to. I’ll tell someone to come check on you and bring you any necessities once we have a warm body to spare, but it’s not looking likely. We’re getting non-stop reports of escalation in Seollung and Samseong. Yeongdong-daero is practically a war zone now. More dead than alive there. We’re not dealing with anything normal here, so you need to be on your toes at all times.”

“Sir — what do you mean, not anything normal?”

“That attack you and Corporal Seo mentioned this afternoon? It’s not an isolated case. More and more people are turning rabid, like they’re sick and they’re infecting others by attacking them.” He pauses, and you’re sure it’s not for dramatic effect, but it still ends up dramatic when he continues. “They’re indiscriminate, vicious, and fast. There’s no easy way to gun them down. And the people they kill? They don’t stay dead for very long, either.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Are you a religious woman, corporal?”

“Not particularly.”

“Might want to start picking up a Bible if you have the time.” His consequent chuckle is dark, half-hearted, and leaves you more disturbed than amused. “Keep steady at your post. We’ll update you when we can get a man out there. In the meantime, make sure nothing happens to Kim Doyoung-nim.”  

You hang up with the feeling that you would have preferred it if Youngho had called, even if it were just to gloat about floating around in a nice, safe indoor pool. With a groan, you lean your head back against the door, watching the last of the sun dip down beneath the horizon. Somewhere on the second floor, a room is lit, and the light provides you with the minimal comfort that you’re, at least, not entirely alone.  

Seconds morph into minutes, and the minutes blend into the long stretch of an hour; you shift positions here and there, trying to not let your feet fall asleep in case you have to get up quickly, but, so far, your left leg is refusing to cooperate. At one point, you hear rustling near the hedges, and you have to deal with trying to get off your ass without putting too much weight on your foot, but it turns out to be a false alarm halfway through when a stray cat peers out, gives you a tiny glare, and stalks off to bother someone else’s trash.  

A little over an hour passes, which leads you to start thinking about long-term options, but even that train of thought is totally derailed by the fact that you really want to get cleaned up. You’re weighing how much of your dignity you’ll have left if you use the well as your last-resort shower stall when the door suddenly opens; you jackknife off it just in time to avoid falling backward onto Kim Doyoung’s feet.  

“You’re still here.” He observes softly, watching you scramble up and silence your phone, which had just been obnoxiously playing music at the highest volume. “Why?”  

“Like I said, I’m staying right here. My job is to protect you, so I’m doing just that.”  

“And you’re doing this to the grating tune of Sunmi’s Siren?”

“Well, I —“ you have to stop yourself from defending your musical tastes, but in the time it takes you to switch from an indignant mindset to a more professional one, he cuts you off again.  

“I’m not comfortable with a stranger sitting outside my front door overnight. And, like I said, I don’t need your protection. You would be doing us both a favor if you just went home, officer.”  

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” you say, inwardly pleased that your voice has regained a lot more of the firmness you need to make your point. “The mayor asked the police department to watch over you and your brother. This is me, acting on an order.”

“If you’re meant to be my bodyguard —”

“I’m not your bodyguard,” you bristle. Something like amusement passes across his face.

“If you’re meant to be protecting me, then you’re, in a sense, contractually bound to me. That means that I’m currently first in the line of authority. Just think of this as me… retracting the contract early.”  

“That’s really not how this works.”  

“Have a good night, officer,” he makes to shut the door again, but your irritation from the absurdity of the situation as well as your desperation to sit on a surface that isn’t just marble floor causes you to stick your foot in the doorway, effectively stopping it from closing all the way. Kim Doyoung looks down at it in some surprise.  

“Kim Doyoung-ssi, I don’t think you understand. The entirety of Seoul is on lockdown. There are people randomly killing other people with their bare hands in the street. These people — they’re turning into monsters that can’t be killed. I don’t know if this is a blow to your pride, but if I were offered protection from something like this, I’d take it gladly.”

“I know what’s going on,” he frowns. “I’ve been watching the news. And it doesn’t look like you’d be able to stop anything from coming after me, so why risk it?”

Your lips press into a thin line. “If you’re so bothered by it, then I can call the department and ask them to send their first free male officer to your house as soon as possible. But for now, you’re just going to have to deal with me.”

“What — no,” he has the audacity to laugh, and even in the cloud of annoyance that surrounds you, you notice that it’s a laugh that doesn’t really suit him. Guys tend to laugh loudly, without restraint, and oftentimes, sort of… ugly. Not this guy — the chuckle he creates is all teeth and soft sounds, sort of like he’s holding himself back. “It’s not because you’re a woman. I’m sure you’re just as capable as anyone else. I just don’t see the point in added security. That just means one more person dying because of me.”

“Like I said,” you repeat the phrase that’s sort of becoming trademark in this interaction. “It’s my job. We’re supposed to be putting our lives on the line for civilians — which, I think, include you.”  

“So you’re okay with that? Dying because of a stranger?”

“Dying because I’m doing what I have to — what I love to? That doesn’t sound bad to me, Kim Doyoung-ssi.”

“That’s very noble of you, officer,” his consequent smile isn’t as genuine as his laugh; it hardly reaches his eyes. “But I’m not keen on watching someone else die for me and living with the guilt that comes after that. I already have a lot on my plate as it is.”  

“Well, that just means I’ll have to do everything I can to keep us both alive, right?”  

Silence blossoms between the two of you; his fingers are rolling the doorknob idly, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Finally, he lets out a characteristically heavy sigh and opens the door a little wider.  

“I’m not comfortable with you staying outside, so you can stay tonight. I’ll call the mayor tomorrow and talk to him about duty relief for you.”  

You catch yourself just before you make a noise of relief and hurry to pick up what little you’ve brought. He’s already halfway inside when you straighten up, but he’s left the door open for you, so you quietly make your way in, shutting and locking the door behind you.  

“Living room, kitchen, study, bathroom, den,” he points to each room nonchalantly. You can hear noise coming from somewhere upstairs — probably a television opened to the news. “But you already knew that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Or was I wrong in assuming that you weren’t figuring it out when you were snooping around my house?”

“Wha —hold on, I was doing a perimeter check,” You say defensively. “I didn’t make a detailed map.”  

There it is again — that suppressed ghost of a laugh that comes one second and is completely gone the next. “Just trying to lighten the mood a little.”  

“My sense of humor isn’t that sharp.”  

“I can tell,” he turns away from you, making his way up the stairs before stopping halfway, raising an arm to point to the door closest to the landing. “This is my room. Feel free to use any other guest room tonight. Oh — except for the one furthest down the hall.” The puzzled look on your face probably gives away the fact that you’re thinking he must be full of ugly or kinky secrets, and while you don’t verbalize any of these thoughts, his response suggests that he read your expression accurately. “It’s my girlfriend’s room. She has a lot of valuable stuff there, and she prefers it when they’re left untouched; she’s really particular about that.”

“Is your girlfriend on the premises?”  

“Not now, no. She only stays occasionally, when work brings her into Seoul. Most of the time, she lives with her family in Daegu.”  

“Oh. I see.” You have no idea what to say to this, and he doesn’t invite any more conversation either, so you spend another minute staring at each other before you lamely announce, “I’ll… be checking the perimeter, then.”

“I thought you already did that.” He’s amused again.

“I meant — security systems. Here. Inside. Reinforcement planning.”

“Reinforcement?”

“Your glass rooms are just begging to be shattered.” You explain.  

“Poor architectural choices back when I first bought this place. But I’m assuming you’re not planning to nail bits of wood to them.”

“No, but I can see if we can install some kind of frontline barrier outside them. Do you have a CCTV system?”

“Not at the moment.” You stop yourself from asking what kind of rich guy doesn’t have a security system, but you once again assume he’s already anticipated that question through his follow-up statement. “Up until very recently, this has been a very safe neighborhood. No anomalies, no strange people hanging around my property until today.”  

“I did find an intruder cat a while ago,” you take a stab at being funny. That weak little smile creeps back onto his face.  

“I wasn’t talking about the cats.”  

Even though you’re supposed to put security first, you end up just idly milling around the glass room previously identified as the den — which is about the size of your apartment, probably — thinking of how much you want to shampoo your hair and how much you would actually kill to have some corn cheese from the nearest GS25. The moment you hear Kim Doyoung’s bedroom door close, you hurry up the stairs. It only takes you one other try to find a guest room (the first attempt being a pretty sizable bathroom) and five minutes to rid yourself of your sticky uniform and hop into the shower.  

You come out feeling like a decent human being again about fifteen minutes later, and your mood takes a pretty big spike upwards for about two seconds, up until your singular set of clothes reminds you that you’re really only here for one night, and you have no clue how you’re going to explain being relieved of the one job you were promoted for not even 24 hours in. You’re toweling your hair dry in an increasingly aggravated manner when your phone starts blaring again, and it’s actually Youngho this time.  

“Turn the video on,” he says, inappropriately gleeful. “I want to see you roughing it outside.”  

“I’m inside, you dick,” you snap, rejecting his request to switch to video twice. “Don’t you have a job to do?”  

“Yeah, and it’s going really well, thanks for asking. How’d you get him to let you in?”

“I didn’t really. He just sort of gave up on keeping me out. He says he’s going to call the mayor tomorrow and ask him to retract the order.” You pause before finally letting your anxiety get the best of you. “You don’t think I’m going to get demoted for this, right?”

“I doubt it,” Youngho, for the most part, actually sounds genuine. “It’s not like it’s your fault that Kim Doyoung-ssi is all about doing things himself. Worst case scenario is that you’ll get reassigned to some other similarly stuffy, rich, and ancient guy.”

“He’s, like, our age.”

“I know. You’re missing my point entirely. Just stop worrying.”  

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh, tossing the wet towel into the hamper. You’ve forgotten your comb, so you just wing it and go out of your room, haphazardly running your fingers through your hair to tame it to a degree. “So have you had any problems on your end?”

“Not at all. It’s way quiet here. Actually, I’m pretty sure half the people in this neighborhood don’t care that there’s something going on outside. There was a couple hosting a barbecue on their front lawn an hour ago. You?”  

“Nope, all clear here, so far.” The television sounds are louder this time, and they’re no longer coming from Kim Doyoung’s bedroom; they’re coming from the living room now, and the volume is up to full blast. You peek over the banister, but the owner of the house isn’t on any of the couches. “Just an empty street, the same way we found it.”

“I hope that means we can leave soon.”

“Yeah, because you’re having such a difficult time with Kim Jungwoo-ssi’s swimming pool there.”

“He’s got table football here,” he sounds pleased again. “And my guest room has a TV bigger than any of the walls in my apartment.”

“The shower in my room has nice water pressure,” you argue, taking slow steps down the stairs. “Also, I feel like you’re not really doing your job that well.”

“That’s very hurtful, and I’d like to bring this up during partner therapy next week.”

“I’ll let you, if we actually make it through the week.” You finally reach the bottom of the stairs. Youngho’s wheeze of a laugh brings a tiny, tired smile to your face.

“That’s very optimistic of you.” You’re about to bite back when you hear a brief clatter and a weak groan coming from the kitchen. Alarmed, you don’t even bother to hang up on Youngho; he’s still talking about the view of the city from his really big window while you hurry to the source of the noise. You don’t have your gun on hand, so you make do by grabbing an umbrella from the rack by the front door and rushing into the kitchen, holding it aloft.

You almost whack Kim Doyoung with his own umbrella, but you luckily stop yourself before it comes to that. There’s a metal spatula on the floor, and right next to it is a pan on its side, resting on the front of his oven and a half-cooked egg spilling out from its edge, the yolk slowly crawling towards your feet.  

“I’m… going to call you back,” you tell Youngho, who’s still babbling about how great Kim Jungwoo(’s house) is when you hang up.  

“The handle was hotter than I expected.” Kim Doyoung sounds abashed. For some reason, this makes him look… less intimidatingly closed-off and a little more personable. “I should have gotten a towel, or something.”

“Or an oven mitt,” you agree, tugging at the hand towel hanging on the refrigerator handle and picking up the pan. He watches you a little helplessly before deciding he’s being kind of useless and picking up the spatula, using it to edge the pan slowly into the kitchen sink. You both take handfuls of tissue to wipe off the mess of egg on the floor, but all you seem to be doing is spreading it around a little more, so you end up going for a quick solution method and pouring isopropyl alcohol onto it and letting a new batch of tissues soak it up.  

“I don’t want to sound like I’m telling you how to do your job,” he starts slowly. “But don’t cops usually have guns?”

“I was improvising,” you hide the umbrella behind your back. “I left my gun upstairs, and I thought you might have been in trouble.”

“Oh. In that case, I’m sorry for worrying you.”  

“I also don’t want to sound like I’m telling you how to do your job, especially because I, quite frankly, don’t even really understand what that is,” you toss the egg-wet tissues into the bin. “But wouldn’t someone who cooks with a pan that has a metal handle know that they have to hold their pans with protection?”  

“I don’t cook in this house,” he looks a little sheepish now. “I never have.”

“Personal chef, then?”

“No. I just eat out. All the time.”  

“So this huge kitchen space with its fancy appliances is basically your girlfriend’s territory only.“

“Actually, it just came with the house. No one really uses it. Well, until I tried to right now.”  

It dawns on you that the embarrassment shining through his face might be the product of him botching a meal he was trying to cook for you. It’s almost laughable, but you think it’s way too mean to even smile, considering the gesture was pretty polite, although the results were disastrous in themselves. “Let’s… try not to break the tradition of you not using your kitchen tonight. Did you really want an egg for dinner, or was that just a spur of the moment choice?”

“It was more of a that’s the only thing I have in my fridge choice,” he chuckles softly.  

“I guess it would be good to stock up on everything tomorrow if we — you, I mean — are going to be holing up here for the foreseeable future.” You try not to sound too bitter about having a deadline for when you have to leave, even if it kind of hurts your pride, but Kim Doyoung’s face morphs into something apologetic as he slowly rinses the pan and the spatula. “I can do that before I leave. It’d be better if you didn’t leave your house, just to be safe.”  

“How will you get to the grocery, though?”  

“I’ll ask someone to give me a ride.”  

“The person you were on the phone with?” He dries the pan off and sets it on the induction stove again. “Was that your boyfriend?”

“Oh — no, that was my partner. He’s with your brother right now, actually.”  

“I see.” He pauses like he’s weighing out his options before asking, "How is my brother? Is he doing okay?”  

“From what my partner told me, he’s fine. More than fine, actually. Youngho’s been enjoying your brother’s house since he got there.”  

He lets out a soft breath that could probably pass off as a laugh. “That’s good, I guess.”  

You don’t want to entertain an off-handed answer with anything to open another short-lived conversation, so you just go to the refrigerator, opening it to find, as expected, nothing more than a carton of eggs, some pomegranate juice, and a chocolate bar with a ribbon on it. You survey the rest of the kitchen for any indication of rice, but you can’t even see a rice cooker, so you decide you should just double up on the eggs.  

“I’m sorry,” he ends up creating his own conversation starter as you nudge the eggs around with the spatula. “For putting even this on you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you’re sincere about this, and you hope it translates in your tone. “They’re just eggs. And I guess making sure we don’t starve to death is kind of like protection in a way.”

“All the same, thank you, officer.”  

“You’re welcome, Kim Doyoung-ssi. And it’s just ______________. Officer makes it sound like I’m arresting you.”

“Then it’s just Doyoung. Kim Doyoung-ssi makes it sound like you work for me.”

“According to you, don’t I?” His laugh is muffled as he ducks down to get two plates. You use the spatula to stab a haphazard half-line between the eggs, and you tip a serving onto each plate, which he then brings to the kitchen table. “Since you don’t cook, maybe it would be better if I got you some pre-packed food.”  

“Like?”

“Like ramyun. Or chicken wraps. Or those soup packets where all you do is add water.”  

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to not do that well, but the other things sound good,” he concedes. “I haven’t had ramyun in ten years, at the least.”  

“It’s good when you add egg to it. Or you can add kimchi. We should probably get you that, too.”

“I think that should be first priority,” he agrees, stabbing into his eggs; he inhales them to consume, like they’re noodles, which is an admittedly amusing sight. “Considering that’s the lifeblood of every Korean.”

“That, and rice, which you don’t seem to have in here.”  

“I don’t cook, remember? I can’t even remember the last time I used a rice cooker on my own.”

“Well, if you have one, I could teach you before I leave.”  

“That… would be appreciated,” he says slowly, starting to look uncomfortable as he slows down his eating.

“Um — are they not cooked well?” You ask, worried.  

“No, it’s not that. It’s just — I don’t want you to think I’m asking you to leave just because —“  

A loud banging interrupts him, and you both turn your attention to the living room. Doyoung is halfway up from his seat when you shoot up as well, holding out a hand to stop him from going to get the door. He, in turn, gives your umbrella a nervous and unconvinced look as you pick it up and head for the front door.  

It’s not even polite knocking; it’s the sound of someone’s fist assaulting the (very nice) wood of the front door — fast, heavy, and alarming. The closer you get to it, the clearer the voices behind it become.  

“Open up!” The words are slightly muffled, but there’s no mistaking the frantic tone. “Open up, please! Is anyone home? Hello? Someone, please — anyone, please let us in!”

Your hand is on the doorknob before you can think, but something stops you just before you turn it. Keeping Kim Doyoung safe is the highest priority right now, and opening his home up to strangers isn’t exactly at the top of the “what keeps people out of trouble” list. Even if the people behind this door are desperate, you wonder if, with everything that might be going on outside, you should be taking risks like this.  

Your fears are only solidified when the pounding on the door gets louder and more aggressive, punctuating troubling words. “Help us! Please, open the door — they’re coming after us, please!”  

You let go of the doorknob, watching it rattle for a second with the intensity of the knocking, before you move your hand to the deadbolt, fumbling with the little weight on the anchor. You’ve just about slipped it into place when Doyoung’s voice stops you.

“What the hell are you doing?” He demands; there’s no trace of quiet in his words now, and it’s so unlike how he’s been talking to you that it actually causes you to freeze. “Let them in!”

You throw him a look that you sincerely hope suggests how indignant you feel that he’s so willing to let random people in his house when you’d sat waiting for hours outside. “We can’t let people in here that you don’t know. That’s a cardinal rule in keeping you out of harm’s way.”

“They said they need help,” he presses. “Let them in.”

“Kim Doyoung-ssi,” you grit your teeth. “I don’t think you understand —“

“They said something’s after them. They could die out there. Are you going to have that kind of blood on both of our hands?”

The yells on the other side of the door are becoming somewhat incoherent; there’s probably at least two people out there, considering the rate at which the knocks are coming. Your fingers tighten on the deadbolt as you stare at Doyoung, whose expression is unwavering.

“Let them in, officer.”  

A sharp hit to the door breaks you out of your momentary trance, and you groan in frustration as you tug the deadbolt back and yank the door open.

Three bodies collapse onto the floor; you have to step out of the way as the tangle of limbs and heads scrambles into the living room. One guy is pretty much out cold, with another tugging him by the shoulders deeper into the house. The other gets to his feet, trying to get his bearings before fixing his eyes on you.

“Close the door, close the fucking door —“ He yells, panicked. “Hurry, close it!”

You don’t even get a good look at what’s beyond the foyer before your instincts just tell you to slam the door shut; you finally put the deadbolt in place. Another body slams into the wood, but this time, no words follow.

Only vicious snarls, chillingly familiar, come from the other side of the door. 

last night on earth - iii . | kdy

part i, part ii

you soon find out that there are more dangerous things than the flesh-eating undead during a nationwide implosion.

pairing: doyoung x reader verse: zombie apocalypse au rating: M for horror themes only ! genre/s: romance, horror/suspense warnings: brief but still present mentions of and sometimes depictions of violence, mentions of and possible character death, language word count: 7.6k  

author’s note: been a hot minute since i’ve done anything on this blog thanks to real life issues but A PERFECT UPDATE FOR HALLOWEEN METHINKS!!!!!!!!!! enjoy october, everyone! it’s almost the end of the year and you made it through such a tedious year <3

“Is everyone okay?”  

You turn to find the three newcomers in a heavily panting huddle; one of them is on the floor, his hand clutching his thigh. Kim Doyoung is in front of them, arms outstretched; it’s clear he wants to help them somehow, but he also doesn’t know how to. The result is him looking like a half-hearted scarecrow that’s, for some reason, breathing as heavily as them.  

You can’t blame him, though; you notice that your own chest is heaving, and your grip on the umbrella is so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if your fingers made permanent dents on the handle.  

The one who’d been urgently yelling at you to close the door is who responds with a brief but firm nod.  

“Thank you,” his voice sounds coarse, like he hasn’t drunk water for days. “You saved our lives.”  

“We just opened the door,” Doyoung says, voice back to its normal quiet and fairly calm state. “Hardly heroic.”

“Still more than what anyone else has done for us. We’d been trying to find someone who’d help us for more than an hour. We would have died if you hadn’t opened the door.”  

Doyoung spares you a tiny glance that you don’t meet; you turn your back to him, now locking the deadbolt without protest or interruption. When you face the group again, your eyes land on the floor; the other guy hasn’t picked himself up, and his head is resting precariously on the knee of one of his companions, face contorted in pain.

“What’s wrong with him?” You ask, using the umbrella to point to him.

“Like I said,” the first guy’s voice grows a little softer, and maybe a little sadder. “We’d been running for a while. Those things that were after us… well, they were a lot more aggressive than we thought they would be. We got jumped near Gangnam Station, and one got its teeth into Sungchan’s leg. He’s more or less okay, apart from the fact that it’s been getting harder for him to walk, which is why we needed to find someplace safe to stop.”

Those things. The source of all of this chaos was still shrouded in mystery. Your mind briefly flashes back to your disgusting encounter with that cannibal businessman, digging his teeth into that poor lady’s skin, and you press a finger to your mouth briefly to stop the little egg you’ve ingested from coming back up. It’s Doyoung’s voice that brings you back to reality.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I’ll help you upstairs, and you guys can clean up and rest.”  

He takes Sungchan’s legs, and the other two take him by the shoulders again; you cringe at the horrible sound of pain that he makes. They make some sort of haphazard human gurney, slowly easing him up the stairs. You’re still frozen for the most part, watching them haul what is essentially dead weight up the stairs while emotions assault you every which way. Deciding standing in front of the stairwell is pretty unproductive, you make your way back to the kitchen, ditching the umbrella back in its receptacle on your way.  

The eggs are still on your plates; Kim Doyoung’s plate is almost as untouched as yours, and you pick up your fork, debating on whether or not to continue eating. It’d be a waste to not, especially since there’s not much food left and you’re slowly starting to realize that it really won’t be too easy to procure more food in the state the city is in at the moment. Still, you’re out of an appetite, and you don’t think it would be nice to offer this food to guests considering it’s been touched to some degree. The end result is you simply having a staring contest with your eggs, fork tightly in hand.  

The house is quiet; someone, probably Doyoung, likely turned off the television, since you can’t even hear the faint drone of the news channel. You let out a heavy sigh and are a little surprised when it comes out so sharp that you actually feel a bit of pain in your nose.  

You’re… angry. No — it’s not that intense of a feeling. Maybe frustration is better — frustration stemming from confusion is bubbling up in your stomach.  

Your job is to protect the people; you know this, live by it as much as you can. That, on its own, made the choice you should have taken at the door simple. People were in trouble, and you should have helped them. But you also had a huge job; you had to protect this one particular person, and letting strangers in, risking his life in opening that door really was not the way to do it. Still, did that mean that you were supposed to prioritize Kim Doyoung’s life just because he was richer? Did not doing your assignment also mean you were doing something wrong? And were you really supposed to save everyone just because you felt that was your job?

The headache you gave yourself caused you to stab a piece of egg on your plate viciously before taking your plate up off the table. When you turn to head for the garbage disposal, though, you find Kim Doyoung standing at the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.  

Nothing comes to mind for you to say, so you just place the plate down onto the counter.  

“You don’t have to feel bad. About hesitating to open the door. I get it.”

“I don’t feel bad,” you lie, tossing the fork back onto the plate; the clatter it makes is loud and obnoxious. “I still don’t think we should have let them in. My job is to protect you.”

“I’m safe, aren’t I?” He lets out an incredulous laugh that lacks mirth as a whole. It’s once again a little uncharacteristic for him, but it comes and goes so quickly that you don’t have time to dwell on it either.  

“You won’t be for long if I have to keep opening the door for everyone that knocks. You’re the number one priority here, and your house isn’t a fortress for everyone to hole up in. The more we let people in, the more you’re exposed to problems, and I’m supposed to stop that from happening.”

“You said yourself that you’re not my bodyguard. This is a temporary job.” He steps further into the kitchen. “You’re a cop. That doesn’t change just because you’re under my roof. If you want to protect people, protect them — people like them. I’d prefer it. It’d be for the best.”  

“I can’t save everyone either. That’s just not how it works. If the mayor wants you alive, there has to be a good reason, and I’m not going to be the one that gets you killed by poor decisions.”  

“And you’re going to be okay with that? Knowingly letting people die because you have to protect some guy you’ve never met and don’t care about?” He presses, his mouth giving way to the thinnest, slightest of frowns.  

You’re taken aback, to say the least. You hadn’t been expecting gratitude, but you also weren’t expecting a lecture — at least not one from someone other than you. This only exacerbates your frustration, and you end up feeling slightly defiant.

“Yes, I’m okay with that,” it feels like a lie again, but your pride is swelling to immense proportions. The only thing you can do is tell yourself that your answer is the right one. “If that’s what it takes, then yes. Sacrifices are sometimes necessary.”  

“Well, I’m not okay,“ he says firmly. “I can’t live knowing people died because of me. And I’m aware that I don’t deserve to be saved at the expense of others, so don’t go through the trouble.”  

There it is again — that strange, darkly heroic aura he gives off, that he’s not worth protecting. The silence that falls between you is interrupted somewhat by the groans and footsteps coming from upstairs. The entire house feels stuffy now, and not just because there’s more than double the occupants there had been an hour ago.

“Look,” Doyoung manages to break the silence again, a heavy sigh leaving him. He’s rubbing his face, and when his hand falls back to his side, you note the darkness around his eyes. “Forget it. It’s… we’re all on edge, obviously. We just need to rest.”

“You go ahead,” your words are terse, voice distant and robotic. “I need to… do other stuff. Update my partner. I’ll clean up here.”

It sounds like a load of bullshit, and it’s clear that he doesn’t buy it, but he nods anyway, slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out what to say. Instead, he settles on the expected, mundane answer.  

“Goodnight, offi — goodnight, _______________.”

You watch his back as it retreats, and you just stand in front of the counter for what feels like forever before you hear his door shut. Your body goes on autopilot, taking his plate and dumping the eggs, making a half-hearted mental note to figure out what the safest route to the nearest grocery store is after this.  

You do the dishes, only slightly derailed by the fact that there is literally no dishwashing rack out; it kind of makes sense that he wouldn’t have to do the dishes if he doesn’t eat here, you realize, but the thought of that doesn’t curb the annoyance you feel when you have to scale the kitchen counter to reach the rack, which is perched on the highest shelf of one of his cupboards.  

By midnight, you’re worse for wear; you head up to your room and take your phone out again, noticing that Youngho had called you a couple of times and even texted. When you try to call him back, though, it just rings out, which is kind of weird, since he usually has his phone at the ready for any emergencies. You want to worry, but the numbness that comes with tiredness convinces you that he’s probably just enjoying Kim Jungwoo’s hot tub or peeing, or something. 

“Sorry,” you yawn into your phone after his voicemail beeps. “Had a situation over here. We have three new civilians to take care of. Unfortunately, Kim Doyoung’s house has become a human sausage fest.” You pause because you know he’s going to need a bit of time to laugh at that; a small smile grows on your lips too, despite it feeling inappropriate for the situation. That smile slips off the moment you hear soft, pained moans and muffled voices coming from the other room, and you realize that the injured guy is probably next door. “Front yard’s currently compromised, but I’ll check in the morning again, since there aren’t much disturbances, for some reason. Call me when you get this.”

Tossing your phone away, you roll over in bed. There’s still something nagging at you about what Doyoung had said, telling you that you need to give it some kind of attention, but your exhaustion causes you to reject it, and you fall into a dreamless but still somehow troubled sleep.  

Youngho calls at around half-past eight, your ringtone jerking you awake unceremoniously. In your tossing and turning last night, you’d buried your phone under the excessive pillows on the bed, and the call drops before you can find it. A few seconds later, it starts up again, and you pat around hopelessly for another minute before you find it, answering the phone breathlessly.

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngho’s voice comes down the line, drowning out your hello. “I thought you died.”

“I thought you died!” You fire back, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “You didn’t pick up yesterday either.”

“I was enjoying the home theater. There’s no service down in that room, so I left my phone upstairs. The surround system is killer, by the way,” he explains nonchalantly. “What happened to you? You said you’d call me back. Not to sound like the needy boyfriend you’ve always wanted, but I was kind of hoping you’d at least give me a better explanation.”

“There wasn’t much else to tell.” You untangle yourself from the sheets, standing to stretch your back in front of the window. The sky is unusually dark for the morning, especially since fall has just begun; you wonder if there’s a storm coming later. “Three guys came looking for a place to stay. They said… something was after them, and one of them got injured.”

“And you let them in?” Youngho sounds incredulous.

“It wasn’t my decision! Kim Doyoung told me to, and it’s his house, so I didn’t have a choice.”

“And? They’re still there?”

“Well, yeah. What was I going to do, kick them out in the dead of night?”  

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem right, _________________. They could be dangerous p—“  

Your phone makes a shrill noise, and you jerk it away from your ear in surprise; the screen flashes a warning and then goes blank, effectively cutting Youngho off.  

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath. You’d forgotten to charge your phone last night, and the battery had already taken a huge hit from all the game playing and music streaming you’d done outside of Kim Doyoung’s house. You’re plugging the charger into the wall when a soft knock comes from your door, and the man himself steps in.  

“Morning,” his voice is back to that quiet, aloof tone, like last night hadn’t happened at all. “Sleep well?”

“Yes. You?”  

“I slept all right.” He jerks to the door, expression morphing into something sheepish. “I was… standing outside for a little while. I didn’t want to interrupt you on the phone.”  

“Oh. Um — it’s fine.” Your phone dings, signaling to you that it’s charging, and you leave it on the windowsill. “That was just my partner.”

“Is anything wrong at my brother’s house?”

“Apart from the fact that your brother is spoiling my partner? Not much.”  

He cracks a smile before clearing his throat, tugging at the neckline of his sweater. You watch him move, his small hands fiddling with a stray thread that’s sticking out of the knit. The only relief you get in this situation is the knowledge that he’s feeling just as awkward as you are right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally, and it catches you off guard. Your jaw slackens a little, and you grapple with what to say, but he raises a palm to stop you. “I know… I know your job is important to you. Your priorities are different, and… you seem dedicated to your job. The fact that I don’t want to be protected doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been told to protect me.”

Only three men in your life have apologized to you with any modicum of sincerity: your father, who’d pranked you so much into thinking that there was a monster under your bed that you’d lost days of sleep; Youngho, who’d accidentally shot you in the face with a paint gun during the department’s MT (you’re still not sure if this counts because he’d been laughing hysterically while doing so); and Kim Doyoung, who’s currently fiddling with his sweater and watching for your reaction.  

“I…” Your voice comes out broken and gross, and you clear your throat too, but you don’t miss the fact that he straightens up a little. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too. Everything you said last night… you were right, and I knew it.”  

“It’s still not my place to tell you what to do. You’re the expert in this case.”  

“I’m really not,” you smile weakly.  

“You still know more than me.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter now,” You dismiss the cursory part of the conversation with a wave. “The point is that everyone’s safe here. We should probably let go of last night’s guilt.”  

“Letting go of guilt,” he muses; his gaze isn’t on you anymore. In fact, it doesn’t seem like he’s looking at anything in particular at all, and that somehow makes you feel even less comfortable. “Is it that easy?”

“What is feeling guilty going to do? There’s no real point anymore. We just have to keep moving forward.”

“Right,” he comes back down to earth, it seems, and his fingers resume their movements. “Moving forward. About that — we’ve got three more people in this house, and I don’t think I have anything to feed a single one. I don’t know how much further forward we can move without supplies.”  

“Oh god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, kneading at your brow to relieve the sudden headache that comes with the arrival of another predicament. “Shit. Right — okay. You have… cars, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he replies slowly.  

“Great. Can I borrow your least expensive one?”

“You can take whichever you want, but I—“  

“I’ll be down in five, then,” you cut him off, looking over at your now-empty bag and wondering why you’d just asked for time when you don’t have any clothes to change into.  

He nods, stepping back out of the room. Your phone dings to life, and you turn back to it; it starts vibrating off the hook with a steady stream of messages from Youngho, the screen blinking annoyingly in its attempt to catch up.  

[ incoming ] 영호 - STOP HANGING UP ON ME [ incoming ] 영호 - I’m convinced you hate me [ incoming ] 영호 - tough bc you’ll never find a better, more attractive partner and also we’re stuck together for the whole year [ incoming ] 영호 - _______________ can you pick up stop being annoying it’s important [ incoming ] 영호 - are you watching the news??????????? [ incoming ] 영호 - I’m telling chief that I want a partner divorce you’re useless >:(

[ outgoing ] 영호 - my phone died you absolute pain in the ass!!!! [ outgoing ] 영호 - go eat your caviar croissants or something   [ outgoing ] 영호 - what’s on the news

“__________________.” Your head snaps up to find Doyoung still standing by the door, hand on the doorknob. He’s twisting it idly, back and forth, the lock clicking every now and then.  

“Oh — sorry,” you put your phone down, ignoring the fact that Youngho’s name keeps popping up on the notification banner right above a slew of middle finger emojis. “I thought you—“  

“No, it’s fine, I —“  

He stops when your ringtone goes off again; the piano introduction of Heroine is loud and a little embarrassing, and you pick up a pillow to suffocate as much of the melody as you can.  

He smiles, but this time, it almost reaches his eyes. You think that Doyoung’s face suits smiles as long as they’re not half-hearted or sad.  

“More Sunmi?”

“She’s a national treasure,” you defend yourself, pressing the pillow down harder against your phone.  

“Right. I’ll be downstairs.”  

Whatever he’d wanted to say leaves with him as he shuts the door quietly behind himself, and Youngho doesn’t miss the annoyance in your voice when you finally pick up the call. He takes his sweet time getting to the point of the conversation to get even at you.  

“The news says it’s some kind of wack infection. They’re not sure how it’s spreading or how it’s starting, but these people aren’t in their right minds. Remember that guy we saw yesterday?” He’d said when he’d finally gotten to the brunt of his call. “I’m willing to bet my mom’s car he was sick too.”  

“Then what do we do?”  

“We just do what we can. There’s no cure, apparently; I mean, people are still trying to figure it out. All we know is that antibiotics obviously don’t work against viral cannibalism.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I have to go out for some supplies, though.”  

“So, duty relief for you today? At least you’ll get to drive a cool car before you get fired–”

You hang up at this point.

Five minutes later finds you jogging down the stairs, and you spot Kim Doyoung and the guy from yesterday who’d explained what had happened. They were both looking up at the television, wordless beside each other; the screen flashed different, horrible scenes — buildings on fire, abandoned cars crushed against one another, and bodies. So many dead bodies. You see a flicker of disgust flash across Doyoung’s face as the screen zones in on a single, rotten arm, and he turns off the television.

“So,” you try to sound like you’re not minutes away from throwing up either, and the two men turn to you. “Which car am I taking?”  

Doyoung presents you with a key; it’s one of those button-heavy ones that don’t even need to be inserted into the ignition, and you take it gingerly.  

“This is the fancy key to your least expensive car?”

“The price is irrelevant,” he frowns. “What matters is that it works, and it works fast. Minhyung’s coming, by the way. Minhyung-ssi, this is __________________.”  

“I can drive,” the other guy, who you now know is Minhyung, volunteers. You nod, slightly relieved that you won’t have to be the one worrying about driving a car worth more than your life insurance among other things. “We checked outside, too; there’s no one there. I guess as long as they don’t see a target, they don’t care that much.”

“Great,” you push the keys into Minhyung’s open hand. “Let’s get going, then.”

Doyoung walks you both to the door, but instead of stopping by the doorway after he opens it, he steps out onto the porch with you. And down the stairs. And walks towards the car.

“Hold on,” you stop, and he stops too, alarmed. “You’re not coming with us.”  

“What?” He sounds incredulous, like this is the first time he’s considered you might say that.

“It’s too risky.”  

“We’re going to the grocery store. I’m sure I can handle that. ”

“And we don’t know what’s at that grocery store,” you frown. “You have to stay here. We’ll take care of your car. Well, I mean, he will.” You jerk your head at Minhyung, who’s slipping into the driver’s seat.  

“It’s not about the car. I want to help you.”

“And I want to protect someone that’s willing to actually stay protected. Only one of us can get what we want, Kim Doyoung-ssi.”  

He makes a face — at the return of the formal address, at your words in general, you weren’t sure. You sigh, looking back briefly at Minhyung, who’s just started up the car engine; the windows are tinted, but you can see through them enough to know he’s turned towards the two of you, waiting.  

“Look, you called the shots last night, right? I listened to you, and you were right. We got to help people. Let me have this one.” You try to smile weakly, but you think it kind of comes across as a grimace. “At least I can go back to the department and say I did what I could to protect you this one time.”

He stares at you for what feels like ages, but the moment is punctuated with a sigh and a reluctant nod. He steps back up onto the porch, and you offer him a reassuring nod of your own before turning back to the car, tugging the back door open and tossing your uselessly empty backpack inside before going back up to the passenger’s seat.  

Minhyung has the car radio on to the news, but it’s more static than voice, and you just end up dialing the volume back down before putting on your seatbelt.  

“Is Doyoung hyung not coming with us?”

Hyung? How close were they already? “No. I told him to stay. He’ll be fine.”  

Minhyung nods wordlessly, shifting gears into reverse and slowly pulling the car out of the garage. When he turns his face forward, though, he slams down on the break, and an undignified yelp of surprise leaves you.  

Doyoung is at your window, a fist raised to rap lightly on the tinted glass. You roll it down, trying to keep the panic out of your voice when you ask, “What? What is it?”

“Make sure to come back,” he says simply. Your face scrunches up in confusion.

“Of course. It’s just a supply run. Your car will be back in no time; don’t worry.”  

“No; that’s not what I — don’t —“ He sighs. “Don’t go back to the police station. Just come straight back here. Okay?”  

“But I thought you said —“  

“I know what I said last night. I’m saying this now.” There’s a hint of pleading in his voice. “Come back.”

“I — okay,” you agree, altogether befuddled. He lets go of the window, and you slowly roll it back up as Minhyung backs out of the driveway. You try not to keep eye contact with Doyoung, fiddling with your seatbelt even if it’s already fastened, but you know he’s standing at the porch, watching you both drive away with yet another unreadable expression.

You trade the radio noise in for the GPS once you’re firmly on the road, and it’s on silent; your guess is that Doyoung doesn’t like the annoying robotic voice telling him where to go, so you have to make sure Minhyung is looking at the screen from time to time. You like that he isn’t unbearably talkative and is fairly safe as a driver, and you think he looks smart enough, which is always a good bonus, considering that you’re used to Youngho as a driver and as a human being.

The residential area of Apgujeong doesn’t have any big marts nearby, so you end up having to look for CUs and Ministops on the map. Even the nearest one is a good twenty-minute drive away, which seems hardly practical considering you’re in a heavily residential area. Even if you like that it’s quiet, though, it feels wrong and pretty awkward that nothing breaks the extended silence, so despite the fact that you don’t particularly enjoy small talk, you start anyway.  

“Your friend,” Minhyung breaks his gaze away from the road to glance at you before turning back. “Sung… chan? Is he okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits, tongue peeking out nervously to wet his lips. “We’re not… we’re technically not friends. He and that other kid — Donghyuck — go to the same university, I think. We were just in the same bookstore when the fighting and madness broke out.”  

“Oh. So you… you work at a bookstore?”  

“Me? No; I was just there looking for some books for research.”

“Are you a teacher, then?”

“No,” he chuckles the way you would expect; it’s a deep, baritone rumble that’s fairly calming and not at all like the wheezing Youngho does that makes you want to smack him upside the head. “I’m working on a novel.”

“That sounds pretty neat. What about?”

“Well it’s — it’s complicated.” His fingers tighten a little on the wheel. “My editor’s been asking me to write a romance novel — you know, since a lot of people are into that these days. But it’s just… it’s not something I can write about well. I’ve never had a real interest in romance novels, so everything I make just comes out bland.”

“So what do you like to write about?”

“Science fiction, mostly.”

“Anything I may have read before?”

“Depends. How prolific a reader are you?”

“I’m not even sure what prolific means,” you laugh.  

“My books aren’t that big. Mostly because so much editing beyond my reach happens to them, they never look like what I’d wanted them to in the first place.” He sighs, turning into a smaller street. It’s equally empty here, for some reason, but it doesn’t feel like the safe, quiet neighborhood it’s supposed to be. You see a lone woman limping down the sidewalk, and you wonder, briefly, if she’s sick too. You don’t get a good look at her face, though, and Minhyung’s driving at a speed that doesn’t give you much opportunity to look back, so you let it go. “What about you?”

“I’m a cop. I actually got promoted to corporal fairly recently.” See: yesterday, but you don’t think it’s necessary to specify this.

“That’s great; congratulations,” he throws you a small smile. “No wonder you’re so protective of Doyoung hyung.”  

“Yes, well, it’s kind of my job to be.”  

“I can see that. I’m sure he appreciates it. Is that why you didn’t want him to come along?”

“Yeah. I don’t really know if he gets that helping out here more is just going to put him in more danger.”

“Maybe he does, though,” Minhyung’s eyes flit to the screen again; the destination is growing closer. “Maybe he just wants the chance to protect you, too?”

You sit there, staring at the road in front of you, trying to decipher what that means. The CU sign comes into view, and Minhyung slows the car as you approach the entrance.  

“But,” you start carefully. “Why would he?”

“I’m not a romance expert, but isn’t that normal for couples?”

“It is,” you say, your voice small so that he can’t hear how close you are to imploding from embarrassment. “Except we’re not a couple.”

Not for the first time today, Minhyung steps down hard on the brake. You both lurch forward, but no one makes a sound this time; your bodies just lean forward silently and snap back against the seats with soft thuds.  

“Oh. I thought… because you were staying in his house…”

“I’m just here on official business,” you swallow hard, staring out your window so that you both can avoid feeling even more awkward than you already do. “From the police department.”  

“He said… his girlfriend didn’t like people going into her room, so I thought —“  

“Yeah, that’s… that’s not my room. Sorry.”

“Oh.” His voice trails off into almost nothingness. “Sorry.”

He kills the engine, but the both of you just sit there in silence for a little while, letting the strange atmosphere ebb away. Thankfully, he doesn’t press the conversation further, and you step out first, with him following your lead. Your hand is at your waist, fingers brushing against the stock of your gun, but there are no disturbances for the most part, and you relax somewhat. You and Minhyung both head for the store; the little bell that usually jingles to announce a new customer is on the ground outside.  

The inside is fairly empty, too; there are canned goods and flyers on the floor. The microwave is half-open, and you notice that a now-cold sausage is on the dish inside. You start picking up the canned goods, stacking them onto a basket while Minhyung keeps the door open with his foot, bending down to push six-pack bundles of water outside near the front wheel of the car.  

“You think anyone’s in?” He’s whispering, and you don’t know why it feels appropriate to move as soundlessly as possible even if the place is deserted. Shaking your head, you pass him the basket of canned goods, and he starts nudging the water towards the trunk of the car with his feet so he can load them.  

You wander down the aisles, tugging on everything you think you might need — tissues, snacks, toiletries — piling them all up in your arms. The area feels unsettling, though, so you try to pick up the pace, stuffing anything useful between your arms. There’s a weird noise that hangs over the convenience store, and you realize later on that it’s radio static coming from the set behind the cashier’s counter. You guessed whoever was manning the till was in too much of a rush to leave to turn off the radio. Somehow, though, it makes you feel even more uncomfortable, and you quickly hand off the items to Minhyung, who’s having as much trouble cradling the things in his own arms as you.  

You hear it during your second round, when you reach out for a jumbo-sized bottle of shampoo on top of one of the shelves — a low groan that can’t be radio static, can’t be the wind, can’t be Minhyung from outside. A horrible chill runs up your spine as you turn towards the sound slowly, holding your breath.  

A man is standing by the staff room entrance on the other end of the shop; his posture is weak, arms limp by his sides, and he continues to make incoherent noises. It’s clear by his wrecked uniform that he’s an employee here, and it’s even clearer by the bloodstains on the uniform that he’s definitely not okay.  

Thankfully, his back is turned to you, and whatever had drawn him out of the staff room, he clearly couldn’t find; he’s still whipping his head here and there, trying to spot something anomalous, but he hasn’t found the sense to turn yet. Your arm drops, foregoing the shampoo bottle, and you slowly, carefully back away, your fingers twisted into knots as you pray for safety.  

You’re almost by the door when the worst happens; your left foot, dragging backwards against the floor, catches a stray flier and creates a loud, horrible crumpling sound.  

The employee turns his head back to a degree way more than any normal human can, spotting you between the aisles; he lets out a shriek as his body turns the rest of the way with him, and he charges straight at you, arms outstretched.  

“Shit,” your fingers fly to your gun, but he’s moving so quickly that all your body can think of is fleeing. You almost slip on the flier, managing to yank the door open, only to bump into Minhyung, who’s on his way back in and oblivious to what’s happening.

“________________, what —“  

“Move!” You don’t even have time to apologize for pushing him back so hard that he stumbles a little; the rabid employee smacks into the door, and something crunches sickeningly as he does.

“Oh, fuck me—“  

This feels like a horrible semi-dejavu moment, in which you’re yelling at Minhyung to get the car door open, and he’s panicking so much that he has no choice but to tell you to shut up while he fumbles around for the keys — except he doesn’t have a gun, and the employee doesn’t have an old lady to be distracted by.  

He comes barreling out of the convenience store, and he notices Minhyung first — Minhyung, who’s so frazzled by everything that he’s taken out what appears to be his apartment keys instead of Doyoung’s car keys and is trying to fit it into a keyhole in the driver’s side door that doesn’t exist. The employee lunges, and Minhyung effectively drops whatever he’s holding, running backwards with a panicked yell. This doesn’t work out well for him; his foot gets caught in a sizable crack in the road and he falls backwards.  

You leave the passenger’s side, running around the hood of the car while you take out your gun; in your hurry, you don’t get to aim well, and the first shot you fire misses and hits one of the backseat doors of Doyoung’s car. You let out an incoherent groan of frustration that’s drowned out by Minhyung’s more urgent noise; he’s trying to weaponize a bundle of water bottles, but it’s too heavy for him to fling in this position.  

You take another shot; it hits the employee square in the leg, and the close proximity causes the bullet to go straight through. Another disgusting noise sounds as he crumples to the ground, but he’s hardly demotivated, using his elbows and one working knee to advance towards your companion. Another shot — it goes through his chest, but it’s like he doesn’t notice.

“The head, the head!” Minhyung yells, scrambling back on his palms and ass. “Aim for the head, _____________!”  

You raise your arms slightly, taking another blind shot; it’s not a perfectly centered one, but it blows the top off the employee’s head and ends his advance effectively. Minhyung looks up at you, dazed and covered in a smattering of blood.  

“Thanks — oh, god,” he has to turn away to retch, scooting further from the now-limp body and patting around for his apartment keys blindly. He takes your outstretched arm once he finds them, hauling himself up.  

“How did you know a shot in the head would kill them?”

“I didn’t,” he doesn’t let go of your hand, looking a little pale, like he’s trying not to think about how he’d just seen someone die in high definition. His grip on your fingers is painful. “It just seemed like the most logical place to aim.”

He finally locates the keys in his pocket, taking one look back at the body and the water bottle pack that’s now covered in blood too. He grimaces, shaking his head, like he’s convincing himself not to go back for it. You have to pry your hands free from his hold before he ducks into the car.  

The ride home is absolutely silent; neither of you make an attempt to turn on the radio this time, and the twenty minutes going back seems like an eternity. You notice that Minhyung is driving even slower now, for some reason, but this doesn’t bother you.

The urge to call Doyoung hits hard, for some reason; it seemed like a natural course of action, especially since you needed to cushion the blow his emotions would probably take after seeing the hole you made in his car door, but you realize you don’t have his number. You think about calling Youngho too, but you just don’t move, staring dully at the road ahead until Doyoung’s house comes back into view.

Minhyung jogs to the back of the trunk to open it up while you make for the door, ringing the doorbell. When it opens, you’re surprised to see the other kid from yesterday in front of you.

“Where’s Doyoung?” You demand at the same time that he asks, “Where’s Minhyung hyung?”

There’s louder, more pained groaning coming from the second floor. “Doyoung-ssi’s upstairs. Minhyung hyung,” he calls out, pushing past you to help Minhyung with the supplies.  

You take two steps at a time to get to the second landing, noticing that Doyoung’s bedroom door is open. When you peek in, though, he isn’t there; the television is on again, and the news anchor is repeating warnings. Stay indoors. Ration your food. Arm yourselves as much as you can. This is serious, biological warfare.

Hushed voices fill the first floor as the front door shuts; you look down from the banister to see Minhyung and Donghyuck enter the kitchen, cans and water bottles in hand; the rest of the supplies are by the umbrella stand.  

“Doyoung-ssi?” You call out.  

A moment later, his head pops out from the room next to yours; his face looks grim, but he smiles at you nonetheless.

“You’re back. Did you get what we needed?” He steps out, quietly shutting the door behind him. His free hand is gripping an electronic thermometer and a capped syringe wrapped in a wet towel, and you eye them dubiously.  

“Uh — yeah, there’s food downstairs. What’s all that for?”

“It’s for Sungchan. We’re just monitoring his condition. Was the trip okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. Minhyung’s covered in blood downstairs, but,” you raise a hand to still his worry. “He’s fine, too. Maybe a little traumatized, but physically fine.”

“Oh, good.” He nods. “I’m glad for that. Thank you for making the run. And, well,” he inhales, thumb running along the length of the thermometer. “Thank you for coming back.”

“Just doing my job,” you smile tightly.

“I know.” Something like ceramic crashes inside Sungchan’s room, and Doyoung turns his attention to it. “I’ll just… I’ll get that cleaned up.”

“I’ll help them move the supplies downstairs.”  

You both nod, but you watch him go first; it’s only when the door shuts that you head downstairs. Donghyuck and Minhyung have moved most of the stuff, leaving only a few bottles of shampoo and a couple of canned soups by the door. You pick them up and walk into the kitchen, finding the two sorting cans into Doyoung’s relatively empty cupboards. It’s funny that Minhyung’s found himself on the counter, trying to stuff cup noodles into the top shelf where the dish rack used to be. You probably looked equally ridiculous last night.

“Minhyung, you really need to go get changed. Nobody wants undead CU employee blood on their ramyun.”  

He chuckles softly, slipping off the counter. “That was the last I could fit up there, anyway. Donghyuck will help you sort the rest.” Minhyung makes to clap Donghyuck on the back, but the kid evades his touch, looking at Minhyung’s bloodstained palm like he’s expecting it to grow eight extra fingers. “Right. Sorry.”  

You divvy up the food in relative silence, only talking to introduce yourselves and agree on what to set aside for lunch. He keeps turning his attention to the door, like he’s waiting for someone to appear.

“Your friend — how is he? Is he getting any better?”

“I don’t really know,” he admits, emptying a can of soup into a pot and placing it onto Doyoung’s previously untouched induction stove. “Doyoung-ssi’s been checking up on him. I don’t think any of us know what to do, but he said his grandmother had some special medicine for infections that he could try on the wound.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“It’s deep, and he’s been running a high fever we’ve been trying to break since last night. He barely talks, too, and he won’t eat anything. We tried a couple of crackers he had in his bag for his hypoglycemia, but he wouldn’t take them.” Donghyuck sighs, dumping in a little too much salt and pepper into the pot. “I don’t even know what’s happening. We were just there for comic books.”

You help him ladle the soup into bowls before volunteering to call everyone down for lunch, jogging back upstairs. Doyoung clearly hasn’t left Sungchan’s room yet, since his door is in the same position as you’d found it and the television is still going. You shout down to Donghyuck to turn the den’s television on, deciding that he could listen to the news during lunch instead of leaving his bedroom TV on uselessly.

The remote control is on the edge of the bed, and you only need to take three huge steps to get in and reach for it, but it still is technically trespassing, even if all you want to do is help the man conserve some electricity. Still, before you turn the television off, you catch a bit of what the news anchor is saying.

“Remember, it’s imperative that you stay indoors. Avoid contact with these creatures. The virus spreads quickly through the bloodstream, and experts have still not found a cure. Keep any arms or improvised weapons close to you, and make sure to stay away from —“  

Your blood runs cold, and your fingers tighten around the remote control.

The virus spreads quickly through the bloodstream.

Your feet think faster than you, it seems, carrying you out of Doyoung’s room. You bump into a freshly-bathed Minhyung, and he raises his palms up like he’s being arrested.

“What’s with you and all this running?” He manages to ask before you shove him away, skidding down the hall as you pull out your gun. You rattle the doorknob only to find that it’s locked.

“Cover your ears,” you snap at Minhyung, who barely has time to do so before you aim the gun at the door and take a shot.

You can tell why Youngho likes the idea of busting down a locked door; the dramatic effect is so powerful, and you’ve now experienced it firsthand. You don’t have the time to dwell on how cool it is, though, especially since the smell of rotting flesh is what hits you the moment you push the door open.

Doyoung is seated, frozen at the edge of the bed; the syringe is still in his hand, but it’s uncapped now. Sungchan is lying back, pale and sweaty, his pant leg rolled up to reveal a deep, bite-shaped wound on his calf.

“_______________, what the hell are you —“ Doyoung starts, but he falls into a stunned silence when you point the gun at him.

“Come here. Stand behind me.”

“If you’d just explain why you’re holding a loaded gun in my guest bedroom—”

“Can you, for once, do what I’m asking you to do without the running commentary?” You hiss, and he stands slowly. You get a better view of Sungchan’s face, and it’s not pleasant; he’s biting down on his lip, but it’s clear the pain is too difficult to contain, and his eyes are constantly rolling to the back of his head. “Come here.”

“Just calm down.” Doyoung eyes the gun warily. “I have to help him.”

“Doyoung-ssi —“

“He’s hurt, ___________________. Just let me give him the medicine.”

“He’s going to turn into one of them.” You swallow hard. “I heard it on the news. He’s going to die, and then he’s going to turn into… into one of those things.”

Doyoung carefully sets down the syringe on the bedside table, slowly walking over to you. Instead of getting behind you, though, he places his small hand gently on yours; with a little added pressure, he pushes the gun down to face the floor. You look up at him, frustrated and confused, these feelings only exacerbated by the inexplicable calm on his face.

“I know he will.”

The ending made me laugh

SWITCH|| kim Doyoung| kim Jungwoo

Doyoung x female reader x best friend Jungwoo

WARNING; multiple orgasms, angry sex, cum play, mean dom doyoung, angry mean dom jungwoo, violence, aggressive behavior,real smutty,slut shaming

A/n; This has got to be my favorite imagine I’ve written yet! Hope you like it too.(recentlyedited may 20)

DONT LIKE DONT READ!

“Doyoung oppa!” You moaned and cried as doyoung, your best friend’s brother was actually fucking your tight hole.

“Shut up doll you wouldn’t want Jungwoo to hear us now would you?” Doyoung said as he gripped your wrist tighter behind your back, pounding into you.

You whimpered but couldn't help yourself. "N-No" You cried out. He had been fucking you for a while now and every time his cock slipped in and out of your pussy it felt like magic. "Fuck me Doyoung!" You begged him over and over again.

Honestly would it really be that bad if Jungwoo did hear you? Or walked in?

The thrill of it made you clench around doyoung. Your cheeks flushed red at how loud you started being on purpose now.

Then suddenly he pulled out and pushed himself against your ass, making you cry out as the tip of his cock rubbed against your asshole. “ I said shut the fuck-

“what the fuck is going on?” The door was slammed open by a confused looking jungwoo, eyes switching from you to his brother,who was just apparently fucking you. ‘Bingo!’ you thought to yourself.

You were excited but doyoung was annoyed at the whole situation.

You leaned down into the mattress and arched your back so your ass and leaking core was on display for both the boys. “How rude of you Jungwoo, doyoung oppa was fucking me so good” you teased and giggled.

“Since you seen us now you should join, -wanna feel both of you” you moaned as you reached back and stuck two fingers into your core, collecting pre-cum and bringing them to your lips and sucking them, moaning at the taste.

“Shit” Jungwoo hissed, cock going hard. “you know you want to fuck me- ahh” you were cut off from doyoung slamming back into you.

You moaned again as he hit your cervix with every thrust. You felt so good having Doyoungs dick inside of you.

“ doyoung o-oppa is so g-good at this” you moaned locking eyes with Jungwoo. His eyes were filled with lust and madness,they were unrecognizable from the sweet and joyful eyes you know.

Jungwoo walked closer slowly, watching as his brother fucked you now with no shame and you were crying at this point.

Jungwoo grabbed your hair with his hand and pulled your head back." your supposed to be my best friend but look at you, in here in this room fucking my brother” he said in disbelief,looking at the way doyoung was fucking you. He then took off his shirt and pants and removed them completely. His hard cock sitting against his abdomen leaking pre- cum.

Jungwoo then sat on the bed, now in front of you. Without warning he gripped your hair tightly and shoved his cock into your mouth.

Doyoung was surprised as he watched Jungwoo shove his cock down your throat. You coughed and tried to pull away, but Jungwoo held you by the neck, making it impossible for you to escape. Your head was spinning as Jungwoo fucked your face, his cock sliding down your throat and hitting the back of your throat every time.

He didn’t care if you couldn’t breathe because in his eyes you deserved it and plus he was mad at you.

"FUCK!" Jungwoo yelled as he pushed deep inside of your mouth , your pussy now squeezing doyoungs cock like a vice.

“Shut up and fucking choke you whore” Jungwoo hissed not caring about the way your face was turning red. Doyoung was taken aback, not knowing his brother could get like this.

“ woo take it easy” doyoung said as he watched the way you started to tap Jungwoos thighs, desperately needing air.

“I thought I told you to shut up?” Jungwoo hissed as he pulled you off his cock, spit stringing when you depart. You breathed in deeply, trying to fill your lungs with oxygen as doyoung shot his load deep inside you making knit your brows together.

"oh yeah, she looks fucked" Doyoung said as he stood up off the bed, walking around you so that he was standing next to Jungwoo in front of you.

Doyoung grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and took a picture of your fucked out state.

"Fucking slut" he whispered as he showed the picture to Jungwoo. "She a whore that's what she is"

"Please fuck me!" You seductively looked at Jungwoo, arching your back more. "I want your cock”you begged him. Jungwoo smiled and moved closer behind you, grabbing at your hips and pulling you back towards him. He then slid his dick in slowly and easily, your pussy still wet from being fucked by Doyoung.

His large cock felt good inside you and he began to thrust into you making you see stars.

“Oppa!” You moaned loudly, you’d never think that your best friend could be this rough and nasty.

Doyoung now sat where Jungwoo once was on the bed, laying back and stroking his cock before your face.

“Suck me baby” he ran his hand through his hair as he stared down at you with lust filled eyes.

You leaned forward, letting your lips wrap around his thick cock. You sucked him for a minute or two until he grabbed your head with both hands, forcing you all the way onto his cock.

Jungwoo making you moan sending vibrations to doyoungs cock making him thrust up.

“Fuck yeah ” doyoung groaned feeling his orgasm build up again. He grabbed your head and pushed you down on his cock more, causing you to gag. You tried not to but it was impossible. Your nose burned and your throat hurt from his girth let alone just having Jungwoos cock before.

Jungwoo grunted and you could feel his body tense. A few seconds later he released a loud sexy moan as he came hard inside of you and you came too.

Moaning and making doyoung cum as well, his hot cum shooting down your throat .

You moaned as you swallowed his load, kissing the tip of his pretty cock. Jungwoo pulled out of you and laid down on the bed.

You laid between them, all of your breaths were ragged and unsteady.

“That was the best fuck I’ve had in months” you confessed. “I hate you guys so so much”Jungwoo said not regretting a word. “We love you very much bro” says doyoung making you laugh. The room grew silent and before you knew it you all drifted off to sleep.

After what felt like hours you all woke up to the sound of a door slamming shut. “Boys I’m home! oh is y/n here too?” The sound of their moms voice resonated in the house.

You all shot up quick on the bed, naked bodies scrambled around trying to get dressed quickly and quietly as possible “shit!”

CO-

kim doyoung x reader wc - 8.7k genre - very slow burn, frenemy to lovers (light banter), coworkers!au, roomates!au warnings - a small kiss scene

You and Doyoung coexist in two specific ways: cohabitation and as coworkers. However, your friendship, if you can call it that, is far from besties and more on being cordial with one another. Nonetheless, in this dreary corporate world, he is the only one who just gets you and despite his coldness, he feels the same about you.

Doyoung annoyingly types on his keyboard in the cubicle next to you, completely disrupting your concentration and general workflow. Groaning, you hope that it was enough to signify how irritated you were. However, instead of the obnoxious typing coming to a halt, it intensifies tenfold and catches the attention of everyone else who sits on this floor.

Embarrassment washes over your body as you forcibly stand up and peer over the short wall that divides both of your desks. “Knock it off.” You gently smack the back of Doyoung’s head and he winces forward, looking up at you immediately with a glare.

“I’m seriously going to report you to HR one day.” He whispers, his threat just barely sounds legitimate. Doyoung is the greatest at bluffing and empty threats. 

“Well today won’t be the day. You’re typing so loud that it could be a noise complaint.” Rolling your eyes, you drop back down into your seat. Smoothly swiveling your chair back to the intimidating project blown full screen on your monitor, you dread every minute of being here. Your day is full of reports, documentations, and boring project meetings. 

You’ll have small talk about the weather in the break room over some watered down coffee made by a machine and happy hours on random days of the week at the nearby upscale restaurant.

You’ll run into someone from another department on the elevators and feel awkward for several floors until one of you finally gets out. Hiding in the bathroom is the only escape from the depressing gray carpet and fluorescent indoor lighting. 

“You could make this a more enjoyable workplace if you didn’t sigh every three minutes.” Doyoung walks around to your cubicle, crossing his arms like the prick he always is.

“I’m sighing because you keep typing for all of the world to hear you.” You turn in your chair, facing him once again with your lips in a line. “Get out of my space.”

“I’m not in your space.” You watch as he slyly backs up from the wall, the tips of his shoes barely skimming the invisible line that crosses into your cubicle. “What is the bad mood for today?” Doyoung raises an eyebrow.

You despise when someone points out your attitude, it just feels completely unnecessary to bring up in conversation. However, you are normally less mean to him and Doyoung was a sensitive individual. “Rough start this morning, my bread got jammed in the toaster and flat tire on my way to work.”

“This is why I tell you to use the oven and to carpool with me. The carbon footprint we could minimize by just using one car is astronomical.” He shoves his hands into his pressed pants pockets, “I guess this is why I didn’t see your car in the lot this morning.”

“It’s in the shop. I’m out of a car for about two weeks because they found something wrong with the engine or something.” 

“Just your luck.”

You groan, “are you just going to nag and pity me, or are you going to offer me a ride home?” 

Doyoung puts his hands up in the air, as he often speaks with his hands. “You’re always welcome to ride with me. You just normally refuse.” 

“Yeah, because it looks weird if we got into the same car together.” 

He shrugs, “people already know we live together. What’s the big deal about it?”

“It’ll look like we’re … you know… Together.” You keep your voice down to a whisper, afraid for any nosy ears listening into business they aren’t a part of. Doyoung nearly throws himself forward laughing at your shifty eyes and your sheepish statement.

“Seriously? I think people can tell we’re far from ever being together.” Ouch. Not that you had any romantic interest in this vile man, but it was a bigger blow to your ego if anything.

It’s also the way Doyoung says it. It’s pure mockery, a joke that you even though there was a slim chance at the consideration of you two being together. 

You shrug him off, ignoring how snobby he is being. “People make rumors. Someone who isn’t close to us can see me getting into your car and get the wrong idea.” Turning around, Doyoung takes the signal that he probably pissed you off more than he intended to.

He sighs and walks up behind your chair. Placing two hands on your shoulders, you slightly flinch at the sudden physical contact. Doyoung leans down to whisper gently into your ear, “let them think what they want.” It sends a shiver down your spine and you don’t have a snarky comment to say back to him.

The sound of his shuffling disappears as he returns back to his side and resumes his typing. You aren’t excited to tackle the task in front of you, if anything, you wish Doyoung annoyed you for a bit longer.

The suffocating dullness of the office wrings any ounce of creativity out of you. You’re like a wet towel that was left too long out in the sun and now you’re all dry and crunchy. 

A swoosh notification catches your eye, a new email from your manager in your inbox for you to worry about. Letting out another sigh of the day, you’re wondering what minuscule thing she needs now. The subject line already has you rolling your eyes and did you really want to open it? Not really. 

FROM PATRICIA A.

HALLOWEEN CELEBRATION: HH AT 127 BAR AND RESTAURANT

Hello Team,

I hope you’re all having a productive day so far. Our VPs have organized a company happy hour for all to attend. Please refer to the infographic attached to this email for information in regards to the Halloween happy hour event that is being held next week at the 127 Bar and Restaurant. 

RSVP through here by the EOD on Friday. Your attendance is highly encouraged as this will be a chance for everyone to network and chat with our VPs. Appropriate Halloween costumes are mandatory for attendance to be considered. Hope to see you all there. 

Best, Patricia A. Regional Manager 

“Costumes, are you fucking kidding me?” You hear Doyoung over your wall, followed by a ferocious clicking noise. 

“Don’t worry, Kim. You won’t need one, you’re already scary looking as is.” Jumping up, you place your elbows on the counter of his wall and peer over him. Doyoung rolls his eyes and stands to level the eye contact.

“You might want to get one, don’t want our VPs to get too scared seeing your face.” His eyebrow raises as he watches your face contour in disgust. He scoffs, closing his laptop and putting his monitor on sleep mode. He makes his way out to the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Your nosiness gets the best of you, not that you actually cared much about Doyoung’s whereabouts.

“On my way to ask our pretty receptionist what costume she’s going in.” He smirks, making a direct line toward the elevators. Slumping back into your chair, you hover your cursor over the RSVP link. Another damn happy hour. 

Doyoung whistles his way out of the elevator as it dings on the lobby level of the office. Around the corner, he is met with the office receptionist with her hair neatly framing her face and red lips curving into a smile as she greets him. 

“Good afternoon Daisy, how are you today?” He rummages through the candy bowl full of mints and dental gum, despite never really caring for sweet cavity inducing treats.

Daisy leans forward on her desk with her sweet smile never leaving her pretty face. “I’m good, how are you?” She knows Doyoung as the man that would often stop by at random hours of the day for small talk and a mint. Not entirely knowing that he was mostly there to see her, she indulges in the light conversation with the nice man. 

“Happy that it’s Thursday, as usual.” Doyoung tears the mint wrapper with his teeth. His forearm is placed comfortably on the counter of the desk as he leans forward chatting with Daisy. 

“Friday is so close.” Daisy says excitedly, clapping her hands together in a cheery youthful manner. “Any weekend plans?”

“Probably going to see the new movie in theaters with a friend.” Truthfully, Doyoung never really has weekend plans set. He spends his weekends indoors and locked behind his door. A true mystery as to what he does behind it. “Not sure though, I’ll see how I’m feeling in the morning.”

“Yeah, I get that. I try to get out of my house during the weekend so that I’m still productive, even though all I want is to relax in bed.” She chuckles and instantly, Doyoung smiles at her relatability and honesty. Her energy is contagious, he always feels a burst whenever he speaks to her. 

“Hey, I mean to ask, do you have a costume in mind for the happy hour next week?” Doyoung suckles the spicy peppermint, rocking it back and forth between each cheek. Daisy ponders for a second and he finds an opportunity to make a very bad joke. “Anything to do with flowers perhaps? Because you’re Daisy.” He laughs at his own joke and she lightly gives in to such a corny question.

“That would be funny,” she laughs, “but I’m not sure if I can attend. I let Patricia know that I’ll be attending my boyfriend’s sister’s engagement party that night.” What a glass shattering moment as Doyoung was not aware that Daisy had a boyfriend. Then again, a woman like her wouldn’t be stuck being single and moping about her sad love life like his own cubicle roommate coworker, y/n.

“Darn, we’ll miss you there then.” Doyoung finds a way to exit the conversation, knowing his heart is already breaking thinking about Daisy spending her weekends out and about with another man. The fantasy of her is ruined.

“Aw, thank you Doyoung.” Daisy reaches underneath her desk and pulls out a familiar looking earbud case, “also, are you able to hand this back to y/n? They dropped this on their way in, but they were already rushing into an elevator before I could catch them. You two are dating, right?”

Doyoung’s lips part open in shock, hearing those words come from Daisy’s mouth entice a strange feeling. His initial reaction is to deny it, clearly, but she looks at him with such awe that he doesn't know what to say. “Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, I overheard a few people chatting about you two. I think people said you two moved in with each other after 5 months of dating.” Daisy innocently explains. “My boyfriend and I could never move in together, at least, not yet. I feel like we have to hit that two year mark before deciding to do so.” 

He chuckles awkwardly, unsure what he is more surprised about: Daisy’s boyfriend or the fact that there are actual rumors that he and y/n are dating. “We’re not dating, just roommates. We’re not even really close.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I really thought you two were dating. Please don’t tell them I said anything.” Daisy covers her mouth and Doyoung accepts the earbuds. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He forces a smile, bidding a small see you later to Daisy before heading back upstairs to his boring job. The dating rumor invades every part of his thoughts as he tosses the case back and forth between his hands. He is going to murder whoever spread such a heinous lie.

“Maybe we should stagger when we leave. I’ll go first and start my car, then you come down ten minutes later, walk around the lot and then get into my car.” Doyoung nibbles on his granola bar, leaning against the sink counter. Drying your tupperware, you stare at him in confusion.

“Why such an elaborate plan to just go home?” You question.

Doyoung shakes his head at you, as if you don’t think about the potential risks lying ahead. “Like you said, people start rumors so we should be careful.” 

Halting all your actions completely, you blink blankly at a nervous Doyoung. “You heard something, didn’t you?” 

“When did I–”

“Doyoung, I will rip that granola bar out of your hand. What was it?” 

He neatly places the wrapper back on, setting it down and crossing his arms. “There are rumors of us dating and that we moved in with each other after five months of dating, which in itself is already ridiculous. Obviously, I would wait longer than that to move in with my partner because you never really know if you’d last with that person and then, you’re stuck in an awkward living situation if you ever break up.” Doyoung huffs and puffs. 

Your facial expression doesn’t change, remaining completely unamused and blank as you listen to this man aimlessly derail from the main point. “Thanks for that.” Your tongue clicks and sarcasm laces your words. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“You have to be right all the time, don’t you?” He scoffs, annoyed and grows impatient with your lack of reaction. 

“Uh, with you? Most definitely.” You laugh, which Doyoung does not expect. “People are so bored here that they’ll make up the weirdest out of pocket thing about someone else. Us interacting is enough ammo for them to shoot some made up scenario.” 

“How are you so unphased by this?” 

You pack up your lunch boxes into your bag, “because I know none of it is true. I can barely stand you.” Pausing, you turn to face Doyoung fully. Your hand lightly pats his chest and he watches your every movement, the distance between the two of you closing in. “Like you said, let them think what they want.”

Now, it is Doyoung’s turn to remain speechless at the statement. He should really listen to his own advice.

When you were desperate for a place to live, it did come to your surprise that Doyoung came to your rescue. You two are very distant friends from college, a more accurate title would be acquaintances. Being in the same few clubs made him a familiar figure, but never anyone you personally got close to or spoke much with.

However, there was no harm in networking post-grad. If anything, it became an advantage to come from a big club with so many people aligned in the same field to gain insight into different companies, internships, and  potential job offers. You landed your current adult job with the help of a few connections and chats at career fairs. 

Nonetheless, the offer to move into Doyoung’s apartment was conditional. He had been laid off of his previous work and had to find a new job as soon as he could. Doyoung was able to land the job at your current company through your referral and you were approved to be a co-signer on the lease of the apartment. It felt fated to be and everything fell into its place perfectly, if only you two were compatible. 

The thing with Doyoung is that he always gave off a vibe that he was stuck up and prude. You also had an impression he didn’t like you during college due to you sleeping with his friend, Jaehyun, and breaking his heart when you didn’t want a relationship with him. When you first moved in, you gave Doyoung a lot of leeway but he always treated you coldly. At some point, you had enough of it and decided that he should get a taste of his own attitude. 

Nevertheless, your friendship worked better this way. You’re not entirely sure of the psychology behind it, but Doyoung seemed to communicate with you easier when you were at each other’s throats. All those enemies to lovers tropes you would read growing up were finally making sense to you. 

You two did grow closer when living together, but definitely not to the point where you two were best friends. Doyoung still kept you at arm's reach and so did you. There are a lot of things about him that you didn’t know about, it was quite actually last month that you learned that Doyoung had an older brother. It was only because he had stopped by to drop off some food for him from his mom. 

Doyoung is not the type to warm up to someone quickly, resembling a locked cabinet and a key that is lost somewhere. He is just waiting for the right person to find it. Due to this, you two live very separately at home. Doyoung is quick to rush into his own room and you’re often the one to wander around the living space before finding your way back to yours. 

So on this random weekend, you’re wondering why there is a soft knock at your door. Kicking the blankets off of your body, you rush over to open your closed bedroom door to reveal a messy bed hair Doyoung in his bunny pajama pants. 

“Hey, good….” Doyoung checks the time on his phone to be sure, lifting one eyebrow at your sleepy expression. “Evening.” 

“What do you want?” You groan, ready to let the door hit him in the face. “I get enough of you at work.” You rub your eyes to rid any junk stuck on your lashes. 

“Since your car is in the shop, I was wondering if you needed a ride to run any errands or to grab food. You haven’t left your room the whole day, so you must be hungry.”  His eyes dart left and right, avoiding eye contact as best as he can. Doyoung looks so sheepish, like a deer caught in headlights.

You can’t help, but laugh. “Aw, are you caring for me right now?” 

His face contours into complete disgust. “Not really. I just don’t want to find your dead body in the apartment and potentially get sued for negligence.”

“Well, I’m not hungry.” In that moment, your body couldn’t have had better timing. Your stomach rumbles loudly and Doyoung just blinks at you until it passes. 

You both break out into laughter, “fine, what are you getting for dinner?”

“There’s a new place in town that I’ve been eyeing. A bit upscale, if you’re down.” Doyoung starts walking toward his room, eyebrow raised and waiting for your confirmation. 

“You’re paying.” You close the door before he could protest. You and Doyoung have shared a few meals together, but nothing consistent. It’s not awkwardness that stops the both of you, but that there really isn’t much to chat about over a plate of food. Besides work, you two don’t share any of the same interests or the same circle of friends. 

On top of that, Doyoung would never open up over a sirloin steak. He barely opens up with a bottle of wine. You’ve given up trying to interrogate him with endless questions about his personal life, he never really asks about yours anyways. 

Though, meals with Doyoung aren’t entirely dreadful. His refined palate and hefty paycheck allows for you a delicious culinary experience. You’d never admit it, but eating with him was much better than eating alone.

Dressing for the occasion, you step out in an entirely new and refreshed vibe. Doyoung nearly chokes at the sight of you, not used to seeing you all dolled up and well, nicely dressed. Unintentionally, the accents of your colors match and Doyoung takes note of it, not throwing much of a fit as he usually would. 

“Matching is not a bad thing.” Doyoung clears his throat, hands slipping into his pressed pants and obvious aversion to eye contact.

“Matching with you it might be.” You snicker, but loved your attire too much to change into something else for the night. Both of you head out for dinner and you catch a whiff of something vibrant as Doyoung follows into his car. 

“New cologne?” The strap of the seat belt rustles in the quiet vehicle. Doyoung doesn’t say anything, turning on the engine and pulling out of the parking space with ease.

There is a long moment of silence, at this point you’ve concluded that he probably completely ignored your question. However, after a few blocks, Doyoung follows up with his own inquiry, “you like it?” 

Raising a brow, you’re finding his behavior quite peculiar tonight. It’s a bit unsettling and rather confusing. “I prefer your usual clean scent. This citrus doesn’t match you.”

Without a word of protest, Doyoung grins to himself at your words. Though, you’re too busy scrolling on your phone and participating in the usual silent atmosphere of the car ride.

“Have you thought of your Halloween costume for the happy hour?” Doyoung delicately cuts into his flank, twirling the piece of meat in the brown gravy that was neatly swirled on the plate.

You shrug, popping the broccolini into your mouth. There hasn’t been much thought about that email since it dropped in your inbox. If anything, you hadn’t even considered the fact that it was already October.  It felt like just yesterday you were on a rooftop bar in the warm summer sunset. 

“Any ideas?” You pat your hands on the cloth napkin on your lap, eyebrow raised toward Doyoung. Not that this man would give you any good ideas, you’re already settling on your last ditch effort costume you always went as during your college years.  

The restaurant is incredibly fancy, way more than you had been anticipating when he had mentioned it being a little upscale. It is moderately loud inside, but nothing above light chatter and the jazz music still audible over the voices. You two had been seated right away, the hostess having starry eyes the moment she saw Doyoung walk in. 

The waiters referred to you with proper titles and offered the wine of the night, placing it in its own separate small table. Anyone could have mistaken you and Doyoung for being a couple on a date, perhaps celebrating an anniversary or a nice date night. 

While at any other occasion you would make it incredibly obvious that isn’t the case, the food is too immaculate for you to care. The tenderness of your meat is melt worthy and the taste of garlic butter hits your palette lovingly. You were too busy indulging in the meal before Doyoung had spoken.

“Maybe something with a mask.” Doyoung responds after a rather long thoughtful silence. 

Your face deadpans, rolling your eyes at how silly it was to even ask him for a serious suggestion. “Ha! So funny.” Your sarcasm bites at his skin.

He flinches slightly at your tone, but places his fork and knife on the white table cloth. He wipes his lips with his napkin, “I’m not saying it to be mean. I meant it as a masquerade.” 

“Why would I wear a mask the whole night in front of our VPs?”

Doyoung shrugs in return, “isn’t the point of Halloween pretending to be someone you’re not? Or trying to hide behind a facade?” 

“That’s too philosophical. Halloween is about tricks, treats and pumpkins.” He laughs at your explanation, bringing the rim of his wine glass to his lips.

“That’s one way to view it.” He unbuttons his cufflinks and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Your eyes wander before your mind could remind you it's Doyoung you’re gawking at. “I might go with a mask, like a masked prince of some kind.” 

You laugh, “yeah, I’m sure Daisy will swoon over that.”

Doyoung doesn’t smile, instead he clears his throat uncomfortably. “She has a boyfriend and she’s not going.”

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that your work crush has been diminished.” You pout, quite insincerely and mockingly. Doyoung scoffs at your statement, rolling his eyes at how he’s willing to entertain this. 

“It was never going to work out anyways. She thought you and I were together.” The statement nearly causes you to choke on your wine. He raises an eyebrow at the slight break in your careless reactions. 

“Wow, it traveled all the way to our receptionist. That’s how you know the whole office practically knows about it.” However, he read it all wrong as you began to speak. Your nonchalant answers bring Doyoung no reassurance as he watches with a quizzical look as you eat your mashed potatoes. 

“Maybe you like the thought of us being together.” Doyoung snickers. He doesn’t mean it, but he did want to shake up the atmosphere to see how playful he can get with you. 

You kick his shin under the table and he lightly jumps, “calm down, prince. Don’t want the commoners to know how much of a narcissist you are.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you grumble. The mashed potato now tasted a bit sour from Doyoung’s jokes. 

“C’mon, seriously? Do you actually think that I’m a narcissist?” Doyoung places a hand on his chest, as if you could be referring to anyone else. He is so dramatic, you think to yourself as you see him tap away a fake tear.

So you decide to be truthful and slightly hurtful, simply because he asked for it. “Yes, I genuinely do at times.” Your powerful tone in your words shocked Doyoung a bit, his head shaking a bit from the actual truth.

“Oh,” He clears his throat awkwardly, halting his playful demeanor. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to come off that way.” This is the first time you’ve seen him completely vulnerable in his apology. It is a sharp difference compared to his usual snarky “my bad” or “oops”. 

The hurt on his face is evident, pursing his lips on the rim of his wine glass and the thoughts flooding his heavy head. A part of you feels guilty, wondering if a line had been drawn. 

“Unfortunately, you’re still a likable person as people say.” You clear your throat and shift nervously in your seat. Doyoung looks up through hood eyes at your compliment, but holds back the grin that itches to form on his lips. 

Something about his gaze almost makes you falter, “why did you choose such a fancy place for dinner?” 

“Because I genuinely wanted to see what this place was all about. I’ve been hearing Greg from Finance brag about how he’s eaten here for the past two weekends.” Doyoung lightly taps the table with his index finger, like a habit he couldn’t grow out of.

“You let Greg of all people talk you into a $200 bill?” You can’t hold the laugh back because of how ridiculously easy Doyoung can be swayed by someone else’s opinions. “And what do you think about dinner tonight?

Doyoung may have mistaken the implication in your question — if there even was one. He halts his rhythmic tapping, sitting up to straight out his wrinkled shirt and gazing upon you right in front of him. 

“Dinner was…” The bill lands on the edge of the table and Doyoung flips open the book with one flick. He breaks focus from you for a quick second to look at the final grand number on the thin piece of paper. You barely get a glimpse, as he places his card down and shuts it swiftly. 

His eyes back fully on you, “most definitely worth it.” The smile on Doyoung’s face isn’t menacing or mockery, you’re completely convinced that it’s a smile meant for you. And, you’re unsure how to interpret the butterflies that flutter at the pit of your stomach. 

As if the day couldn’t get any worse, you walk into work with everyone in some bizarre work appropriate costume and staring at you as if you’re the odd one out. Your costume is in your bag, which Doyoung so graciously let you leave in the trunk of his car before coming in. However, you’re wondering if it's too late to dash back outside to grab it so you fit in with everyone else. 

“Good morning, y/n!” Daisy, a very chirpy and red painted smile, greets you routinely. Cute flower clips line her hair perfectly and the all green attire can only mean one thing: she is a flower. “What’s your costume?”

Laughing nervously, you’re finding a way out of this small talk. “It’s a surprise! You’ll see when we all leave for happy hour tonight.”

“I might be going before then, but please stop by if you have the time to get it on earlier.” She happily smiles, bidding you a small “have a good day!” before returning her focus back to her screen.

The elevator stops on your floor and it’s as if Jack Skellington came overnight and vomited Halloween all over the cubicles. There always has to be that one coworker who is obsessed with the holiday and they lovingly decorated the office before everyone came in. Including yours and Doyoung’s cubicle.

You’re awkwardly shuffling past your coworkers, saying small good mornings and getting weird looks. However, you’re trying very hard to not draw attention to being the only one not dressed up. A tiny baby pumpkin sits in front of your monitor and a neatly wrapped ghost cookie with your name written on a post it note awaits you. 

“Good morning!” Your coworker’s head pops from over the wall and incites a startled scream from you. Of course, she’s laughing giddily at successfully scaring the living out of you. 

“Hey Mariel, good morning. Did you make these?” There is no second guessing who else would be this enthusiastic about Halloween than Mariel is. She talked your ear off the day it hit October 1st about ghouls, goblins, and ghosts.

She even had a spooky countdown calendar of the days until the 31st. On top of that, she was the only one overly excited about the Halloween happy hour the moment the email hit everyone’s inbox.

“Of course. I do a baking side gig, I had to bring in a few spooky friendly treats for everyone in office!” She rests her chin on her palm and squints her eyes at you, “where’s your costume?”

Your palms immediately get sweaty. It’s like disappointing a kid on Christmas by telling them that Santa isn’t real or your mom buying you a nice and modest dress for graduation, but you accidentally stain it. The nervousness to answer creeps up your throat and before you can speak, a voice answers for you.

“Isn’t it classic of y/n to dress up as an office worker?” Doyoung stands up in his cubicle to interject himself in the conversation. 

Mariel nearly loses a lung from how hard she laughs at Doyoung’s corny attempt at a joke. “It’s actually classic of the both of you to not wear your costumes to work.” She adds, wiping the tears from her crinkled eyes. “What’s next? Matching costumes?” 

“Mariel, it’s a surprise.” Doyoung plays it off smoothly.

“Let me guess, Barbie and Ken?” She taps the counter, like a buzzer on a game show to lock in her answer. You’re already shaking your head and Mariel frowns.

Doyoung sighs loudly and dramatically, “I know, Mar. I’d be such a good Barbie, but y/n didn’t want to give that to me.” Oh god, he’s good.

You laugh along, stiffly. “Well, that was the end of our potential matching costumes. We went our separate ways and you’ll see mine later today.” It is enough to get Mariel off of your back about not dressing up at work. Hurrying to settle your things, Doyoung walks around to your side. 

“Did you see how beautiful Daisy looked?” He muses, daydreaming about the whimsical fantasy of the office receptionist. “Must be a lucky guy.”

“She looks like a true flower.” You’re mindlessly unloading your essentials from your work bag and only half listening to Doyoung ramble. “Damn it, I left my coffee in your car.” Throwing your hands up in frustration, you’re already running late for your first meeting of the day with your supervisor. 

Doyoung doesn’t wait a second to push you back into your seat, thinking you could make a quick sprint if he had handed you his keys. “I’ll get it for you. Patricia already asked about your whereabouts.” He smoothly reaches over your shoulder to grab your laptop, the usual scent of his clean cologne brushes your nostrils lightly as the distance between you closes briefly. 

Your heart is pounding in your ears at the proximity, looking up at Doyoung’s long exposed neckline with his collarbones barely peeking out from his linen shirt. Under this dreary fluorescent office lighting, Doyoung looks rather dreamy. 

Nonetheless, you shake off this sudden and weird daydream when he hands you your laptop and makes his merry way to get you your coffee. You’ve got to be losing your mind, the mundane suffocating atmosphere of an office space is causing you to seek any thrills. You’re being delusional. You could never have feelings for Doyoung, of all the people, never Doyoung.

You come back from your meeting to your coffee neatly placed next to your monitor on a coaster and your bag with your costume in your chair. Silently, you grab your tote and rush off to the bathroom to change before anyone could notice your appearance and sudden disappearance. 

It wasn’t an extravagant costume and it was most definitely not the store bought ones from a pop-up Spirit shop. A black cat has been your go-to DIY last minute costume since college for those rendezvous frat parties or a drunk Halloween night out with your friends. Since it had to be work appropriate, a sexy black cat is out of the picture. 

Smoothing the strands of your hair to adjust the cat ear headband, you give yourself small whiskers with your black eyeliner. “Here’s to Halloween.” A small grumble to yourself, you’re out of the bathroom and briskly walking between cubicles in your slightly form fitting all black attire. 

Your head down and laying low, hoping that Mariel doesn’t notice your costume before you get to your own corner. Making it down the runway, Doyoung’s back is turned and completely working his life away. Somehow, your presence behind him causes a breakaway and he’s spinning around before you could hide back into your cubicle. 

“Thanks, Doyoung.” A small murmur escapes, but Doyoung hears you loud and clear. He doesn’t say anything, instead, his eyes rapidly take in your figure and change of attire. The cat ears on your head cause him to blush, something he didn’t know you could do to him so easily.

“A recurring costume, I’ll admit it’s better than my mask idea.” He gestures, awkwardly clearing his throat at the weird tension that rose from his obvious gawking. 

You’re puzzled, “I can’t recall a time you would’ve seen me like this.” It’s true, you two never spent a Halloween together since you had moved in with him and perhaps, those drunk college nights are too hazy for you to be too sure of yourself.

Doyoung chuckles to himself, peering down at his hands as he delightfully remembers the vivid memory of him catching a glimpse of you for the first time. “Halloween, third year. It was at the NCT yearly ‘Monster Mash’ party. I saw you briefly in the kitchen, looking through the empty bottles of liquor for a drink.”

Then it hits you! That was the night that you had arrived late to the party and almost ditched when there was no more booze left, but you encountered Jaehyun.

“That was so long ago! Wow,” your finger resting on your chin and looking back on the good ole times, “I can’t believe you remembered something like that.” Your voice grows smaller at the end of your sentence, full realization hitting you that Doyoung has known you before you had known him. He kept that memory to himself all these years.

Doyoung, also equally as shocked, feels caught in headlights. Nonetheless, something in his heart wants to open up to you and this feels like an open door opportunity. However, he isn’t sure if he is ready to ruin the dynamic the two of you share. What if he opens more than you’d take? One foot in the door, he can’t imagine this fleeting feeling would come again.

“I couldn’t get you out of my head that night.” He wholeheartedly admits and a heavy tug pulls at your heart. Your jaw drops slightly at his confession and your thoughts are running at godspeed. Doyoung’s heart is pounding in his ears. 

Before you could say anything, Mariel is walking back to her cubicle and is quick to address your costume. You’re half hearing her, mind still stuck on Doyoung’s words and wondering how differently your lives would have been if Doyoung had approached you that night instead of Jaehyun. What could have been? 

Rustic wooden panels cover the walls of The 127 Bar and Restaurant, giving it that upscale cabin/lodge-feel. Cobwebs lined with plastic spiders and pumpkins with ghoul expressions litter the corners of the counters. Festive Halloween music is muffled by the loud ambiance of chatter. You’re already counting down the hour of when it's socially acceptable for you to leave. 

Coworkers dressed in costumes is a silly concept to you, mainly because you don’t associate anything fun with work and you definitely don’t want to see your coworkers in anything else besides their slacks and button ups. Doyoung, however, beats that exception as he walks in with a black velvet cape and fake blood dribble down his chin. His suit vest is surely something straight out of his own wardrobe and there is way too much hair gel slicked in his hair.

“A vampire fits you much better than a masked prince.” Whether it is meant as an insult or a compliment, Doyoung smiles at your comment. 

“A black cat and a vampire, can we be any more cheery?” Doyoung says sarcastically, earning a small laugh as you look upon your very dark attires for the night.

Shrugging, you lightly pat his shoulder to guide him toward the VPs. “We all can’t be Daisy. She takes the cake for having optimism in this cruel corporate world. Now, let’s go get our attendance points so we can leave earlier.”

“A black cat mind reader? That elevates your costume a bit.” Doyoung smirks, leading the way to a doomful 15 minute conversation with important people. 

Doyoung surprises you by how social he can get. You two normally attend the usual happy hours that your coworkers like to have after work, but that is mostly among a few that sit on your floor. This mixer included every department and Doyoung jumps conversation to the next with ease and speed, you could hardly keep up.

“Okay, social butterfly. I haven’t heard you talk so much since college club meetings.” Raising an eyebrow, you’re stopping Doyoung from approaching another coworker dressed as a skeleton. 

“I haven’t seen you this quiet in a while. What’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue?” He blinks at you with a dull expression.

Suddenly, you’re feeling self-conscious at how he noticed your silence. “Corporate happy hours aren’t my thing. I don’t particularly have interests with any of these people.” 

Doyoung purses his lips, “yet you seem to talk endlessly with me and we have nothing in common.” 

Clearing your throat, you’re unsure of this strange feeling in your chest. You and Doyoung have commonality in background – school, clubs, mutuals, profession – but interests seem to be way far out of scope for the two of you. While the few dinners you two would share are rather silent, it doesn’t eat you alive the same way corporate social events do. Despite the forced close proximity, you don’t know if you and Doyoung would actually be friends with each other. 

“Right, but it’s different for us.” Trying to save the sinking ship seems harder to do as you rack your brain for an argument. 

Doyoung tilts his head slightly, “different? How is it different?” In that moment, there is a shift in his demeanor as he tucks his hands into his pants pockets and leans back slightly on his heels. A hooded stare, eyebrow raised, and a smug smirk waits to hear how your relationship with Kim Doyoung is so different compared to your other coworkers. 

Feeling small under his gaze, you’re wondering why a heat travels across your cheeks. The Halloween music and robust atmosphere are completely tuned out at this point. “We have common things to talk about besides work, like mutuals! I don’t know– you just get me. Lately, I feel like you’ve been opening up a bit more.”

Doyoung nearly beams hearing the last part of your ramble because he feels exactly the same. You just get him, despite always being at each other’s throats. He knows that this banter would not work with anyone else, it had to be you.

It’s like with each interaction, you get closer to the key in unlocking everything about him. Without your knowledge, he so badly wishes you to be the one to find it. 

“Hey you two!” Greg from Finance wraps his arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, appearing rather abruptly and startling the both of you. “How was your date at Bodega 127?” 

Your eyeballs nearly fall out of your socket at the word date being thrown carelessly when referring to you and Doyoung. Doyoung reacts quite nervously and is shocked as well at the odd choice of wording Greg decided to use. 

“I wouldn’t call it a date...” Doyoung chuckles, exchanging anxious glances with you. 

“Yeah, we’re not together.” You jump in with Doyoung at denying such a bold accusation. 

“Oh, come on! There’s no need to feel embarrassed. The whole office knows already, what’s the point in trying to hide it?” Greg continues to poke the bear. 

“I can see how it might come off that way, but Doyoung and I aren’t into each other like that.” Your eyes bounce between a skittish Doyoung and an overly-pushy Greg. “Right, Doyoung, you don’t like me that way?” You’re begging him with your stare, but for some reason, Doyoung hesitates long enough for you to notice.

“Uh yeah. We’re just coworkers.” He averts making eye contact with you and you’re thrown off your tracks at how off-putting he is being. You’re trying to hold back the confusion from showing on your face, but Greg takes the bait.

“Okay, I’ll stop berating you two about your relationship. But when Doyoung told me he brought you there, I will say I thought it was for a date night y’all were having. It’s that type of restaurant experience, y’know?” Greg lightly pats Doyoung on the back before walking off to chat with another group of coworkers. 

You’re standing still next to Doyoung and wondering why the fuck he hesitated when you asked him such an easy question. He doesn’t look your way, gaze remains glued to the floor.

“I think we should leave now.” He says, dashing toward Patricia to let her know of your exits. A sigh escapes your body, completely confused and lost at every feeling roaming in your chest.

The drive back home is completely silent. The elephant in the room becomes bigger at every stoplight. Most of the trip is you staring out the window, trying to process the last few scenes at the happy hour. Doyoung remains focused on the drive, so much that he forgets to put music on to distract from the stiffness in the air. 

When you two finally make it back up to the apartment, you’re the first to break the awkward silence. “Hey, uh– thanks for driving me around these past few days. The car shop told me that my car is ready tomorrow, so I won’t need to carpool with you anymore.”

He nods, despite the long sinking feeling of his heart reaching the bottom of his stomach. He has had so much fun with you lately being around him, he isn’t sure if he’s ready to go back to how things were — living so separately in the same place.

“Sorry about Greg.” Doyoung rubs the back of his neck, “I didn’t know he would say something like that.” He gently wipes off the dried fake blood on his chin.

“We’re used to it, right?” The airy, lightness in your tone puzzles Doyoung. “At least he was courageous enough to actually address it to our faces instead of contributing to the gossip in the office.” 

“He’s just a big idiot.” Doyoung unties his cape and tosses it over the couch. “I shouldn’t have told him we went together.”

It somewhat offended you, “what? You don’t want to be seen with me or something?” You toss your headband onto the dining room table, fixing your hair back to its normal state.

However, Doyoung perks up at the evident tone in your voice and the scorn in your expression. “It’s not that.” 

“You know, Doyoung, you have been really confusing lately.” There is a pause before you continue, wondering how you should word this without sounding so rash.

“First, you’re knocking on my door and asking me to dinner. Then, you’re getting me my coffee from the car. And, you hesitated back there when I said you didn’t like me and our conversations recently have been different, so open ended.” 

Doyoung leans against the couch, arms crossed and  intently listening to your speech. “Are you implying that I have feelings for you?”

He sounds so snarky that it causes your skin to crawl, frustration fuels your soul at how delusional he is making you seem. “I’m just stating the facts.” 

Doyoung scoffs, arms falling back to his sides. A minute passes, but it feels nearly like forever given the silence in the room and how his eyes are glued to the ground, full of contemplation. However, not just any careless amount of contemplation, but real and genuine assessment on how he has felt over the past two weeks with you.

He opens his mouth to speak, but falls short of formulating a coherent sentence and feels a bit choked up and confused by himself. Though, you’ve been standing there and waiting for him and the silence has made you incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s a reach. There’s no possible way for you to harbor any feelings for me. We made that really clear to each other.” 

You’re turning to hide back into your room, but Doyoung quickly stands at your door frame, alert and before you. “It’s not entirely a reach….” He mumbles, “I can’t say confidently that I have true and full romantic feelings toward you, but I have been seeing you in a romantic light.” 

“I don’t fully understand what you mean.” Your eyebrows knit together, finding that his speech sounds too much like a riddle. 

He takes a deep breath in, exhaling to calm the waking nerves in his throat. “I’m beginning to understand that some of what I feel towards you is romantic, like I don’t want to stop being around you or I want to go out of my way to do things that make your life easier.” He smirks coyly to himself, breaking the intense exchange of dialogue between the both of you briefly, “I’m an acts of service kind of guy.” 

“Look, I’m saying that yes, I think I’m starting to have feelings for you. It wasn’t until recently did I feel like we’ve really gotten to spend time together after you’ve moved in.” His shoulders drop, “and I don’t know, I just– like you said, you just get me.”

This moment between the both of you is so real. There are no gimmicks, no foul play, no teasing and banter. Doyoung means every word he is saying. While a part of you wants to joke around and say something snarky, the other part of you feels serious and rather shocked at this confession.

Never in your mind did the potential of Doyung catering feelings toward you exist. And now, even more than ever, you’re actually reflecting on your own thoughts toward him. Doyoung is the first person you want to go to in a crowded room, it’s like you’re searching for him without realizing it. He’s the one you want to rely on, knowing how capable and responsible he is. Doyoung, given the chance, can really brighten up the room. 

If there was anyone in this world he chose to open up to, you wanted it to be you. 

“Can I kiss you?” Doyoung almost stopped himself from saying it, but he had to know. Your eyes are beyond huge at his request, the sound of thumping in your chest growing in your ears.

“What?” You croak, taken aback by this random out-of-character question. Doyoung’s cheeks are as bright red as a tomato, but he doesn’t break his intense eye contact. 

“Kiss me, I want to know if my feelings are real.” He steps a bit closer with lips parted slightly, rosy cheeks, and dilated pupils. Your shaky hands slowly reach to cup his face and there the beating of your heart quickens, fast enough to where you think you could faint. 

“If we kiss and neither of us feel anything, we’ll pretend it never happened.” You’re trying to cushion any chance at rejection, so that it wouldn’t end in complete disappointment from either one of you. It’s to soften the blow. 

Nevertheless, Doyoung nods in your hot hands and brings your chin close with the pull of his finger. Your lips pucker and land gently on his, your eyes still wide open and you’re in utter shock that Kim Doyoung, the man you thought you’d never kiss, is now kissing you. 

It’s as if fuel added to a flame, the fire in your stomach grows violently at this connection. Doyoung swears he could feel a sudden spark in his tight chest, electricity running in veins.

He pulls away and the contact between you two breaks as quick as it connected. He simply blinks at you, with a cute doe-eyed expression and red cheeks. You’re blinking back, heart in your throat and a desire to kiss him again. 

“Are your feelings real?” You ask him a question you’re scared to know the answer to, worried that he didn’t feel that same fire as you did from that kiss and he’d ask to pretend it never happened.

“Real, absolutely real.” Doyoung confirms with a breathy speech. He can’t pinpoint how long these feelings have been locked away and how long he has ignored them. Nonetheless, that kiss proves so much to himself, one being that he is way more head over heels for you than he thought. 

And the next course of action he chooses may ruin your current dynamic completely, but he fully and utterly wants to commit to you. He doesn’t tell you, worried that it may scare you off when he only wishes to hold you close.

The two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a brief moment of silence with tensions high and hearts beating fast. Both are unaware of how to proceed without making things awkward or shifting too greatly from your banterful friendship. 

So, Doyoung eases in with a request so telling, but gentle enough for the two of you to agree upon. “Let me drive you to work from now on.” 

Your eyes glimmer with a shine, clearing your throat before you speak. “Is this about our carbon footprint or something else?”

He chuckles, “we’re saving the Earth while I also get to spend more time getting to know you, it sounds like a win - win situation to me.” 

“And the rumors?” 

Doyoung leans down to whisper gently into your ear, “let them think what they want.” The same shivers that ran through your body before had returned, but accompanied with butterflies dancing lovingly in your stomach.

Strange how two weeks ago, you thought that the possibility of romantically being with Doyoung was close to none and the best way to describe the two of you was that you just coexisted together. But, here you two are: standing in the middle of your shared living room with sparkling eyes for each other and a newfound excitement for a new relationship, more than just coexisting.

🦢 A WALTZ IN THE DARK ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆

ACT III THE CURTAINS FALL. | to the programme

chapter info . . . content the smut chapter. a little bit of miscommunication? warnings oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, profanity, exhibitionism maybe w. count 10k

series 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.

tags @00127am @beomgyusonlywife @bloomyroses

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’m a loner, 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 in front of him between his legs. 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 repeatedly.

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 basically 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 practically 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 him 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.”

END OF ACT III

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